“Seriously, though, that’s crazy. You should be able to be authentic with your music, to explore all the things you think and feel,” I say. The more I mull this over, the more riled up I’m getting. “This is a part of the problem with sexism, you know. It’s not just that women are sexually harassed or not paid fairly. It’s that men aren’t allowed to be vulnerable without getting pushback for not being manly all the time. I mean, there’s a time for manly, but there’s a time for gentle, too.”
“I know, and I agree with you,” he says with a sigh. “But I’m also running a business and selling a product that I need to market. And, like Chip said, it’s easier to market an edgy rock star than an emotionally nuanced one.”
“But so many songs are about feelings other than anger or manliness or whatever,” I counter, hating that he’s under pressure to move away from something that feels authentic for him. “Men are singing about their emotions every time I turn on the radio.”
Zack shrugs. “I guess not as openly as I am. Apparently, my heart is on my sleeve in an uncool way.”
My own heart skips a beat, but I don’t know what to say.
I want to tell him that I love men who wear their hearts on their sleeve and that I don’t give a shit about being “cool,” but he might take that the wrong way. I do love men like that, but I also love decent, average guys. Men who would be content to live out the rest of their lives in the same small town and come home to their wife and children every night.
I’m already so into Zack that being apart from him for a few hours leaves me anxious to be back in his arms. If he were gone on tour, away on the road for a month or more between visits, I would be miserable.
And if I’m miserable, I won’t be capable of being the kind of mother I want to be.
So call this off, crazy. Stop trying to get pregnant before it’s too late.
But it might already be too late—sperm can live inside a woman for as long as five days, and I’m due to ovulate any second now—and I don’t want to stop.
I want Zack’s baby.
I want Zack in every way I can have him for as long as I can have him, even if it’s only for another day or two.
“I’ll call Theo,” I finally whisper, “and ask her to pick me up on Saturday. That gives us two more nights, but you’ll still have an entire week to write new songs without being distracted.”
Pain flashes behind his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“I want your solo career to be wildly successful, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to support that.” I force a smile. “Besides, I should probably get home and focus on the job hunt. I have money in savings, but more than a few months without income will make things tight.”
He tips his head forward, sending his hair sliding into his eyes, shielding his expression as he says, “All right. But let’s make the most of the time we have left.”
“Heck, yes, we will,” I say, ignoring the tightness in my chest.
This is for the best. And two nights is a long time. We can still make tons of new memories in two nights.
As if reading my mind, Zack sweeps me into his arms, making me laugh as I hook my elbow over his shoulder “What’s this for?”
“I’m taking you into protective custody,” he says.
“Protective custody?”
“From the snakes.” He starts across the grass toward the highest point in the orchard, a rise with a killer view of the surrounding mountains.
“Right. The snakes,” I say, my breath rushing out. “You made me forget about snakes.” My lips quirk into a wry grin. “Until you reminded me, of course.”
“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “I’ll make you forget again.”
And after we spread out our picnic blanket, he does, sliding his hand under my dress and into my panties, teasing me until I’m begging him to take me. So he does, both of us naked in the sunshine with the smell of warm apples and grass filling the air, making me feel like Eve before she was kicked out of the garden.
“If only she’d been more afraid of snakes,” I murmur as Zack and I lie side by side afterward, our fingers hooked together, catching our breath.
“What’s that?”
“Eve.” I roll my head to the left to catch his gaze. “If she’d been more afraid of snakes, maybe we’d still be in the Garden of Eden. Naked and unashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed,” he whispers, making my stomach flip.
“Me, either.”
“And I don’t really believe in that stuff,” he says with a half-smile. “I think we make our own heaven. Or our own hell. Right here on earth. Depending on how we decide to spend our time.”