Willow pressed her hand lightly to her stomach, the faintest groan slipping out of her when the baby shifted. It was not loud, barely more than a small whisper of discomfort, but Zane heard it imdiately. He turned toward her with a startled look, as if the sound had reached into him and tugged at sothing he had not realized was frayed. He straightened almost imperceptibly, every protective instinct rising quietly to the surface.
"You hungry?" he asked, trying for casual, though the concern seeped through his voice despite his effort to hide it.
Before she could answer, her stomach growled again. This ti it was louder, unmistakably the impatient demand of a child not yet born but already dictating its mother’s needs. Willow winced in embarrassnt, her cheeks warming as she folded her arm slightly over her middle. Zane blinked once, then let out a soft laugh. The sound was warm and disbelieving, so gentle it hardly sounded like him. It had been months since she had heard that particular laugh. Willow felt it skim across her skin like a touch, sothing careful and unearned and painfully familiar.
"I’ll take that as a yes," he murmured, reaching for his phone as if it were a lifeline. "Tell what you can eat right now. I’m not ssing this up."
"I can eat anything," she said, even though they both knew it was an exaggeration.
He lifted one eyebrow slowly. "You still hate broccoli?"
"I don’t hate it," she said, making a face. "I just have taste." She paused, the mory flickering across her expression. "I can’t believe you even rember that. It was one ti."
He laughed again, quieter this ti, almost shy. "Yeah. That’s you."
He scrolled through delivery options, frowning at his screen like he was studying a complicated legal brief, determined to get everything exactly right. After a minute he looked up again, the crease between his brows smoothing.
"Okay," he said, almost proudly. "Organic place five minutes away. Grilled chicken, brown rice, roasted vegetables, tofu soup, no raw anything, nothing too salty, nothing spicy. Safe?"
She nodded, genuinely touched by the thoroughness. "Safe."
He placed the order and set the phone aside. Suddenly neither of them seed to know what to do with their hands, their eyes, or their breathing. The apartnt felt too small and too bright and sohow too quiet all at once. Willow shifted her weight carefully, easing the ache in her lower back. Zane caught the movent instantly, his attention narrowing.
"You want to sit outside while we wait?" he asked gently. "Get so air?"
"Yeah," she said, because the walls felt like they were leaning toward her just a little.
They walked to the balcony slowly. Willow moved more cautiously than she would ever admit, and Zane matched her pace without drawing attention to it. He slid the balcony door open and stepped aside in silent invitation, letting her go through first. Outside, the early spring night was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the courtyard below. The city stretched beneath them in soft flickers of light, apartnt windows glowing in scattered patterns, distant traffic humming softly, and a neon sign three blocks away pulsing like a quiet heartbeat.
A small two seater bench waited against the balcony wall with a low coffee table in front of it. Willow eased into the half of the seat closest to the railing, adjusting the small pillow she kept there for her back. She exhaled as she settled, the tightness in her shoulders loosening little by little. Zane sat beside her, close enough to feel present but not close enough to crowd her, giving her space she had not asked for but appreciated.
Sunset spilled across the apartnt behind them, warm gold fading slowly into soft pink that stretched across the hallway floor and brushed against the nursery doorway. The light carried a quiet tenderness neither of them consciously noticed, though both of them felt it sowhere deep in their chest.
"How’s the food usually here?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the city even though he had ordered from a place he had never heard of.
"It’s good," she said. "We’ve found a few things that work."
"We?" he repeated before he could stop himself.
Willow’s breath caught, but she did not rush to correct him. Not right away. Not even after a pause that might have held the weight of a confession. She looked toward the city lights instead, letting them pull her attention away from his face.
" and the baby," she said softly.
The silence that followed was not sharp or awkward. It was deep and delicate, the kind of quiet that felt like it might spill if either of them moved too quickly or said the wrong thing.
Zane rubbed the back of his neck slowly and exhaled. "Your hair’s longer," he said, reaching for sothing lighter.
She touched the ends self consciously. "Your fault. Stress grows it."
"That’s how it works?" he said with a faint smile.
"You’re proof," she teased gently, nodding toward his hair. "Yours too."
He let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Haven’t had ti for a haircut."
"You look good," she said before she could swallow the words or pretend they ant nothing.
The complint struck him harder than she expected. His mouth parted slightly and his eyes shifted as if he wanted to respond, but the doorbell chid in that exact mont, saving both of them from whatever truth he might have spoken aloud.
Dinner had arrived.
Zane stood quickly, almost too quickly, grateful for the interruption. When he returned with two paper bags, steam curling gently from the top, the balcony filled with the warm savory scent of roasted vegetables and grilled chicken. Willow’s stomach fluttered, not from the baby this ti but from genuine hunger.
They ate quietly at first. Willow stretched her legs in front of her while Zane leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. The food was simple but comforting, and Willow did not realize how hungry she was until she found herself finishing nearly everything in her container.
"You want more?" he asked, nudging the rice toward her.
She shook her head. "No, I’m full."
"You’re sure?"
"Zane," she said gently. "I promise."
He nodded, looking strangely embarrassed by how badly he wanted to take care of her and how desperately he wanted to make up for the months when he had not been allowed to.
The sky deepened from lavender to navy, and the temperature dipped just enough to make Willow fold her arms around herself. Zane noticed imdiately and rose to his feet.
"One sec," he murmured before stepping inside.
He returned a minute later carrying two mugs of tea and a folded blanket draped over his arm. The simple dosticity of the image stirred sothing unexpectedly tender inside her chest.
Willow blinked. "You made tea?"
"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I boiled water and put a bag in it. I’m pretending it counts."
She smiled, small and tired but real, and he exhaled slowly as if the sight alone steadied him.
He set the mugs down and unfolded the blanket.
"Here," he murmured as he stepped behind her. "Lean forward a little."
She did, and he draped the blanket carefully over her shoulders. The gentleness of the gesture tightened her throat. He adjusted the fabric slowly, smoothing it once across her back before letting his hands linger in a way she could not quite bring herself to stop.
When she did not flinch, he moved around to her side but remained standing for a mont, watching her carefully and reading every shift in her posture like the pages of a book he had morized years ago.
"May I sit with you?" he asked quietly.
Willow nodded.
He sat beside her again, angling his body behind hers so the narrow bench could hold them both. She leaned back cautiously, testing the closeness as her shoulder and upper back brushed against his chest. He froze for a mont, not from fear but from anticipation. When she did not move away, he finally allowed himself to breathe.
His arm slid around her shoulders slowly, deliberately, offering support rather than claiming space. Willow relaxed into the warmth without thinking, exhaustion softening her bones and loosening the tightness in her breath.
Then ca the mont that broke him quietly and completely.
His other hand hovered above her belly, suspended between longing and hesitation. He whispered her na and then asked in a thin careful voice, "May I?"
Her nod was small but certain.
He touched her gently, tentatively, with hands that had carried guilt far heavier than this fragile warm curve beneath his fingers. His palm rested against her stomach slowly and reverently. For a mont he did not breathe, and neither did she.
Then she placed her hand over his and guided him an inch lower to the place where she felt the baby move most often. Her hand remained over his, grounding him.
A faint flutter passed beneath his fingers. A tiny kick, soft and uncertain but unmistakably real.
Zane inhaled sharply as emotion crashed through him with a force he had not prepared for. His face folded inward and his eyes squeezed shut. His forehead lowered gently to her shoulder, not in drama and not in desperation but in the quiet collapse of a man who had been starving for sothing he did not know how to na.
He held her like that for a long ti. His hand remained steady on her belly while her breathing softened against him and the city humd quietly below them. The night did not solve their problems or erase the past or promise anything certain about the future. But for one rare borrowed hour it gave them sothing they both needed more than sleep or certainty.
It gave them peace.
And peace, for two people who had not known it in months, felt dangerously close to love.
He stayed there long after the city lights dimd, long after Willow’s breathing deepened into the slow rhythm of sleep, long after the tea behind them had gone cold. He stayed because leaving felt impossible and staying felt like the only thing he knew how to do right.
When the night finally settled around them completely, silent and heavy with unspoken truths, they remained in the sa room breathing the sa air and pretending, just for this small borrowed slice of ti, that the world outside was not waiting for them to unravel again.
User Comments
0 comments from readers