“Go,” Dawn said, giving Milo a shove.
“Are you—”
“I’m sure,” Dawn interrupted before Milo could ask. “Go. And don’t come back for at least an hour.”
I laughed as Milo followed me out into the spring sunshine, squinting after so long in the dark.
“Thought maybe I’d walk you down to the beach?” I offered, passing him one of the coffees. “It’s pretty, this time of year, with the grape bush flowers turning purple. Unless you’re not much of a beach kind of guy?”
“My great-grandfather started the family business down here, straight off the pier at Otter Bay,” he said, holding the coffee close to his chest. He was still wearing one of his sweaters today, but his jacket was nowhere to be seen. “With one little fishing boat. I think I owe it to him to see it. And, uh…” He paused, glancing over at me. “A boy I like invited me.”
I grinned at him. “Beach it is, then.”
We walked in silence for a few minutes, Milo holding his coffee close to his chest as we wandered down Main Street and then turned off toward the beach, passing by Melting—the ice cream parlor we’d been at last night—on our way down to the sand.
“So Dawn’s teaching you the art of floristry, then?” I asked as we stepped off the walkway and out onto the beach. It was still early enough in the year—and the day—to have it mostly to ourselves, just a few other couples enjoying the sunshine.
Couples.
Wow.
Was that… what we were?
“She’s trying,” Milo said wryly, sipping his coffee. “Not sure she’s succeeding.”
“I think you were doing a great job.” I shrugged. “But I am also not a florist.”
“No.” Milo smiled behind his cup. “But between you and me? I’d rather have your approval.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Milo said, and now there was more than enough light to see him blushing. “I always wonder what you’ll think of something when I post a picture. I always… wait for your response. I feel ridiculous telling you this,” he added.
“You feel ridiculous telling me my opinion matters to you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I hid my whole profession on what seemed like the very slim chance that you might one day be disappointed by my baking.”
Milo laughed at that, sipping his coffee again. “Okay, okay. Well, now you know. I care a lot about what you think of me.”
“Wanna know a secret?” I asked.
“Always.” Milo’s smile turned conspiratorial.
“I care a lot about what you think of me, too,” I admitted. Probably I was blushing too, now, but I figured that was okay.
Milo was…
Well, if nothing else, he was my friend. If I couldn’t be honest with him, what was the point of friendship at all?
“Okay, new question,” Milo said, moving over to the retaining wall between the dunes and the beach and perching his adorable butt on it. “What made you move to a little place like this and open a bakery?”
“The rent seemed manageable and it came with an apartment,” I said, offering Milo the takeout tray I was still holding, with the two chocolate tarts.
“One of these is for me?” he asked.
“Both for you if you want them.” I shrugged, setting them down between us. Now that I’d had the opportunity to feed Milo and reap the rewards, I wanted to keep it up.
“No,” Milo said. “I mean, no pressure, but… I eat alone a lot. It’s nice having company. That’s… that’s why the Instagram account, kinda. I mean, I always wanted to be a photographer, ever since I was little. I had a real film camera and I even developed my own photos in high school. I always smelled of chemicals. But, uh, my point was that if I shared what I was eating on Instagram, I felt like… I dunno, like I was less alone. And then you came along,” he finished, voice hitching.
I reached out without thinking, taking hold of Milo’s hand, curling my fingers around his. It’d only been a handful of hours, but I already missed touching him.
