Take a Hint, Dani Brown

by Talia Hibbert

  “Right,” Jamal said, nodding happily. “You don’t look pissed, so this is my cue. In a bit.”

  “What? Wait—”

  Jamal was already jogging off, back in the direction they’d come. Which left Zaf alone, confused, cautiously hopeful, and absolutely dizzy with longing.

  He looked at Dani. Dani looked at him. There were only a hundred meters between them now, but he couldn’t make his feet move. He also couldn’t stop his eyes from devouring her. Her hair was red, just like the day they’d met—when she’d looked up from her phone and her smile had hit him like a sledgehammer. He might have been doomed from that moment on.

  Or maybe doomed wasn’t the right word anymore.

  Today, she wore a black sundress covered with tiny, silver moons and black sandals with a blocky sort of heel that couldn’t be comfortable on mud and grass like this. She looked perfect, of course. She always looked perfect, even wringing her hands like she was right now.

  “Zaf,” she called across the distance. “Are you—are you going to come over here?”

  He swallowed. Examined his own buzzing mind and frozen feet. Replied honestly, if a little hoarsely, “Can’t.”

  She hesitated. “Okay.”

  Another pause as they studied each other. Maybe he was a fool, to look at her now and feel so much hope. But he’d read enough romance novels to suspect things might be looking up.

  Did he dare suspect they might be looking up?

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice clear and steady. “For hurting you. And for resisting love so hard that I almost didn’t notice everything I felt for you.”

  His breath caught, but he forced down a lungful of air and took a step forward.

  “I love you,” she said, her voice lifting at the end, like it was a cautious offering. Like she thought he might reject it.

  Zaf didn’t think he was physically capable. The words seemed to stroke over him, sink into him, surrounding him with a shimmering, starlight happiness he’d never known before.

  She loved him, she loved him, she loved him, and he felt like he could fly.

  “I know I didn’t act like it,” she went on. “I was scared, and I used that as an excuse to hurt you. I thought I had everything figured out, but I really don’t. I do know for a fact that I trust you—I believe you, when you say you love me. And I love you, too. I’m kind of terrified by it, but clearly not terrified enough, because I can’t stop.” She was nervous; he could tell by her slight, self-deprecating laugh, by the lopsided smile on her face. She continued to wring her hands, and shifted her weight on her heels, and suddenly all Zaf could think was—

  Why the fuck am I not touching her yet?

  So he took a step forward, and another, and then he was running.

  “Erm,” Dani said, her eyes widening. “I hope you’re not going to tackle me or something.” But her smile had grown bigger and her words fluttered like doves, like cautious hope, and she didn’t move. She stood right there until he reached her, and picked her up, and spun her around like she was the greatest gift he’d ever gotten. He heard the breath rush out of her in a long, laughing gasp, and he felt her, soft and lovely, in his arms, and he smelled her candles-and-warm-skin scent and wanted to drown in it. In her.

  “I’m sorry,” she kept saying, the words muffled against his shoulder, her fingers twisting at his shirt. “I’m sorry, Zaf, I’m sorry.”

  He put her down and cradled her face in his hands, studied those gorgeous eyes and the crease in her lower lip and the little scar on her nose. “Say it again.”

  “I’m sorry. I was—”

  “Danika.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, electric perfection flashing through every nerve in his body. His stomach swooped like he was on a roller coaster, and a giddy smile spread across his face. Her hands wrapped tightly around his wrists, as if to stop him from letting her go. Like he’d ever let her go. He felt the curve of her answering smile against his mouth.

  “That you love me,” he corrected softly. “Say you love me.”

  “I love you,” she breathed, and he inhaled the words and exhaled bliss as she continued. “I love you a ridiculous amount, and I can’t promise I’ll never freak out or mess up—”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t need promises like that. I just need to know you’ll try anyway.”

  “I will, Zaf, I will—”

  “And I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She looked at him like he’d dropped his brain on the floor, then laughed. “Of course you are, because you’re lovely.”

  “You asked me for baby steps,” he said, every regret tumbling out. “I knew you weren’t ready for everything I wanted, but I got carried away. I’m not surprised you panicked.”

  “It’s okay,” she told him softly. “It’s okay. Now shut up, I’m declaring myself, and you’re making me lose my nerve.” Then she kissed him, just the slightest touch, just like he’d kissed her. But he felt it down to his bones.

  “Oh,” he breathed. “Cool. Yeah. Declare yourself.” Quickly, before I die of happiness.

  She grinned, but her expression sobered as she cupped his face. “I’ve spent a long time trying not to get hurt, Zaf, but until you, I never stopped to think about why. I’m a confident person. I really am. Which is probably why it’s taken me so long to realize that I’m also insecure. When it comes to my own value in this—in this context, and the things I’m capable of. Socially.” She cleared her throat. “Romantically.” Her voice was stiff, and he knew she was probably embarrassed just saying this.

  So he held on to her, and hoped she’d understand what it meant. He was speaking her language, the silent one he’d always worried might be in his head, the one made up of touches and looks. It’s okay. It’s always okay, when it’s you and me.

  She smiled a little, slow and trembling, like she heard him loud and clear. “Now that I’ve realized all this, I’m planning to . . . you know, work on it. Take a page out of your book, and know myself a little better. Because I deserve it, but also because of you, Zaf. I don’t ever want to hurt you to protect myself. I want to be brave.”

  “You are,” he told her. “You are.”

  “And you’re worth it.” She kissed him again, slower, deeper, and he let everything he felt for her overflow, because all of a sudden, he didn’t have the words to express it. So sipping at her lower lip became I missed you, and easing her mouth open meant I adore you, and the touch of his tongue against hers meant You’re mine.

  Then he pulled back and said it, just said it. “I missed you. I adore you. You’re mine.” Wait. He hesitated. “But I don’t know what you want, what you’re really asking for. And I promised myself I’d always be clear on that. Dan—”

  “I want you. In every way I can have you. And I trust you to have me, too,” she said softly.

  He felt dizzy. “Even though I hit you with the love thing like it was a brick?”

  “Yes, despite that.” She laughed, and he felt the puff of her amusement against his lips because he still hadn’t moved away. Couldn’t. Although, he was getting a crick in his neck, bending down for her like this, so he let go long enough to pick her up. Just like he had the first time: princess style. Since she was his princess and all.

  “Zaf,” she spluttered. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “You should really expect it at all times. Kiss me again.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  * * *

  When she’d orchestrated this scene, Dani had entertained modest hopes. In her wildest dreams, she’d imagined Zaf deigning to hear her out, then returning to his desk and letting her ply him with coffee and chocolate until his feelings toward her slowly thawed.

  Instead, he was kissing her with unreserved joy into a breathless, horny heap, and all she’d done was make a verbal declaration. Dani made a mental note: Zafir likes verbal declarations.

  She had decided, these last few days, to study everything Zaf l
iked and do her very best to give it to him.

  After one last, lingering kiss, he pulled away slightly and asked, “What’s with the flowers?”

  Dani’s heart was in danger of flying out of her chest, which made concentrating on explanations quite difficult, but she managed anyway. “White and red carnations—it means love. I was being romantic. You know, like in the books.”

  He grinned wide. “The books?”

  “I . . . may or may not have read a few romance novels in order to research how I might win you back.”

  “You did what?” he choked out. Then his shock dissolved into laughter. “Ah, but of course you did. Danika fucking Brown.”

  He made her name sound like a blessing.

  Then, suddenly, he sobered, studying her face with a frown.

  “What?” she asked, trying not to panic. If she’d gotten something wrong, he wouldn’t throw it back in her face—she knew that now. He never had, and that wouldn’t change just because she’d decided to call this connection romantic instead of convenient. So she willed her pounding heart to slow . . . and it did.

  “I just—it’s not that I don’t appreciate the grand gesture,” he said, “because, trust me, Dan, I really fucking do.”

  She exhaled a sigh of relief. “Well, thank goddess for that.”

  “But I know you don’t enjoy things like this. And I hope you didn’t feel like you had to do something that wasn’t . . . that wasn’t you. Because I meant what I said the other day, even if I said it at the wrong time. I don’t want you to change, Danika. I just want you to be mine.”

  Dani was really starting to see the benefits of this romance shit, because at those words, her conservative little heart kicked off its shoes and started to dance. “Well,” she said, fighting a grin, “that’s quite wonderful to hear. In fact, feel free to repeat it whenever.”

  He brushed his nose over hers. “As many times as you want,” he said softly, and the promise washed over her like warm water.

  “But no,” she went on, “the flowers haven’t triggered some sort of existential crisis in me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Actually, I’ve decided this sort of thing might suit me. Perhaps I find it a little difficult to describe how I feel about you—but if I can do something like this to show you . . . well. I don’t mind that.” Actually, she loved it. Loved the smile she’d put on his face, loved the happiness radiating from him even now. He was like the sun, but twice as vital to her existence. She was certain of that.

  “All right,” he said softly. “All right.” Then he sank onto the puddle of petals at their feet, and she curled up in his lap and held him tight, as if he might disappear.

  Lord, how she prayed he’d never disappear.

  A slight breeze rustled her skirt, and his calloused thumb swept over her bare forearm in that slow, lazy arc she’d missed so fucking much. “I know this isn’t going to be easy,” she whispered. “But I want to try. I want to try with you, and not give up this time.”

  “Good,” Zaf said. His eyes burned into hers as if he could stamp his words into her mind, into her heart. “I would rather be trying and stumbling with you than doing anything—seriously, absolutely anything—with anyone else.”

  Dani swallowed back a lump of adoration and tried to sound lighthearted as opposed to disgracefully emotional. “Even if I don’t change my mildly controversial stance on anniversaries?”

  “Fuck anniversaries,” he said promptly. “As a very smart woman once told me, that’s what Valentine’s Day is for.”

  Dani’s laughter became tears after approximately two seconds. She threw her arms around him with such force that anyone else would’ve fallen—but Zaf didn’t. He took the hit and held her tight against his chest where she could feel his pounding heart, or maybe it was hers, or maybe they shared hearts now—she wasn’t quite sure how this romance arrangement worked. But she was sure she wanted it, no matter the risks.

  “This love business is absolutely nonsensical,” she told him unsteadily.

  “I know,” he replied. “Isn’t it great?”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Zaf shut the front door and hung up his coat, sweaty from an evening’s practice with his local amateur rugby league, and vibrating with a certainty that Danika was up to something.

  They had a routine, on nights like this: as soon as he got home, she’d jump his bones and ask about his day. Apparently, she liked sweat. She also liked grilling him about meetings and workshops while playing with his dick, because it made her laugh when he got his words mixed up.

  But today? Zaf clocked her shoes in the hallway, but Dani herself was nowhere to be found.

  “Hey, trouble,” he called as he put his Tesco bags down in the kitchen. “Where are you?”

  There was a pause before she shouted from the bedroom, “Nowhere.”

  The last time Dani had nowhere’d him, it was because she’d accidentally bought a fern on Facebook Marketplace that was almost as big as Zaf—despite being banned from buying any more plants because they could no longer see their TV.

  She was taking her newfound work–life balance, and the accompanying hobbies, very seriously.

  Zaf shook his head and followed her voice with a sigh. He had visions of his bedside table being replaced by a giant pot of bamboo. “Dan. Sweetheart. You know we don’t have space for any more—”

  “Don’t come in!” Her voice was muffled through the closed door. “I’m in the bedroom. But don’t come in! And don’t worry, I didn’t buy another plant.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I didn’t! Well, not unless you count that teeny, tiny cactus from Urban Outfitters—”

  “Danika!”

  “He’s only a baby, Zaf, darling, have a heart. And stay out of the bedroom.” She was laughing, but there was a squeaky edge to her voice that sounded almost like . . . nerves?

  Hmm.

  In the year since they’d decided to be together—really together—Dani had treated keeping in touch with her emotions the same way she treated everything else: as a goal to be hit so hard and so accurately, she split the target in two. But when it came to feelings, and learned behavior, and past hurts, you couldn’t just read a few books and try really, really hard and be better. No one could. So, a little while back, they’d made a deal. It was a simple one.

  When Zaf was worried about Dani, he pushed. And if it felt like too much, she told him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked now.

  “Peachy. Golden. Flying without wings.”

  “Right,” he said dryly. “Listen. I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to make dinner, and we’re going to eat and talk about whatever’s bothering you.”

  “Yes, sir, emotional drill sergeant, sir.”

  He snorted and flipped her off through the door.

  “Are you giving a slab of wood the finger right now, Zafir?”

  “You know me so well,” he said fondly, and left her to it.

  * * *

  An hour later, Zaf was clean, the kitchen was filled with the scent of homemade Chinese food (which looked pretty damn good, if he did say so himself), and his girlfriend was still locked in their bedroom.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Yes?” she called innocently.

  “Food’s almost done.”

  “Crap.”

  “What?”

  “I said, great.”

  He sighed. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if there’s a dead body in there.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. This is my favorite room in the house, not to be defiled with murder and gore. I’d keep a dead body in the bathtub. Much easier to clean.”

  “Good to know. I’m coming in now.”

  Dani released a sigh so mighty he actually heard it through the door. Then she said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I suppose this will have to do.”

  Er . . . what would have to do? Zaf opened the door to find Danika sitting on the flo
or with pieces of paper in her hand and a pile of books next to her. Which wasn’t exactly an unusual sight—except for the expression on her face.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, hurrying over to sink down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said with a scowl. But the trepidation in her pretty brown eyes and the way she pressed her teeth into her plump lower lip all said otherwise.

  Zaf dragged her into his lap. “Bullshit.”

  Dani laughed, slid her hands into his hair, and pulled him close. Her kiss was quick and soft and almost shy, as if they barely knew each other again. She tasted like tea and honey and comfort, and by the time she pulled away, he was light-headed, as always, grinning and drunk on her. Seemed like he’d never build up a tolerance.

  Then she asked him out of nowhere, “What did you make for dinner?”

  “Nothing special,” he said. “Just, you know . . . egg fried rice. And stuff.”

  She smiled, slow and sweet. “Ah. Good choice.”

  “Well, it’s—”

  “For our anniversary, correct?”

  Zaf froze. “That . . . is not what I was going to say.”

  “But it’s true, though.” She didn’t look upset. Actually, she looked pleased.

  That pleasure spilled over to him, her sunlight too bright to contain. “My girlfriend doesn’t believe in anniversaries,” he said, fighting a smile, “and I don’t like to pressure her. Not when she does Valentine’s Day so well.”

  Dani flicked imaginary hair over her shoulder and looked adorably self-satisfied.

  “Plus,” he continued, “we only moved in together six months ago. I’m still trying to make sure she won’t run off into the night.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that, Zafir.” She rolled her eyes, but there was nothing mocking about what she said next. “I can’t. I love you. And you’re mine.”

  “I know,” Zaf said softy. And he really, really did. He’d never known anything the way he knew that, because she showed him in a thousand perfectly Danika ways every day.