Friday night flight, direct to Banff. Zane caught my arm as I was booking rooms.
"Zo, book two."
"One. Save the money."
Zane coughed delicately. "But... one room. You're not scared of me?"
I tilted my face up and studied him for a solid three seconds. "Scared? Oh, I'm terrified. Your medical history, Zane. If you get a nosebleed at altitude again, I'll spend the whole trip nursing you."
His face went pink. "That was a one-time fluke! I'm in peak condition now. Don't believe me? You could always test—"
We both froze. Our eyes met. Both of us were red.
I pinched him. Hard. "What is wrong with you."
He mumbled an apology. "Sorry. That came out wrong."
The lodge was all timber and warm lamplight, old-fashioned and cozy. Wooden bed by the window—look up, and there were stars. Then I turned around and saw Zane, and the air got thick.
"So, uh. You want the shower first?"
He turned to unpack, mumbling at the wall. "You go ahead."
I grabbed my towel and went, no argument. Halfway through washing my hair, it hit me. Hold on. What was that conversation back there? It's not like we've never shared a bed before.
But that night—maybe it was the unfamiliar room, maybe it was whatever Zane was doing with his face—I could not fall asleep. I rolled onto my back. And Zane rolled over too.
"Zo..."
"Don't you dare talk!"
I could not survive another one of his lines tonight.
"Oh." The saddest "oh" I'd ever heard. Then, quietly, his pinky hooked mine.
"I feel like I'm eight again. First school field trip—too excited to sleep. Grandma packed me sausage sticks and Jell-O cups and snack packs, two of everything. I gave it all to you."
I smiled in the dark. "That's because Mom banned me from snacks."
I never understood it as a kid. Why could Zane eat snacks and I couldn't? Mom's line was always the same: snacks ruin your dinner. Zane was never picky—he wouldn't even take the snacks Grandma bought him. I used to get so mad about it I'd accuse Mom of playing favorites. Of loving Zane more than me. She'd get mad enough to put me in time-out, but could never bring herself to actually swat me.
Talking about it untangled something in my chest. Zane's voice was extra gentle in the dark. "Zo, remember? Peach Jell-O. Always your favorite."
"Obviously I remember." Still my favorite, actually.
Zane hesitated. Started and stopped. "Zo... the toothpaste I used tonight. It's peach flavored."
I whipped my head around. Zane was staring at me, eyes burning, the tips of his ears pink over pale skin. He leaned in, inch by inch, until we were sharing the same air. I could hear my own heartbeat going wild. The moment his warm mouth started to close in, I caught his face with my palm.
"Nope! Early morning tomorrow!"
The mood was perfect. Way too perfect. One more inch and there'd be no coming back.
Zane went still. Then the corners of his eyes crinkled, slow, and his shoulders started to shake. He was holding in a laugh.
I smacked him. "What's so funny?!"
He didn't dodge. He grinned, big and bright. "Zo, I just wanted a kiss. That's all I wanted, I swear. And your mom doesn't know we're dating yet. So however much I want more, I'll wait. Promise."
I rolled over, back to him, and buried my burning ears in the pillow. "Zane, why are you so chatty?! Zip the lips and sleep!"
Like I could ever admit the person scared of losing control was me. Mortifying.
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