“The wonders of having a kitchen stocked with food instead of tea and plants,” he said dryly.
“And then we fell asleep.” She sat up and studied the glossy little book in her hands. A pair of scandalously attractive black people in old-timey clothes graced the cover, each looking slightly pained by the intensity of their undying love. “Tempest,” she murmured, running her fingers over the title font. “Are you reading this right now?”
“Almost done.”
“What’s it about?”
He lay back and gave her a lazy smile. “If you want to know, I’ll buy you a copy. No spoilers.”
“Except for the happy ending.”
He laughed. “That’s not a spoiler. That’s a safety net.”
Dani paused, the words catching at something in her mind. “A safety net. You know, you never did tell me—why do you read these books, Zaf? How did you start?”
His smile softened into something older, sadder. “Because after Dad and Zain died, I was clinically depressed for three years, and then my sister-in-law told me I was scaring her and threw a Harlequin Romance at my head. After she left, I wanted to find her and say sorry, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. So I picked up the book and started reading it. And . . .”
He trailed off, and Dani’s heart stuttered, threatened to shatter. “Zaf,” she whispered. There was an ache to his words, old, but no less powerful for it. She set the book aside and lay back, rolling over to hold him whether he’d asked for it or not. Because she knew this man, and the look in his eyes told her that he had more to share, but couldn’t do it without a little help. When she rested her head on his chest, he relaxed as if he’d been waiting for her.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough.
“You apologize unnecessarily,” she told him, and turned to meet his eyes. “I know you put a lot of stock in the fact that you’re ‘better’ now. That you handle things. That you cope. But coping takes a lot out of a person, too. And handling things doesn’t mean never struggling or slipping up. Life isn’t that black-and-white, not even close. So I want you to do or say or feel whatever the fuck you like, about everything, but especially about this. And I never want you to tell me you’re sorry for feeling things. Not ever again.”
With every word she spoke—or rather, every word that some higher power tugged unwillingly from her mouth—Zaf’s gaze softened, and the tension she felt thrumming through his body trickled away. He looked at her with something tender in his eyes, and Dani knew she should regret the emotional honesty she’d just spewed all over him—but she didn’t. Not if it made him smile like that. Not if it made him breathe a little easier. She didn’t.
Which was mildly terrifying.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his hand moving to stroke her hair. For once, she couldn’t bring herself to push that quiet, meaningful thanks back in his face, so she closed her eyes and waited.
Before long, he continued his story. “After the accident, I went a little bit off the rails. I think I already mentioned that. I’ve had anxiety ever since I can remember, but being without my dad and Zain—especially Zain . . .” Dani felt herself move with the rise and fall of Zaf’s chest as he took a deep breath. “There were seven years between us. My parents thought they couldn’t have another kid, but then I showed up. So he was kind of like a junior dad, you know what I mean? He was always there, and then he was gone, and I just couldn’t fucking breathe. People think anxiety makes you nervous all the time, and it can. But no one ever talks about how it makes you angry. Eventually the anger faded, though, and after that, I was . . . nothing. For a long, long time, I was nothing.”
Dani felt the pain in his voice like a punch to the chest. “No, you weren’t. You’re always something, Zaf. Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when you don’t feel anything, you’re still kind, and smart, and thoughtful, and one grumpy motherfucker. You’re still you.”
His smile was faint but real, and she was greedy for it. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.” He pulled her closer, kissed her cheek. “At the time, it was romance novels that reminded me. Since you’ve never read one, that probably sounds weird. But it’s all about emotion, Dan—the whole thing, the whole story, the whole point. Just book after book about people facing their issues head on, and handling it, and never, ever failing—at least, not for good. I felt like my world had already ended unhappily, but every book I read about someone who’d been through the worst and found happiness anyway seemed to say the opposite. Like my story didn’t need to be over if I didn’t want it to. Like, if I could just be strong enough to reclaim my emotions, and to work through them, maybe I’d be okay again. That’s kind of what inspired me to, er, keep going. To make good choices, even when feeling better seemed impossible.”
There was a flood of something soft and all-consuming in Dani’s chest, and it was entirely for him. She didn’t know how to express something this big—couldn’t even give it a name. But she wanted him to feel it. So she pressed little kisses into his skin, every part of him that she could reach, and when he slowly started to relax beneath her, she knew he understood.
She also knew now, really knew, why romance meant so much to him—not just the books, but that search for his own happily ever after. She’d thought he was just sweet, loving, maybe a little old-fashioned, but now she realized he was . . . inspired. That
