“It was part of the deal,” I say, taking a sip.
Her fingers trace the rim of her mug. “She likes you. My mom.”
“I like her too.”
She watches the Christmas lights for a long moment. “You didn’t treat her like a problem.”
I frown. “Why would I?”
“People do.” Her tone stays casual, but the words land heavier. “They see the cane. Or the meds. Or the tired days. And suddenly everything becomes… delicate. Or inconvenient.”
“I didn’t feel either of those.”
“I noticed.” She swallows. “You talked to her like she was just… Diane. Someone who enjoys crossword puzzles, complains about reality TV, and steals my sweaters.” A quiet laugh slips out of her. Her knee brushes mine, and this time, she doesn’t move it. “I’m really glad you came.”
“I am too,” I say without thinking. “It was… nice. Being here.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine then settles against me. Then she tips her head onto my shoulder.
For a second, I freeze, afraid of doing the wrong thing. Then I let myself relax, tilting my head just slightly toward hers.
“I like you too,” she murmurs. “The best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”
My pulse flickers for a second before it goes dark, like a Christmas light finally burning out. I huff a laugh. “If I’m going to be good at anything, I’m glad it’s that.”
She snorts softly and squeezes my hand once. “Shut up and drink your cocoa, Pilot Boy.”
She doesn’t lift her head. And I don’t move at all.
Sixteen
I Hate You, Brain
Nora
There’s a knock at the door. I glance at the clock—6:58—then I pad over and peer through the peephole. Miles stands in the hallway with his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He rocks once on his heels. Then, as if suddenly aware he has arms, he pulls his hands out, smooths his hair with both palms, shoves them back into his pockets… only to pull them out again and let them hang awkwardly at his sides. I snort before I can stop myself.
When I open the door, I take a moment to fully appreciate the man standing before me. His dark navy suit fits as if it were custom-tailored. Crisp white shirt. No tie. Top button undone. Aliens have abducted the Miles I know and replaced him with someone straight off the cover of GQ: Sexy Nerd, Minnesota Edition.
He blinks when he sees me. “Hi.” His hands hover at his sides. “You look…” He clears his throat, clearly wrestling with language. “Really stunning.”
I smile. I like compliments, but I love watching Miles struggle with adjectives more. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Pilot Boy. Honestly, I didn’t think you owned anything that wasn’t khaki.”
He laughs. “I figured my khaki suit might not be appropriate.”
“You own a khaki suit?”
He shrugs, smirking, then offers his elbow. “Shall we?”
I lock the door and slip my arm through his. “I still want proof this khaki suit exists.”
Downtown is already buzzing with holiday lights strung across the streets, snow piled in neat banks, people bundled in coats. The Bluestone Group New Year’s Gala is one of the biggest, most exclusive events of the year in Harbor Highlands and somehow, I’m walking straight into it with Miles.
At coat check, he helps me out of my coat without fumbling, folds it once, and hands it to the attendant before offering his arm. I hook mine through his, and it hits me all at once—how different he feels tonight. More grounded. More sure of himself. His shoulders are squared with confidence. Even his glasses sit differently, pushed higher on his nose. This is still Miles, unmistakably so—but something about him has settled and clicked into place. Standing beside him feels less like pretend and more like an actual date.
As we step into the ballroom, twinkling lights spill from the ceiling, resembling soft constellations. White-clothed tables stretch across the room, each centerpiece perfectly arranged. Somewhere to my left, a jazz band swings into an upbeat number, the sound humming through my ribs. Before we can claim a table, Trey and Rylee spot us.
A long, low wolf whistle leaves Trey. “Whoa. You look good.”
