He was still lovely, though. Still kind and soft and funny in his easy, golden-boy way. But he wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I typed a small reply back.
Me: Thank you, Miles :)
Me: I won’t party or nerd out without you.
Miles: Good.
Me: have fun wherever you’re going, stay safe.
Miles: Thank you!
And then I set my phone aside, the quiet wrapping around me again.
The smile stayed, faint but steady.
Not because of Miles. Because for once it didn’t hurt to let go.
Because somewhere upstairs, there was a boy who’d once been the storm in my life and now, somehow, without even trying, he’d become the calm after it.
—
Joshua
The kitchen looked like a goddamn warzone.
Flour everywhere: on the counter, on the floor, somehow even in my hair. Honey was perched on the stool, her tiny paws dusted white as if she’d been helping, when really, she was just making it worse.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, swiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re just as bad.”
She meowed, innocent as hell, tail flicking as if mocking me.
I turned back to the disaster in front of me. The cake. Her cake. Half-mixed batter splattered across the marble, measuring cups scattered as if I’d performed surgery instead of baking. The oven timer blinked at me: seven minutes left.
Seven.
How hard could this be?
Apparently, really fucking hard.
I went out to buy everything, even stuff I’d never use again. Like the damn stand mixer I didn’t know how to use.
Useless. But I ended up mixing with a damn whisk with my own fucking hands, and my arms are about to fall off my—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Shit.”
I froze, turning to look at the door as if it had personally betrayed me. The oven ticked again. The smell of half-baked vanilla hit me, too sweet, too early.
Honey jumped down from the stool, landing in the flour and leaving tiny white paw prints across the floor like some festive crime scene.
“Perfect,” I groaned, wiping my hands on a towel that was already filthy.
Knock. Knock.
“Okay, okay—”
