I tuck one leg underneath myself. “Yes. Summer Morning Amelia is like an endangered species rarely seen in the wild.”
“So are you a night owl, then?” Before I can answer, he blurts,“By the way, a group of owls is called a parliament. That’s one of my favorites.” I laugh, and he goes back to the subject at hand. “Do you like to stay up late?”
“Almost always. My bedroom window faces the ocean, and my favorite time of night is when I can look out my window and see the stars. Because the water’s so dark and there are no city lights in that direction, the stars go all the way to the water.”
“Wow,” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve been on the beach at night a lot, and I’ve never noticed that. I guess I just don’t pay attention to the sky.”
I cock a brow. “Whatdoyou pay attention to when you’re on the beach at night, Myles Ford? A girl, maybe?”
Whoa, morning Amelia’s also sort of bold. Who knew?
A flush creeps up his neck. “I, no… Well, sometimes? I mean…”
“Okay, ladies man,” I tease.
He scratches at the back of his head as he slows at a stop light. “I’m really not.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Seriously!” he insists. “I’m a lot shyer than people think I am.”
That, I actually believe. “And I’m not as shy as people think I am.”
He laughs. “I could see that.”
Our gazes catch, and something passes between us. An agreement that only a select few people in this world reallyseeus, and it’s very possible we’ve become that for each other.
The light turns green, and he edges forward again, his attention reluctantly sliding away from me and back to the road. I swipemy thumb across my knee a few times, then ask, “So what’s your move, then? With those girls?”
“My move?”
“Yeah. You know, when you like someone. How do you let them know you’re into them?”
“I—” he starts, and bites his lip. “I don’t usually have to. The, um… girls usually tell me first.”
“Wow. Must be nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it must be nice to be so sure someone’s interested in you. Anytime I think someonemaybelikes me, I’m constantly wondering if I just read the room wrong.”
I glance over and find Myles frowning, but in a thoughtful way.
Finally he says, “What would you want a guy to do? If he liked you?” His blue eyes slide over to meet mine, and my breath halts for a beat. “Would you want him to just… say it?”
I blink, and tuck my palms underneath my thighs to keep them still. Is he asking what I think he’s asking? My heart thrashes against my ribs.
“Yes,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’d want him to just tell me.”
A loaded silence stretches between us, like it’s a tangible thing I could reach out and touch. I’m so absorbed in looking at his face and wondering what he might say next, I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone chimes.
“Sorry,” I explain, unlocking the phone. “It’s my mom.” Why, why did she have to interrupt that moment?
But then I see the picture she sent, and I gasp.
“What?” Myles asks, alarmed.
“Fiona’s having her babies!”
