I set my coffee down. “In here.”
His footsteps hurry across the hardwood. Then he’s in the doorway, bag still on his shoulder, hair messy, glasses fogged.
We stare at each other. The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re here.”
“Day off. Monday, remember?”
“Right. I barely know what day it is.” He drops his bag just inside the door and shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s good to be home.” He says it quietly, almost to himself.
Gracie trots in, voicing her approval.
He picks her up, scratching under her chin as she sniffs his cheek. He tips his head toward my mug. “Is there more where that came from?”
“Yeah, I just made a pot.” I uncurl from the window seat, my socks sliding on the floor. “Rough flight?”
“Couldn’t sleep last night.”
Yeah. Me neither.
He heads for the kitchen, and I follow.
This should be easier. We’ve talked every night. But in person, he’s taller, closer, and my brain keeps short-circuiting over stupid things. The veins in his hands. The serious line of his brows.
I perch on a stool at the island as Miles opens the cabinet. He pauses, eyes locked on the cup I turned backward, then darts a look over his shoulder at me. I wait for him to fix it. He doesn’t, instead grabbing the mug next to it. I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling.
“How was your week?” He pours his coffee.
I huff a laugh. “You kinda already know. We talked every night.”
He shakes his head. “Right.”
We’re being so careful around each other.
He’s been the best part of my day. His voice on the phone made me forget how tired I was, how far I felt from home. Now,he’s standing six feet away, and I can’t figure out how to close the gap.
“Do you think—” He cuts himself off. “Never mind.”
My brows pull together. “What were you gonna say?”
He sips his coffee, sets it down, then tucks his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.
I wait him out.
“Do you think I could hug you?” he asks.
There’s a pinch in my chest, a swoop in my stomach. A pull toward the edge of something I agreed not to want. Like standing at the top of a skyscraper.
Yeah. I’m in big trouble.
I round the island. He stands straighter, arms open. When I reach him, he pulls me in, my temple against his chest, his minty breath warm against my bare shoulder.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. A smile breaks across my face.
“Fifteen,” he mumbles.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
