“I can follow rules.”
“Can? Yes. Easily and with grace? No.”
“Smartass.”
He chuckled again. “Hey, I’ve got twelve years of following orders under my belt.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever cared for rules.” She glared up at the growing light on the ceiling as the clouds broke to reveal the moon.
“I can see that.” The sheets shifted and rustled as Zane rolled to face her. Like a submarine in rough seas, Zane’s hand crossed the divide between them. He intertwined his fingers with hers.
A lead weight on her chest, Freya forced each breath in and out. The subtle connection, so natural, insignificant by all accounts, was exactly who he was. He wouldn’t break the rules, but would bend them for her. And she really, really shouldn’t let him. “Your parents are nice.”
“Yeah, they are that.”
“You’re right though, they don’t see you at all.”
“Nope.” His thumb grazed along hers, circling over each groove.
“I don’t think it’s personal. They seem quite content with their own interests.”
Zane didn’t respond, but took a protracted deep breath; she could just make out his tightening posture in the dim light.
“Have you thought about what to do tomorrow?”
“I haven’t exactly done anything touristy around here. What do you think?”
“There’s always Mount Rainier. Or the wildlife park to see bison and elk. Downtown Seattle, the waterfront, aquarium, the underground, shopping.”
He audibly winced, “Not downtown. Where normal people like you and I will want to do the typical touristy things, they’ll turn it into an architectural tour.”
“No wonder that’s what you studied in school.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment?”
“No. It’s what you grew up with. Probably how your brain works.”
“I guess. Sometimes it comes in handy. Like the damn building that blew up around Jack and the other guys; one wrong move and the whole thing could have come down. And Sophie and Asher already showed their contractor some of my ideas. I have to confess, I’m looking forward to nailing down the details of the brewhouse.”
“Did it go through already?”
“Almost. Mostly formalities now, but I’m leaving that to Grady.”
“Brewing takes a lot of design.”
“Without having to present my idea to dozens of people ready to rearrange every fine detail and criticize every nuance, then when something’s half an inch off, it all falls on the architect.” He shifted their joined hands up but didn’t let go. Or move closer. Sadly. “But with beer? They can drink it or not, no skin off my back. Think it’ll be fun to design the menu, too. Mostly snacks and stuff to munch while folks can hang out all night. Relaxed, no pressure environment. Maybe distribute to local places first.”
Freya felt her grin widening, a flutter in her chest as he spoke. “I’d say you’re moving forward on a pretty great dream.”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah, you may be right.”
The flutter morphed into a gnawing ache as she realized his dreams didn’t include her. Relief. Nausea. A gripping pain as she craved inclusion. But wasn’t this what she wanted? Independence? Individuality? Non-codependence?
Randy had big dreams. A house and a career and living the picture perfect, white picket fence life. Freya had even quit her birth control a few weeks before the wedding, ready to get started on his dream. Midway through that awful bridal shower that had turned so distasteful, her poor mother and Aunt Denise trying to bring it back to the realm of tolerably appropriate, Freya snuck outside and curled up in a blanket on the grassy slope as darkness enfolded around the Sutherland’s property.
Paul had just picked up Asher from the airport. When Asher saw her sitting outside, he came out and plopped down at her side.“Big day tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
