The words hang in the air like smoke. Miles’s eyes dart to mine, then away.
“You know it didn’t really. Not properly. Look, I need your help here,” he says quietly. “Harper’s... she’s important to me. I can’t lose her over some misunderstanding about what we were.”
“Misunderstanding?” The word comes out sharper than I intended.
“You know what I mean. It was just—we were friends. Good friends. And maybe things got a little complicated toward the end, but?—”
“Complicated?” I’m staring at him now, really staring, and something cold is spreading through my chest. “Miles, we slept together. For three months.”
“Keep your voice down.” He glances around again, and that’s when it hits me. He’s not here because he’s sorry. He’s not here because he feels guilty or wants to make amends.
He’s here because he’s scared.
“You want me to lie to Harper,” I realize aloud.
“I want you to not unnecessarily complicate my relationship over something that didn’t mean anything.”
The words hit like a slap. “Didn’t mean anything?”
“Pipes, come on. You know what I mean. It was just... we were lonely. It was convenient. But we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Did we?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. “Because I remember you saying a lot of things that suggested otherwise.”
His face hardens. “I never promised you anything.”
“No, you just said you couldn’t wait to be with me properly once you figured things out with that other girl. You said you were keeping things casual with her because you didn’t want to hurt her over text. You said?—”
“I said a lot of things.” He cuts me off. “But I never said I loved you.”
The casualness of it steals my breath. Like he’s discussing the weather. Like three months of my life, three months of hope and secrets and stolen moments, were just... nothing.
“Look Piper, I know you were in love with me,” he continues, voice gentle in that condescending way I used to mistake for kindness. “But I hope you’re smart enough and not so bitter and jealous to let that ruin what Harper and I have now.”
The words stop me cold. “Wait. You knew?”
“Of course, I knew. It was obvious.”
“You knew I was in love with you, and you still...” The memory crashes over me, drowns me. Last August. Two days before Harper came back from her summer abroad.
We’re in his apartment,late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. I’m wearing his t-shirt, nothing else, curled against his chest while some Netflix show plays in the background. His fingers trace patterns on my shoulder.
“This is nice,” I murmur against his skin.
“Mmm.” His hand stills. “Harper gets back Thursday.”
My stomach tightens, but he’s been saying this for weeks—that he needs to end things properly with her, in person, that it’s only fair. “I know.”
“So we should probably... you know. Figure things out.”
“Figure things out how?”
He’s quiet for so long I tilt my head to look at him. His expression is distant, almost calculating.
“Miles?”
“I should probably focus on my relationship when she gets back. See where it goes.”
The words don’t make sense. “But I thought—you said you were going to?—”
