Page 68 of Cut Off
“You gonna be okay?” she asks, voice low.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
She laughs. “I’ll be fine. I’m a workaholic with separation anxiety. I’ll cry for a week, then start terrorizing my new staff. My question is about you and Eli.”
I take a long breath, thinking about what this will mean for Eli, and I hate that thought. But she has to go, and I don’t want to guilt her, so I say, “He’ll be fine.”
She bumps my leg with hers. “I won’t disappear on him. He can still video call me at bedtime to discuss the viability of constructing an electric jetpack.”
“Good.” I clear my throat, the word like sawdust in my mouth.
She leans her head back. “I talked to Maddie. She said she can take over through the rest of spring and summer, if that works for you.”
I process that. Maddie works at the Dickens’s Daycare, so she has a lot of experience. “That’s… actually not a terrible idea.”
Zoe nods. “Good.”
I avoid her gaze. “Good.”
We sit, breathing the same air, the silence thick.
I don’t want her to leave. Eli will be devastated.
But I know she has to go—this is her dream. I can’t stop her, and I’m not going to try. I just hope two weeks is enough to get this mess of feelings for her out of my system.
She stands, stretching, and pulls her sweater over her head. She looks back at me, one hand still on the fridge, hair wild, eyes soft. “You hungry? I can make a sandwich.”
I almost laugh, then realize she’s giving me an out, a way to reset the mood. I want her, obviously, but I also want this—the routine, the banter, the quiet company of someone who makes the house feel warm.
“Yeah.” I stand and pull my jeans back on. “But only if you make it with that weird vegan mayo you’re hiding in the fridge.”
She scoffs. “That stuff is a health miracle. You’re welcome in advance.”
She’s already moving, efficient and bossy, and I can’t help but watch her, every motion, every toss of her hair. I want to memorize all of it, store it in case I need to go cold turkey come January.
I grab a couple of plates and set them on the counter, right where we just completely wrecked each other. My back burns where her nails left marks, and I like that it hurts. I like the reminder.
She slaps a sandwich together, then slides it across the counter to me. “Eat up, Holt. You look like you’re about to faint.”
I take a big bite, mostly to keep my mouth busy. We eat standing up, side by side, elbows bumping, like it’s any other Tuesday. But it isn’t. Everything’s changed, and we both know it.
She takes two small bites of her sandwich, dabs a napkin to her mouth, then turns to face me.
“So, I won’t be good at keeping my hands off you now,” I admit, dropping down beside her.
She leans in, kisses my jaw, and smiles, all lazy and smug. “Good. Because I really, really like your hands.”
Zoe heads upstairs to shower, and I watch her disappear into the hallway, sweater draped over her shoulder.
I lean against the counter, heartbeat racing, and try to wrap my head around what just happened.
20
Blastman
ZOE
Anine-year-old superhero named Blastman sits in my backseat, and he has informed me, twice now, that Blastman does not respond to the name Eli for the duration of this mission.
