Too Close for Comfort

Summer: Day 28

Summer: Day 28

Mack's POV:

My head feels like it's going to combust as I wake up to the sound of pots and pans, as well as the familiar scent of coffee and pancakes. Only, this time I'm not the one cooking them and I'm sick off a hangover.

Crap. Last night.

Double crap.

Groggily, I hook my legs over the side of my bed and force myself up. Somehow I find my way into the kitchen in one piece, smiling lazily at the sight before me. Zachariah is moving frantically around the kitchen trying not to burn the pancakes on the stove. What did I do to have God create such a beautiful man for me?

I sit down on the barstool until he notices my presence. "Oh, hey," he says, looking a little flustered when he sees me hold in a laugh.

"Hey bub," I say smugly, raising an eyebrow. "Nice apron, you definitely got all the cake."

"I made us breakfast," he chirps, a dimple in his smile as he ignores my tantalizing comment. "How are you feeling?"

"Got a pounding headache and weak limbs," I reply, stretching. "I'd say I'm not too bad."

Zachariah chuckles, putting a stack of pancakes on a plate for me. "I tried," he says, scratching his head. "I followed the directions on the box and stuff, but you never know." He then pours us cups of coffee and settles down in the barstool next to me, placing a couple tablets of Tylenol on the counter.

"Thank you," I murmur, placing a kiss on his cheek.

He stills at my actions and turns his head towards me, his hands fidgeting with the hair tie that I now know the meaning of. "Who's Deacon?"

Right. I mentioned him last night. "My boss at work," I explain, stuffing my mouth with a bite of pancakes so I don't have to reply any time soon.

"And he thinks you're pretty? What kinda creep says that on your first day?" he asks, baffled. "You would think he had a little more human decency than to hit on someone as young as you—"

"You're twenty," I shrug. "He's twenty-two."

"And you're eighteen, Kenz. I don't care if the guy is eighteen or thirty, I don't like when guys flirt with you—not unless that guy is me," he says, clenching his jaw so it's taut. "Not that I wanna be possessive or anything because I don't own you, but it took us a long time to get where we are. So you know, I'd really freaking appreciate it if life was fair for once and let us enjoy each other."

I shake my head at his rant and stare into his blue irises with the emotion only he can make me feel. "Nothing can ever change how I feel about you."

He sucks in a breath of air and visibly relaxes. "Really?"

I nod, licking my lips. "You have every first, Zachariah. I wouldn't change that for the world."

"I really fucking like you, Mackenzie. I want us to work," he whispers, searching my eyes as he usually does. "Please, let us work." And though he was talking to me, I couldn't help but think he was talking to life itself. It was as if he was asking for the stars to align and let us be—to let us work.

It takes me a minute to process everything he wants, in the long run. And for that, I need an answer to my questions. "Then why did you shut me out back then?" I ask, almost incoherent. "Nevermind—you don't have to answer that."

Zachariah grabs one of my hands and places it over his heart. Thump thump, thump thump. "See," he whispers, his heartbeat quickening with every passing second. "Because this is what you do to me, and fuck I was scared as hell about what could happen if I let myself feel it too deeply."