Miles steps closer, blocking me from the wind.
He reaches up, slow enough that I could stop him, and brushes a strand of hair off my face. His fingers graze my cheek before he tucks it behind my ear. It’s the first time he’s touched me since that night.
He’s close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises.
I close my eyes and let myself pretend the last two weeks didn’t happen. That he didn’t cut off whatever this thing is between us. That this is something I’mallowedto want. That I can actually have it.
His thumb traces my cheekbone, so light I might be imagining it.
Then it’s gone.
When I open my eyes, his hands are tucked into his pockets, but he’s still looking at me.
“Hey,” he starts, his voice low. “I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think we could talk?”
Another gust blows snow into the air around us, giving me an excuse to look away.
“Yeah, maybe later, at home?”
He nods, tipping his head toward the bar. “We should get back in there.”
We’re locked out from this side, so Miles leads me to the front entrance, holding the door open and guiding me through with a hand on my lower back. His palm spreads wide against my spine, and I have to concentrate very hard on walking in a straight line.
Someone laughs too close to my ear, and a shoulder bumps mine as they pass. After being with Miles, just the two of us, Iwelcome too many people. It makes him feel like another person in the room. But even as I tell myself that, I know it’s a lie.
His hand drops from my back as we return to the group.
Mia raises an eyebrow, her eyes darting to his shirt that I’m still wearing. I yank it over my head and shove it into Miles’s chest. He slings it over one shoulder, like it’s nothing.
Thank God, Hannah saves me from staring at him any longer. She pulls me into a hug, squeezing tight enough that I wheeze, gushing about the performance and already planning the next open mic. Ada wants to know more about my original song. Natalie’s singingMan! I Feel Like a Woman!completely off-key.
I nod. Answer. Smile. Try to harmonize with Natalie… but that’s a challenge.
Miles stands a few feet away, talking to Dominic and Easton. But I feel him watching me. Every time I glance over, his eyes are already on mine.
I’m hyperaware of every move I make, which makes it hard to focus on what Hannah’s saying.
Someone hands me a drink I didn’t order. I take it on autopilot, wrapping both hands around the cold glass.
Miles drifts closer until I can feel the heat of him beside me. When someone jostles him from behind, his arm comes around me on instinct, stopping just short of touching me again.
He pulls back. I don’t know if he notices, but I do. The space between us feels physical. I track every shift of his weight, every lift of his drink, every time he adjusts his glasses.
The conversation starts to get fuzzy. Not from alcohol, my beer is still mostly full. Just… everything else. The performance. Miles’s eyes on me all night. The alley. The silence between us that’s saying more than either of us will.
An hour later, I’m mid-yawn when Mia asks if I want to order a coffee.
I shake my head and bring a hand to my mouth, covering another yawn. “All right, y’all, I’m gonna head out.”
“Me, too.” Miles takes my glass and places it on the bar with his.
I’m not sure whether it’s nerves or excitement fluttering around my stomach. Definitely nerves.
Hannah protests, and Natalie asks if I’m sure, but I’m already slipping on my coat, guitar case in one hand, keys in the other.
Miles says his goodbyes quicker and is waiting by the door when I finish mine. He takes my guitar when I reach him.
Outside, I pad across the parking lot, gripping my keys tightly. Miles is behind me, close enough that I can hear him breathe, see puffs of white air in my peripheral vision.
