“Right now,” I confirm, crossing one leg over the other and folding my hands. “You and me. All cards on the table. No more running, no more hiding, no more letting ancient history run the show.”
There’s a beat of silence. He looks…nervous but not scared. Like he’s been waiting for this, too.
“Okay,” he says, voice steady. “Let’s do it.”
I take a breath.
“Why did you leave?” I ask because I have to start somewhere, and that’s the wound that never quite closed.
He’s quiet for a second, the way he always is when he’s making sure he gets it right.
“When I left Sleighbell Springs, it wasn’t because of you,” he starts, and already my chest is too tight. “I know it felt like I just…disappeared, and I guess I did. But it wasn’t about not loving you. It was about not knowing who I was. I was scared, May.”
He looks at me, searching for something. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe just a lifeline.
“I was scared that if I stayed, I’d never figure myself out. I’d just keep pretending to be the Miles everyone expected, and I’d drag you down with me. So I ran. It was a dick move, and I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for a long time.”
There’s a lump in my throat the size of a grapefruit. I look away, try to play it cool, but my hands are shaking where they’re clasped over my knee.
“And what did you figure out,” I ask, forcing my voice to steady, “out there in the big wide world?”
He laughs, but it’s not unkind. “That the problem wasn’t Sleighbell Springs. Or you. It was me. I thought if I could just…get out, I’d finally be free. But I was just as lost in Chicago, and Boston, and LA, and Denver, and any of the handful of other places I landed, as I was here. Maybe even more lost, because I didn’t have you to ground me.” He nudges my knee with his. “The thing is, I never stopped loving you. Not for one second. But I had to learn how to actually be with you, you know? Not just…coast along and hope for the best. I’m done running, May. I want to do this right.”
The hope in his eyes is so bright it hurts. I want to believe him. God, I want it so much it’s embarrassing.
But I’m not done. Not yet.
“Do you have any idea what that felt like?” I manage, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Watching you leave? Waiting for a call that never came? I thought I wasn’t enough. For you, for anyone.”
He reaches for my hand, slow and careful, like he’s half-expecting me to slap it away. “I’m sorry. I can’t ever make that right, but I can promise not to do it again.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles, and it’s almost too much.
“I don’t want you to promise,” I whisper, and wow, look at me, getting all vulnerable and shit. “I want you to prove it.”
He smiles, soft and certain. “Tell me how.”
The air thickens with all the things we never said. I take a breath, staring at the tangled mess of my own hands.
“We get to know each other again,” I say, voice steadier now. “For real this time. No playing house. No pretending the past didn’t happen. We go slow. We do it right. And if you ever feel the urge to run, you talk to me first. Deal?”
He squeezes my hand, and for once, he doesn’t joke. “Deal.”
There’s a beat of silence, warm and sweet. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something’s about to snap.
Then he grins. “We can still make out in weird places, though, right? Because I have to tell you, that supply closet was life-changing.”
I bark out a laugh, the tension draining from my shoulders like old champagne. “Miles, darling, if you think I’m giving up my favorite extracurricular activities, you have deeply misunderstood my priorities.”
He leans in, lips brushing my jaw, voice low and teasing. “Just making sure. You know I live for your approval.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s all for show. Inside, I’m so soft for him it’s embarrassing.
“I swear, if you ever use the word ‘approval’ in a sexual context again, I’m docking points from your boyfriend application.”
He hums against my neck, tongue tracing the edge of my jaw. “Is that what this is? An interview?”
I push him back just enough to look him in the eye. “Miles Dalton, you are on the world’s weirdest probation. There are forms. There are evaluations. I may or may not have already started a spreadsheet.”
