“What… no!” Miles splutters. A part of him is impressed with Calvin’s ability to deflect, though he’s mostly horrified. “How’d you even get that from what I said? Oh my god, who hurt you?”
“Okay, relax,” Calvin says. “I’m kidding.”
Miles’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, and he focuses on the road ahead. Brown Sugar’s at the end of the street. It’s part of a two-story apartment building with the bakery on the ground floor; its front windows are wide and clean, its awning striped with maroon and white, like Miles had last seen it.
“I would love to paint for you.” Miles parks in front of the bakery. “But, yeah, I need to focus on helping my family out.”
“I get it,” Calvin says. “But if you’re ever back to taking commissions, let’s talk.”
Let’s talk—Calvin says it so casually, as if it’s no big deal, as if he’s literally not part of a band that Miles has been obsessed with for years.
He tells Calvin he’ll be quick and gets a slight shrug in return.
The bells on top of the doors chime when he enters, and Matthew, who’s by the cash register, immediately looks up.
Matthew’s eyes widen when they land on him. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were in town. You here to pick up the boxes?”
“Hello. Yeah.”
He looks the same as last time they saw each other—thick red hair, tall, broad-shouldered, sharp jawline, and still unsure of how to act around Miles. Despite Matthew’s attempted nonchalance at seeing Miles, he fumbles with the door to the back room. He comes out with six boxes stacked in his arms, and Miles rushes to take half from him.
“How long are you staying?” Matthew asks, leading the way outside. He opens the door with a shoulder.
“Indefinitely. Until the inn’s back on its feet.”
“… I see.” There’s something unspoken there. Matthew probably knows as much as he does that’s not going to be easy.
When Calvin spots them carrying all the boxes, he gets out of the car. “Those are going in the backseat, right? I’ll put your mom’s socks away.”
He opens the backdoor and reaches in to toss said socks to the floor. It would be embarrassing if Miles wasn’t already so spent by how peculiar this morning’s been. Miles grimaces and says, “Thanks. My silly mom, really.”
“Aren’t you…?” Matthew stares at Calvin. “You’re from Cloverlily, right? Jesus, please tell me Miles didn’t kidnap you.”
“For your information, he got into my car willingly.” It was a choice between him and a small crowd of fans, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Calvin, this is Matthew. He’s our supplier for baked goods.”
“Hello.” Calvin helps them with the boxes, and Miles takes a moment to take this in. He can’t believe Calvin Lowe, of all people, is helping to stack boxes of baked goods into the back of his car. And he made him a checklist—a plan for the inn. And accompanied him to the bank. And also touched his socks twice that day.
It’s so… fucking bizarre.
Miles wouldn’t mind another morning like this.
Chapter Five
On Friday night, Gabby texts him nonstop. He is in his house, on his laptop, googling ideas on how to get more bookings. He gets nothing. She’s asking where he is, and if he’s even coming, or if he bailed.
Right. The bonfire’s starting. Gabby texts that Calvin’s there, and that’s what gets Miles to finally shut his laptop and get up.
When he gets to the bonfire, she waves him over immediately. The fire’s already crackling, and drinks and snacks are being handed around. It’s a mellow gathering, like it usually is—there are locals, as well as a few tourists. A local band is playing, and the sweet smell of s’mores is in the air. It contrasts the usual bars where his coworkers back in the city drag him to, and he can’t complain.
Standing beside Gabby is Calvin.
“Hiii!” Gabby says. “What took you so long!?”
“Lost track of time,” he says.
Gabby’s about to say something, and then she flinches and hereyes narrow. She’s looking somewhere behind Miles and he frowns, confused. He turns his head—
“No, don’t,” Calvin says.
