I open my mouth to say that I enjoyed getting them—then the doorbell rings, and I scream and jump instead.
"Oh, that must be Zane. Get the door, will you? And why so jumpy today, Violet? Maybe cut down on the caffeine?"
He's here!
With my heart in my throat, I walk with shaking limbs to the foyer. I take a deep breath and open the door.
And lose it completely when I see Zane standing there, looking incredibly gorgeous in a long-sleeved white shirt and tan cargos. His soft dark hair looks like he's been running a hand through it, and his chin is covered in a light stubble—so hot!
"Hi," he says, flashing that sexy half smile.
"Hi. Hi." I stare at him.
"Uh, can I come in?"
"Oh! Yeah, sorry."
I open the door wider and move aside. Zane slides past me, then turns around to face me. We stand there in the foyer, caught in an uncomfortable silence.
He goes to grab my hand, but I pull away from him. He raises his eyebrows as I hastily back away.
I don't know how to explain to him how I'm feeling, that if he touched me he'd break the dam of overwhelming emotions I am so desperately trying to control right now. And this was not the time to lose it, not with Mom in the next room.
Speaking of...
Mom appears, saving me in the nick of time. She rushes over to give Zane a hug, and is it weird to be jealous of my own mother? Also, I have the sudden urge to blurt out, "He's seen me naked!"
I don't, thank god. I clap a hand over my mouth and follow them into the sitting room. They sit on the couch and I fall into an armchair. Dazed, I watch as Mom babbles at him, making him look at the pictures, and telling funny stories about their European adventures.
Zane is so nice to her! Patient and charming, he jokes with her about his own experiences traveling. Every so often he'll glance over at me, amused and questioning. I avoid his gaze but sneak looks at him whenever his attention is elsewhere.
I trace the perfection of his features with my eyes: his elegant forehead, dark eyebrows over intense dark eyes, straight nose...that sexy beautifully sculpted mouth. The exquisite curve of his cheekbones. That strong square jaw, unshaven...
Hey, I just realized—Zane's stubble is much lighter than the hair on his head. Hm, so is the fine hairs on his arms. I never noticed before...does he dye his hair? I wonder if it's the same red gold color as his dad's. Or maybe he's just one of those people whose body hair comes in light? I knew a girl who was an exotic mix of Hawaiian, Filipino, and German. Her hair and skin were dark, but she had a light blonde mustache. You could totally see it in the sun.
Anyway. I make a mental note to ask him about it later. Not that it’s a big deal to me. I dye my hair all the time, after all.
Bill comes into the room, and he and Zane start talking about work stuff. Mom excuses herself to go check on dinner. I fidget uncomfortably in my chair, torn between wanting to escape to my bedroom, or throw myself into Zane’s arms.
“Violet?”
“Huh?”
Mom is standing in front of me, and by the look on her face, I must have been really out of it. Sheepishly, I jump to attention.
“What’s going on with you, today?” she asks, peering at me closely. She reaches out to feel my forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you okay?”
Don’t look at Zane. Do not look at him. “Yeah,” I mutter distractedly, rubbing my sweaty palms down the front of my dress. “Yeah, I, uh, you know…penis.”
“Excuse me?”
My horrified eyes meet Mom’s. “Oh, my god! What did I just say? I meant to say penis!”
Could Mom look any more terrified? I don’t think so. “You did say ‘penis,’” she points out.
I slap a mortified hand over my mouth. “Oh, no.”
Is it too much to hope that Zane and his father didn’t hear that little penis exchange? Yeah, of course. I am not going to look over there. I am going to ignore that muffled cough/laugh sound coming from Zane’s direction.
“I’m going to help you in the kitchen,” I tell Mom miserably.
She eyes me warily. “I think you’d better.”
Once inside, she interrogates me mercilessly. I am forced to tell her that Lauren made me watch a dirty movie the other night—and now she thinks my best friend is some kind of pervert with a secret brother. I wonder why I always make her my scapegoat. I guess that’s what best friends are for, right?
Mom wants us to eat at the little kitchen table, since she deems the one in the dining room too big and formal for just the four of us. I set the table, and put the food in serving dishes, and I honestly could not tell you what we are having for dinner.
I thought sitting temptingly close next to Zane would be bad, but sitting across from him is worse, because now I have to look at him. I poke at my asparagus as Mom prattles on happily about the wedding.