"You don't know me, Zach. We spent six weeks together when we were teenagers."
"We had a lot of fun that summer—up until the end."
She met his gaze and saw the shared memories running through his eyes. "We did have fun. You were my first boyfriend, my first everything—kiss, slow dance, broken heart. We packed a lot into the short time we had together."
"We didn't do everything," he pointed out, a wicked spark in his gaze. "Even though I thought about it a lot, especially when we were making out."
"I was fifteen. I was not going to have sex with you. I was not ready for that."
"I was sixteen, and I was definitely ready. But we ran out of time."
"We ran out of our relationship, which wasn't much of one, if it could be broken so easily."
His expression changed, a thoughtful gleam entering his eyes. "Maybe you blamed me for taking the locket, because you were afraid things were going too fast. Maybe I was the first guy you wanted to get rid of."
Anger ran through her. She didn't like his suggestion at all—not one little bit—mostly because it had an odd ring of truth to it.
Had she used the locket to push Zach away? Had her pattern started well before she'd gotten involved with Jeremy?
"Nothing to say?" Zach pressed.
"I don't think that's what happened," she said slowly.
"I never would have thought you were a girl who couldn't commit. I saw the way you committed to your art. You were obsessed with painting. You put it before everything else. You were so sure that you were going to grow up and do something with it, and you did."
"Apparently, I can commit to a paintbrush, but not to a man."
He grinned. "Paintbrushes don't talk back, and you can control them."
"Yes, I can, most of the time. Sometimes the brush seems to have a mind of its own." She cleared her throat as another long look passed between them, and a rush of emotions made her hot and uneasy. "Should we unpack the truck?"
"Why don't we get dinner first? I'm starving." He sniffed. "Unless you just ate. It smells good in here."
"My mom dropped off a lasagna. It's in the fridge."
"Is it big enough to share?"
"It is," she said slowly.
"Are you going to invite me to share it?" he asked, with the same sparkle in his eye that had once made butterflies dance through her stomach.
"I feel like that's a bad idea, Zach."
"Why? We've cleared the air. Apologies were made. We agreed not to be enemies. What's the problem?"
"My life is complicated, and I need a break from men."
"It's dinner, Gianna. I promise not to propose." He cleared his throat with a guilty gleam in his eyes. "Too soon?"
For some reason, his bad joke eased the tension between them. "Definitely too soon. But if you want to share my lasagna, I guess I'm okay with it. There's way too much for one person." She couldn't believe she was offering to have dinner with him, but there was a part of her that wasn't ready to say good-bye.
"That's all I'm asking—a little pasta, a little conversation."
"Good. Because that's all I have to give." She might have made a habit of falling in love too fast and too recklessly, but she was not going to make that mistake again—and definitely not with Zach. "We can eat upstairs." She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the casserole dish, handing it off to Zach. Then she grabbed the salad and bread and headed up to her apartment.
The one-bedroom unit was very basic, with a couch and an armchair in the small living room, a table for two by the galley-style kitchen, with a small bedroom and bath. Her aunt had often rented the apartment, but the last tenant had moved out several months ago, and she hadn't gotten around to repainting or putting it back up for rent.
"This doesn't fit you," Zach muttered, his gaze sweeping the room. "It's too gray. You like color."
"I do," she admitted, surprised that Zach had had the same reaction she'd had when she'd first seen the place. She set the lasagna on the counter as she turned on the oven to heat. "But it's convenient to the store. I can access the stairs from the street or the storeroom. Plus, it's free."
"If you're going to be here longer than a few days, you'll have to do some decorating. At least put some of your art up." He paused in front of the blank canvas resting on an easel by the window. Her paints were ready to go, but her creative brain was not. "What are you going to do with this?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"You were rarely sure when you started sketching. You told me that was part of the fun, being able to see what your brain would come up with if you didn't think too hard."
His words resonated with her, reminding her once more of the girl she used to be. Where had that girl gone?
"What other pieces do you have here?" he asked. "I'm curious as to how your art has progressed."
"I didn't bring anything with me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why not? You didn't anticipate these empty walls?"
"They weren't a priority. I moved out of my apartment in LA and put everything in storage."
"You moved out? You're not going back?"
"I will return to LA, but I'll start over, somewhere new and fresh."
"You said you're a graphic artist. What does that mean exactly?"
"It can mean a lot of things. For me, it has involved designing ads, logos, websites, and collateral materials for small businesses. For the past two years, I've been working at an advertising agency."
"Do you like it?"
"I always like the creative part, but with clients, it can be constraining at times. It pays the bills, though." She put the lasagna in the oven. "This needs to heat up for a few minutes. Do you want some water or coffee? I'm afraid I haven't shopped yet. I just arrived yesterday."
"Water is fine."
She tossed him a bottled water as he sat down at the table. He caught it with a deft hand. Zach had always been good at sports. He'd won every contest they'd had at camp. And it looked like he'd kept in shape over the years. He'd changed out of the clothes he'd been wearing earlier, now in jeans and a dark-green knit shirt that matched his very compelling eyes.
Her gut clenched as he met her gaze. Forcing herself to turn away, she moved into the kitchen and pulled a bowl out of the cupboard for the salad. It felt good to keep busy, so she didn't have to look at Zach.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"My mom dropped everything off. I'm just tossing it together."
"I'm surprised you're not having dinner with your parents."
"They had a birthday party to go to, and to be honest, I'm not looking forward to speaking to my dad."
"Why not? I thought you had a great relationship with your parents."
"It used to be great, but I've hurt them with the failed engagements. They lost deposit money on the first two weddings, and while I wasn't going to ask them to pay for anything on the last one, I still feel like I let them down, my dad especially."
"I'm sure he wouldn't want you to marry someone you didn't love."
"He doesn't think I have a realistic expectation of what love entails. That's what he said after engagement number two. I've tried to avoid talking to him since this last one blew up." She finished mixing the salad and then brought it over to the table. "Do you want to start on this or wait for the lasagna?"
"I'll wait. Why don't you sit down?"
"Okay. I'll pop in the garlic bread at the last minute." She let out a breath as she sat down. "This still feels awkward."
"I know," he agreed, his easy smile belying his words.
"You don't seem uncomfortable at all."
"I hide it better than you."
"I do tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve."
"We'll be running into each other around town. It's best if we get this awkwardness out of the way."
"Do you think we can do that?"
"Now that we've cleared the air, yes." He sipped his water. "Tell me about your ex-fiancés."
She sigh
ed. "Really?"
"I'm curious as to what kind of men they are."
"They're all different. As I said, Jeremy was the first. We grew up on the same street and ended up at the University of Colorado in Denver. We gravitated toward each other, because we were scared of being alone at a big school. We started out as friends and senior year, it evolved into something more. He asked me to marry him the day of our graduation. We were wearing our caps and gowns and drinking champagne, and I thought it was romantic and exciting. But our year-long engagement turned into one endless fight. We argued about everything—what jobs to take, where we should live, what kind of ceremony we wanted. I called off the wedding three weeks before the date. Jeremy was furious and embarrassed. So were his parents and his siblings—my parents, too. It was awful."
"You were young—twenty-one, twenty-two…"
"Twenty-two and way too young. After that debacle, I wanted to leave Colorado, so I found a job in LA, and I moved to California. It felt good to be in a place where no one knew me, even though it was lonely at times." She paused. "This is pretty boring, isn't it?"
"I've never thought you were boring, Gianna, not ever."
She flushed at his words. "That's an exaggeration, I'm sure."
"No, it's not. Keep going. When and where did you meet bachelor number two?"
"It was about three years post-Jeremy. I met him through my roommate at the time. Her boyfriend worked at a tech company, and he brought his buddy, Victor, to a party one night. Victor was completely different than Jeremy, who had waffled over what he wanted to do with his life. Victor had a two-year plan and a five-year plan and a ten-year plan."
"Sounds like a lot of plans."
"He was a finance guy. Everything had to add up for him. I liked his confidence, his ability to make a good life for himself. He liked to direct things and I was okay with it, because his choices were usually well thought out. We were opposites, but I thought we'd complement each other."
"But you didn't?"
"In the beginning, his decision-making usually took me into consideration, but it became more and more about him. He wanted children by a certain date. He wanted to live in a specific kind of house in a particular neighborhood. He insisted I be his supportive partner at every business event, whether or not it fit into my schedule. I broke up with him two months before the wedding, so I got out a little earlier than I did with Jeremy, but Victor was still really angry at me for messing up his plan."
"It sounds to me like you escaped at the right time. You can't live your life according to someone else's plan."
"He even had our kids' names picked out. The boy was going to be Edward after his grandfather. I hated the name. Who names their kid Edward in this day and age? But Victor was really pushy about it, and I gave in, like I always did. I realized I was losing myself in him. I had to get out."
Zach nodded. "Good decision. Although, I have no problem with the name Edward."
She smiled. "Fair enough."
"And fiancé number three?"
"This conversation is making me feel really bad about myself."
"So far, I haven't heard anything that should make you feel that way."
"But you're only hearing my side."
"True. Are you lying?" he challenged.
"No," she said firmly. "I can completely acknowledge I had blame in both those relationships, and in the last one, too. I met Jeff a year and a half ago. Where Victor and I had nothing in common, Jeff and I had too much in common. He's an art collector. He loves museums. That's where we met. And he ran the ad agency where I was employed as a graphic designer. Art was a big draw between us."
"He sounds better. What was his fatal flaw?"
"Our work and personal life blurred together. He'd take credit for my ideas. We were partners in private, but in public, it was more about him. When it came to the client, he acted like I was his assistant. It was insulting. When I talked to him about it, he kept telling me we were a team, but my skill was in the art, and his was in the pitch. I couldn't say he was wrong, but I felt a little used. I noticed that he did it with other people, too, with both men and women. He took what they had to give, and then he moved on."
"So, you moved on first."
"I did. I don't know why it takes me so long to see people for who they really are. Although, I'm sure each of the guys would give you a different story." She cleared her throat, unsure why she was telling him so much. "What about you, Zach? Do you have a woman in your life? I don't see a ring on your finger, but not all men wear one."
"I've never been married, but I was engaged once."
"Only once? Amateur," she said lightly.
His lips curved into a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Once was enough."
"How long were you together?"
"Four years."
"That's a considerable length of time. Why didn't you get married?"
"We couldn't seem to find the right time. There was enough uncertainty in our relationship that we never got around to setting a date."
"When did the relationship end?"
"About six months ago."
There was a hint of pain in his voice, and she couldn't help wondering who had broken up with who. "Are you okay?"
"I'm getting there."
She licked her lips. They'd gotten very personal very fast, and she wanted to take it even further. "Can I ask you a question?"
"That depends on the question."
"What happened to you, Zach? How did you get those scars on your chest and your back?"
He stared at her for a long minute, his gaze filling with shadows. Finally, he said, "I was in a fire."
Her pulse leapt. "A fire? I'm sorry. That must have been a terrible experience."
"The worst of my life." His expression was grim. "But I was lucky. I survived."
She took a quick breath. "Was there someone who didn't survive?"
"My fiancée."
"Oh, God, Zach. I thought it was just a breakup." She felt terrible for pushing him into the confession. "I shouldn't have urged you to talk about it."
"You asked me earlier why I came to the lake. It healed me once before. I was hoping it might do so again."
She had a lot more questions she wanted to ask him, but the oven timer went off, making her jump. She'd been so caught up in Zach, she'd lost all track of time. "Our pasta is ready. I'll put the bread in."
"Sure."
She pushed back her chair and stood up, feeling like they'd both said too much, and at the same time wondering if there wasn't more that needed to be spoken.
Zach met her gaze, and she now understood better the hard lines around his eyes and mouth. What he'd been through made her broken relationships pale in comparison.
"It's okay, Gianna," he murmured. "You didn't know."
"I wish I could find the right words, but I'm not sure what they are."
"I don't need words, but lasagna would be good. I'm starving."
She gave him a faint smile as he deliberately eased the tension between them. "Well, that's one problem I can solve, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me to actually be able to fix something."
"I know that feeling."
Zach's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and frowned, then slipped it back into his pocket.
"If you need to get that…"
"I don't. Let's eat."
She wondered who was trying to reach him, but she'd already asked him far too many questions. Maybe it was better if she didn't know anything else.
Chapter Five
Zach let out a breath as Gianna moved into the kitchen. He hadn't planned on telling her about the fire or Rebecca. But the words had just come out. Not all the words, though…there was a lot he hadn't said. He probably shouldn't go any further now, not while everything was so up in the air.
She returned to the table, setting the casserole dish between them, and handed him a spatula. "Help yourself. I'll grab the garlic bread."
He took a heal
thy serving of the meat and cheese pasta, his stomach rumbling at the delicious garlic aroma wafting through the air. He added salad to his plate while Gianna set a platter of garlic bread on the table, then took her seat across from him.
"Do you need anything else?" she asked.
"I don't think so," he said, scooping up his first forkful. It was every bit as good as he'd imagined. "Wonderful. Your mother is an excellent cook."
"She is, and her lasagna is one of my favorite meals. I've tried to replicate it, but it never comes out the same. My mom always makes it when I come home, although I didn't expect her to deliver it to me. I'm very spoiled."
"I'm sure they're happy to have you back in Whisper Lake, even for a short time."
"My mom is, but, as I mentioned, things are still awkward with my dad, and it bothers me a lot. My parents and I have always been close, a circle of three. I don't know if I told you, but they tried to have a baby for over five years before they turned to adoption. It took another two years before they were able to adopt me. They've always told me how I completed their family, how loved and wanted I was, which is why I've always felt conflicted about looking for my biological mother. It feels traitorous. I should be grateful with who I ended up with and not who gave birth to me."
"But you can't quite get there." He could see the glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.
"I would like to know my family history, my medical history. And as much as I try to convince myself that who I am is who I am and has nothing to do with my birth parents, I still have questions. Do I look like my biological parents? Were they artists? Did I inherit their creativity? Or am I nothing like them?" She took a sip of water. "My mom and dad are super athletes, and I am as clumsy as they come. I wonder what it would feel like to have a skill like my parents. It's crazy, because I don't think I could be any closer to anyone than I am to my parents, but I still wonder."
He considered her words. "Biology doesn't always mean parents and children will share anything. You could find out you have even less in common with your birth mother than you might think."
"That's true."
"But you're going to try to track down the girl in the photo, aren't you?" He didn't really need her to give him a verbal answer, because he could see the truth in her eyes.
Always With Me Page 4