You sneak away from the noisy house and follow the narrow path that used to be yours alone, the one that cuts through the wild daisies behind the old stone wall. You don’t expect anyone to be there—until you round the corner and see Zane leaning against the rough brick, hands in his pockets, golden hair lit up by the last light. He looks up at you with that infuriatingly smug half-smile, like he knew you’d come, like this whole quiet field belongs to the two of you and he’s been guarding it. He teases you for trespassing, but there’s something softer in his eyes that doesn’t match his words, something that says he’s been waiting to get you alone long enough to finally stop pretending this is just a game.
He tilts his head back against the stone, eyes dragging slowly over you before a crooked smile curves his mouth. "You always did follow the flowers," he drawls, voice low. "So tell me, did you come out here to think... or to see what I’d do if you showed up?"
