Half a Heart

Chapter Seven

By now, it was just about 10:30 in the morning, and when Zayn and I headed up the stairs, Waliyha and Safaa were getting ready to head off to school. I knew that my face was still flushed and I looked like I was hiding a dirty secret, but I tried disguising it.

When Zayn's mum left to drop the kids off at school and went to work, Zayn and I were sat on the recliner in his bedroom, him rubbing tiny circles into my thigh and my eyes drifting sleepily closed.

"That was nice," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek.

"Mmmm," I breathed as his nose grazed my chin, "We'll have to do it again sometime."

He slipped his hand in mine, our fingers entangling, "Except next time we'll have a chance to finish."

We snuggled closer together, the whole world on mute except for the sounds of our breathing.

-

His voice stirring me from the restful state I was in, Zayn asked, "Do you wanna do something today or stay in?"

"Umm, how about we go somewhere?" I figured, why not.

"Where do you wanna go?"

I tilted my head back and forth for a few moments, puffing out my cheeks in thought.

"You wanna go to Bayside? I heard they have a bunch of new stuff. We could walk around and grab lunch, be back by the time the girls get back from school."

Zayn didn't have to ponder the notion for very long before he got up to find some jeans to put on. "Sounds like a plan, Brookie," he said, playfully mussing my hair.

"Um, wait," I said, realizing something.

"I kinda don't have anything to wear here..?"

Zayn turned around, his shirt around his shoulders. He put on a phony accent, ignoring my giggles as he proclaimed, "Vy not just vear vut you vore yesterday?"

I looked at him seriously. "You're kidding right?

And that's how we ended up driving two miles back to my flat so I could change into a clean gray sweater, a pair of shorts, and my favorite black toms.

I threw on an infinity scarf and tied my hair back with a big black bow (http://www.polyvore.com/m/set?.embedder=5634583&.svc=copypaste&id=68421653), and then we went back on his motorcycle to head over to Bayside.

When we got there, there were about a dozen food trucks parked by the entrance. I spotted a few of my favorites, like Flour Power, The Cupcakery, and Mexicana. But before we ate, I wanted to walk around-- it was barely twelve o clock.

We wandered around for the best of about an hour and a half, winding through a tight maze of indie boutiques and little-known stores; nothing much catching our eye. Even though Zayn was interested in the beginning, I could tell that he was getting bored and so I suggested we stop off somewhere.

"Do you wanna head back over to the food trucks or find a little stand or something?" I offered, as we stood on a big stone patio overlooking the bay, ships and passengers crowding the clear inlet towards the shore.

I noticed he wasn't paying attention, enraptured in the calm surf of the water. His eyes scoped the area, making it look as if he was detailing a sketch with only his vision. The look of pure concentration was etched into his chiseled features, a look usually reserved only for when he was drawing or painting. He looked absolutely breathtaking.

As if I were surprised.

"You should draw it," I blurted out. I hadn't meant to snap him out of focus.

Zayn smiled, rubbing his thumb against my hand that was clasped within his. "Nah. I mean, I don't think I could do this scene justice."

"I think you could," I pondered aloud, "I think it would be beautiful."

He squinted up at the sunlight, taking one last mental snapshot of the bay before turning around towards the pathway that lead to the restaurants. "Maybe-- I mean I guess it can be a project for a rainy day."

We wound through the food truck pavilion into a stretch of high-end restaurants. Zayn surveyed the nearest one, some sort of Tuscan grill, and motioned towards it.

"You wanna?"

"It looks kinda fancy," I blushed, "I don't think we're really dressed--"

Zayn took my hand and pulled me in towards him, his face almost against mine. Even though we were surrounded by people, I felt as if we were the only two there.

His scruff tickling my cheek, he whispered throatily against my ear, sending shivers up my spine.

"C'mon," he breathed, "Trust me."

And I did.

So in we went.

I felt relieved as soon as we walked in because there were all sorts of people in their, their attire ranging from formal to casual to downright homeless.

After we booked a table for two and sat down, I opened my napkin against my lap and looked around. I reached my hand across the table, interlocking my fingers into his. "This is nice," I mused, "like a real date."

Zayn kinked his eyebrow at me, pulling his hands away as he spotted a waitress coming our way.

She was blonde and curvaceous, bouncing in all the right places as she sauntered up to our table. All that besides the fact that she looked as if she'd used a jumbo sharpie for her eyeliner.

I already didn't like her, and it didn't help when she kept making goo-goo eyes at Zayn.

I'm pretty sure Zayn noticed her blatant attempts at flirting, but he kept his head down and his hand in mine as we ordered.

As soon as she skipped away, I rolled my eyes. "What is this, a classy restaurant or Hooters?"

Zayn smiled, "Don't worry, Brookie," he taunted softly, "I'm not going anywhere."

I looked into his warm brown eyes, the flecks of hazel drawing me in.

"I sure hope not."