Strings and Schemes

Chapter 29

I roll my eyes, but the way he smirks at me makes my stomach flip anyway. By the time we make it to the terrace, the morning sun is high, the sea sparkling like a painting. Zayn places two strong, foamy Greek coffees on the table, along with bowls of thick, creamy yogurt drizzled with golden honey and sprinkled with walnuts. The scent of fresh fruit lingers in the air, mingling with the rich bitterness of the coffee.

I take a sip and wince. "You could have warned me it was this strong."

Zayn snickers, already halfway through his cup. "You asked for the full experience."

"I feel like I just took a shot of pure caffeine."

"That's the point."

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling as I take another careful sip, the warmth settling in my chest.

We eat lazily, taking in the view, letting the morning stretch long and slow. I watch as Zayn leans back in his chair, looking utterly at peace, the sun kissing his skin, his bare foot tapping lazily against mine under the table.

"You know," he muses, twirling a spoonful of honey into his yogurt, "I had this whole itinerary planned for today."

I raise a brow. "You, making a plan? That's new."

"Hey," he protests. "I can be organized."

I laugh. "Okay, what's the plan, then?"

He grins, leaning forward on his elbows. "First, we explore the town, maybe do some shopping—you still need a dress for our fancy dinner later."

"Fancy dinner?" I echo.

He ignores me. "Then, we take the boat out and find a secluded beach. Just us, the sunset, and a picnic."

A warmth spreads through my chest. He planned this. Not just an activity, but a whole moment.

"You're ridiculous," I murmur.

His smirk softens into something quieter, something real. "Maybe. But I like spoiling you."

I can't help but feel that he is giving me so much more than I could ever give him.

The streets of Milos are painted in white and blue, winding alleys filled with bright pink bougainvillea, and the scent of fresh-baked pastries lingering in the air. We wander aimlessly, hand in hand, stopping to admire small boutiques, old churches, and the occasional lazy cat stretched out in the sun.

I buy a silver ring with a tiny opal from a local artist, slipping it onto my middle finger. Zayn watches, then wordlessly hands the vendor more cash and grabs another ring, this one a simple gold band. He slides it onto his own finger without a word.

I arch a brow. "Matching rings? Are we that couple now?"

He smirks, flexing his fingers. "Maybe."

I roll my eyes, but the sight of him wearing a ring he picked out just because makes my stomach twist in the best way.

As the sun dips low, casting everything in golden hues, Zayn leads me down a hidden path to a tiny, secluded cove. The water is impossibly clear, the sand soft beneath my toes as we set up the picnic blanket, a spread of olives, cheese, fresh bread, and a bottle of wine between us.

"You really went all out," I murmur, watching as he pours two glasses.

He shrugs, a little sheepish. "I wanted to do something nice."

I squeeze his hand. "You always do."

For a while, we just sit there, listening to the waves, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange.