He just came, and he did that because I phoned him, and suddenly, it’s incredibly important to me that I acknowledge this fully.
“Locke?”
He takes a sip of wine. “Zara?”
”You came when I called."
The words come out more tentative than I intend, and his expression changes immediately. Something deep and unreadable moves behind those gray eyes.
"Of course I did,” he says simply. “You needed me.”
He says it as though there had never been another possibility. As though not coming was utterly absurd. My throat tightens, because nobody has ever answered me like that before.
Nobody.
And now I think about last night, about the almost-kiss, and his hand on my cheek. About the way he looked when my father interrupted us, and as I remember that heat, something shifts inside me.
Maybe it's th
