I stand and wrap my arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
“And you?” my mom asks softly. “What do you want?”
I exhale and sit back down. “I enjoyed spending time with her. More than I expected.” My throat tightens. “I wanted to keep pretending because it felt good. Because I enjoyed it. But somewhere along the way, I fell for her.” My voice cracks. “She doesn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want you all thinking I had this perfect relationship when I don’t.”
Melanie snorts. “That’s what you’re confessing?”
I blink. “What?”
She sits on the couch next to me, resting a hand on mine. “Miles, not one single thing about you and Nora looked fake. You can’t fake chemistry. If so, give that woman an Oscar. All of them.”
Mom nods immediately. “You brought her into our family and she fit—seamlessly. You looked at her like she’s something worth holding on to. You listened. You watched. I’ve never seen you relax like that with anyone. And I don’t know everything about Nora, but I know she looked at you the exact same way.”
My dad lets out a quiet chuckle. “Son, I knew the moment you sat down at that picnic table with a slice of cake that you were already done for.”
My voice drops. “Done for… what?”
“For her.”
The room feels too small for my heartbeat. My mom steps forward and takes my hands in hers. “Do you like her?”
The answer comes instantly. “Yes.”
No one looks surprised. There’s only a soft, collective understanding.
“Then what’s the problem?” Melanie asks.
I blow out a deep breath. “She thinks I’m too good for her.”
My mom’s grip firms on my arm. “Oh, Miles. That poor girl has no idea what she brings with her when she walks into a room.”
“She thinks she’s too messy,” I whisper. “Too unfinished. Too broken.”
My dad shakes his head. “Then you tell her the truth.”
I look up. “Which is?”
“Love doesn’t show up when you’re finished. It shows up when you find someone willing to help you finish it.”
The tension inside me breaks. They never saw fake. And I finally know exactly what—and who—I’m fighting for.
Twenty-Eight
The Perfect Match
Nora
The bar is quiet this afternoon—too quiet. The TV hums with a commercial about a drone festival, which I didn’t even know was a thing. I can name exactly one person who does—and who probably already has tickets. I run a rag over the bar, and suddenly I’m not here at all. I’m back in his kitchen.
Me perched on the counter. His half smile. The way he listened. Then on the park bench. The way he believed me when I told him, You’re ready. You should try again. She’ll be impressed.
God. I practically handed him a step-by-step manual on how to woo another woman.
“Wow,” Rylee says from the other side of the bar. “You planning to erase the wood grain, or…?”
I blow out a breath and meet her gaze. “Did I screw everything up with Miles?” That gets her attention. She straightens, arms folding across her chest. “Maggie is his perfect match, right?” I rush on, because once I start, I can’t seem to stop. “She’s a librarian. She probably reads all the same books he does. They can have deep, intellectual conversations about the mating rituals of flamingos. Or fish spawning patterns.”
Rylee blinks. “I don’t think anyone wants to have those conversations.”
