Chapter 2

Two months had passed since Zoe "fell" into this world, and she had decided that if this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. Life as an eleven-year-old was surprisingly busy, mostly because her neighbor, Chris, was far more interesting than any of the dolls or embroidery kits her mother tried to foist upon her.

By now, she had mapped out every inch of the estate—and more importantly, the quickest path over the garden wall to the neighboring grounds.

"Chris! Catch me!"

Chris looked up from his notebook just in time to see a flurry of white lace and tangled limbs descending from the old oak tree. He didn't even have time to set his pen down before Zoe landed squarely in his lap, sending them both tumbling onto the grass.

"Oof!" Chris groaned, his back hitting the turf. "Zoe... you have a ladder. We literally bought a ladder for this exact reason."

Zoe, pinned against his chest and feeling a very non-fictional flutter in her stomach, just grinned. She felt the steady, warm thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear. "Ladders are for side characters, Chris. Protagonists make grand entrances."

Chris sighed, but he didn't move to push her off. Instead, he reached up and plucked a stray leaf out of her hair, his fingers lingering just a second too long. "And what if I hadn't caught you? You'd be a protagonist with a very bruised royal backside."

"But you did catch me," Zoe countered, her heart doing a little victory lap. Classic trope, she thought. The 'Falling into His Arms' event: Check. "Because you’re the devoted neighbor who can’t stand to see me get a scratch. It’s in your character description."

Chris chuckled, a low, warm sound that made Zoe’s ears turn pink. "My character description? You’ve been reading those penny dreadfuls again. I’m just a guy trying to study the circulatory system while a tiny hurricane falls from the sky."

He nudged the heavy medical textbook resting near his hip. He was fourteen now, his jawline starting to sharpen and his shoulders getting broader, while Zoe was twelve—still small, but increasingly bold.

"So," Zoe said, propping her chin on his chest. "What are we writing today? Is it a poem about my grace and beauty? Or perhaps a sonnet about how much you enjoy my company?"

"It’s a list," Chris said, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"A list of my charms?"

"A list of every apple you’ve stolen from my family’s orchard this month. We’re up to twenty-four. My father thinks we have a very specific, very hungry ghost."

Zoe gasped, offended. "I am a Duke’s daughter! I don't steal. I... reallocate resources. Besides, your apples taste better because they’re 'forbidden fruit.' It adds flavor."

Chris laughed and finally sat up, bringing her with him. They sat in the grass, the afternoon sun golden and syrupy around them.

"Flavor, huh?" Chris teased, picking up his pen. "Is that why you were trying to climb the high branch? The 'forbidden' factor is higher up there?"

"Exactly. The ones at the top get the most sun," Zoe explained with mock seriousness. She leaned over to look at his notebook. It was filled with a mix of complex medical diagrams and beautiful, flowing stanzas of poetry. "I still don't get how you do both. One minute you're talking about heart valves, and the next you're writing about the way the moonlight looks on the lake."

Chris looked at his hands, then at her. He gave her a small, lopsided smile—the kind that always made Zoe forget what she was about to say. "Well, someone has to be able to fix a broken heart and write a song for it, right? It’s called being versatile."

"Well, Mr. Versatile," Zoe said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the manor. "The sun is going down, which means it’s time for you to play that new song on the piano. And if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have one of your own apples back."

"How generous of you," Chris laughed, letting her lead him away.

As they ran toward the house, their laughter echoing through the garden, Zoe felt a surge of pure, unadulterated happiness. This was her world now—a world of music, stolen fruit, and a boy who always seemed to be exactly where she needed him to be.

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