More Than Sorry

20: She Isn't Ready Yet

EDEN

The apartment door opens, and Zach is standing there with the biggest smile I have ever seen. Before I can even say hello, he drags me close, wrapping me in such a tight hug that my dress rides up and my arms are crushed by my side. His lips are soft against my forehead.

"You came," Zach says, breathless and excited like he can't believe it.

"You invited me to dinner." I savor the warmth of being in his big arms for a moment before wriggling away. "I'm ready to be pampered like a princess like you promised."

Zach beams another smile. "I'm going to pamper the pants right off you." His face instantly burns a deep shade of pink. "I–I didn't mean it—like—you know..."

I swat playfully at his shoulder and walk inside his apartment. "I know what you meant, you big doofus."

As Zach ducks in front of me, I am completely distracted by the delicious view of his body wrapped in jeans and a blue-striped t-shirt. Maybe a bit of pants-off time is just what the doctor ordered. Three months without Zach, and I have to admit that I am the teeniest bit desperate to reconnect with him.

The teeniest bit.

Andie was dead set against me coming to this dinner date. Told me she was worried Zach and I would try to solve our problems with sex and not properly talk things through. Who wouldn't try to solve problems with sex when it was that dang amazing? What does Andie know anyway? The nerve of her betting me that I wouldn't be in the door one minute without taking his clothes off. Ha. Showed her. I've been here for at least two minutes, and Zach's pants are still on.

And it's a crying shame.

Zach's eyes flick over his shoulder. "Stop looking at my butt, Eden."

Now it's my turn to turn into an embarrassed flame ball. My cheeks are burning. "As if I was even looking." The squeak in my voice betrays me big time. "God, stop being so obsessed with your ass."

"You first, princess."

"I've created a monster," I mutter as I dump my handbag on the marble kitchen counter.

My gaze wanders around the apartment I used to call home. Cold. White. The same sterile man cave. Exactly how I remember it. A shudder prickles through me. This apartment may be expensive, modern, and the envy of everyone, but it's not even close to feeling like a home. As much as I missed Zach, I've never missed this place.

My eyes drift to the balcony. That view, though. The water and the twinkling lights of the harbor are as beautiful as ever in the fading afternoon sun, and Zach has set up the table outside as fancy as any high-end restaurant.

"Zach, it smells seriously amazing in here. What's on your menu?"

He looks up from the pile of tomatoes he's chopping and grins. "Italian."

"Really? That's my favorite. I didn't even know you could cook."

Zach's phone pings from where he discarded it on the kitchen counter, but he ignores it.

"My mum was adamant that I leave home knowing how to feed myself," he says. "I love cooking. I just never get much of a chance to do it."

"I thought I was the only one who loved cooking! All those months we lived together, and you could have been spoiling me like this?"

Zach ignores another message ping on his phone.

His eyes are fixed on the mess of ingredients in front of him, voice hoarse when he says, "I'm sorry I didn't take better care of you."