I don’t bother to check my hair or touch up my makeup before taking the elevator down to the lobby, studiously ignoring Kimberly’s critical gaze. I probably shouldn’t have informed her of my plans. Through the plate-glass windows, Zed’s truck is visible, and is a beautiful sight for me, and I can’t ignore the excitement I feel to see a familiar face. I’d rather it be Hardin’s, but Zed’s here, and Hardin isn’t.

Zed climbs out of his truck to greet me as soon as I step out of the building. His smile grows as I walk across the sidewalk, and I see that his face is now covered by dark hair. Dressed in black jeans and a gray long-sleeve shirt, he looks as handsome as ever, and I look like death.

“Hey.” He smiles, opening his arms for a hug.

Uncertainty floods through me, but the need to be polite pushes me into his waiting arms.

“It’s been a while,” he says into my hair.

I nod in agreement and ask, “How was your drive?” as I pull back from the embrace.

He blows out a breath. “Long. But I got to listen to some pretty good music on the way.”

He opens the passenger door for me, and I hurry to get inside and out of the cold air. The cab of his truck is warm and smells like him.

“What made you decide to come today instead of tomorrow?” I ask, to begin the conversation as Zed hesitantly pulls into traffic.

“It was just . . . a change of mind, nothing, really.” His eyes dart back and forth between the rearview and the side mirrors.

“Driving in the city is intimidating,” I say to him.

“Yes. Very.” He smiles, still focused on the road.

“Do you know where you want to grab dinner? I haven’t done much exploring yet, so I don’t know where the best spots are.”

I check my phone; nothing from Hardin. So I pull up some restaurant options on an app, and after a couple minutes, Zed and I decide on a small Mongolian Style grill.

I GO WITH the chicken and vegetables and watch in awe as the chef prepares the food in front of us. I’ve never been to a place like this before, and Zed finds that amusing. We’re seated in the very back of the small restaurant, Zed sitting across from me, and we’re both too quiet for it to be comfortable.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him while picking at my food.

Zed’s eyes are soft and full of worry. “I don’t know if I should even bring it up . . . You seem like you’ve got so much going on already, and I want you to have a nice time.”

“I’m fine. Tell me whatever it is that you need to.” I brace myself for the unknown blow I’m sure is about to land.

“Hardin came to my place yesterday.”

“What?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. Why would Hardin do that? And if he did, how is it that Zed is sitting here without any bruises or missing limbs? “What did he want?” I ask.

“To tell me to stay away from you,” he promptly answers.

When I mentioned Zed’s text message to Hardin last night, he seemed so indifferent about the situation. “What time?” I ask, hoping it was after we talked about not keeping things from each other.

“Afternoon, around three.”

I let out an exasperated breath. Sometimes Hardin has no boundaries, and his list of offenses is growing by the second.

I rub my temples, my appetite having disappeared. “What did he say, exactly?”

“That he didn’t care how I did it, or if I hurt your feelings, just that I needed to stay away. He was being so calm, it was kinda freaky.” He stabs his fork at a piece of broccoli and pops it into his mouth.

“And you came here anyway?”

“Yes, I did.”

The testosterone-fueled battle between the two of them is wearing me out, and I’m on the sidelines, trying to keep the peace but failing. “Why?”

His golden eyes meet mine. “Because his threats aren’t going to work on me anymore. He can’t tell me who to be friends with, which is something I hope you feel the same way about.”

I’m beyond irritated that Hardin went to Zed’s apartment like that. I’m even more irritated that he didn’t say anything to me about it, and that he wanted Zed to hurt my feelings and end our friendship while keeping his role in the whole exchange hidden.

“I feel the same about Hardin controlling who I’m friends with.” As the words leave my mouth, Zed’s eyes fill with triumph, which also bothers me. “But, I also think he has good reasons for not wanting us to be friends. Don’t you?”

Zed shakes his head amicably. “Yes and no. I won’t hide my feelings for you, but you know that I don’t push them onto you. I told you that I’ll take what you can give me, and if friendship is all I can get, I’ll live with it.”

“I know you don’t push.” I choose to respond only to half of his statement. Zed never pushes me to do anything, and he never tries to force me into anything, but I hate the way he talks about Hardin.

“Can you say the same for him?” Zed challenges, looking at me intensely.

The urge to defend Hardin makes me say, “No. I can’t. I know how he is, but that’s just who he is.”

“You’re always so quick to defend him. I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to get it,” I say harshly.

“Really?” Zed says quietly and frowns.

“Yes.” I straighten my back and sit up as tall as I can manage.

“It doesn’t bother you how possessive he is? He tells you who you can be friends with . . .”

“It does bother me but—”

“You let him do it.”

“Did you come all the way to Seattle to remind me that Hardin is controlling?”

Zed opens his mouth to speak but closes it.

“What?” I push him.

“He has a claim on you, and I’m worried about you. You seem so stressed out.”

I sigh in defeat. I am stressed, too stressed, but fighting with Zed isn’t going to help anything. It’s only intensifying my frustration. “I’m not going to make excuses for him, but you don’t know anything about our relationship. You don’t see how he is with me. You don’t understand him the way that I do.”

I push my plate away and notice that the couple at the next table over has turned their attention on us. Lowering my voice, I say, “I don’t want to fight with you, Zed. I’m exhausted, and I was really looking forward to spending this time with you.”

He leans back in his chair. “I’m being such a jerk, aren’t I.” he says with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I would blame the drive . . . but that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” My period is due any day now—that must be why I’m so on edge.

“It’s my fault, really.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

Tension still fills the air, and I can’t stop thinking of Hardin, but I’d like to have a nice time, so I ask, “How is everything else going?”

Zed dives into stories about his family and how warm Florida was the last time he visited. The conversation between us reverts to its normal, easy, meandering flow, and the tension evaporates, allowing me to finish my meal.

After we’re done eating and are heading to the exit, Zed asks, “Do you have more plans for the night?”

“Yes, I’m going to Christian’s jazz club. It just opened.”

“Christian?” Zed questions.

“Oh, my boss. That’s who I’m staying with.”

His brow rises. “You’re staying with your boss?”

“Yes, but he went to college with Hardin’s father and he’s a longtime friend of Ken and Karen,” I explain. It hasn’t occurred to me that Zed doesn’t know any of the details about my life. Although he picked me up after Christian’s surprise engagement party for Kimberly, he doesn’t know anything about them.

“Oh, so that’s how you got a paid internship, then?”

Ouch. “Yes.” I admit.

“Well, it’s awesome either way.”

“Thanks.” I stare out the window and pull my cell phone from my purse. Still nothing. “What else do you plan on doing while you’re in Seattle?” I ask in the middle of trying to explain which roads to take to get us to Christian and Kimberly’s house. I give up after a few minutes and type the address into my phone. The screen freezes, and the power shuts off twice before the device finally cooperates.