“Hi,” I say, when I’m finally right in front of him, that last yard of silent eye contact having taken somewhere between eleven seconds and fourteen years.
He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”
Neither of us rushes to fill the pause.
My heart feels like a flame, burning higher, higher, higher.
I clear my throat. “Are you up for a walk?”
He seems surprised. “Are you?”
“Unless you just want to go collapse into bed, yeah.” Ears suddenly fiery hot, I add, “If you need to sleep, I mean.”
“I drank so much Red Bull I could sprint right now,” he says. “But I also might have a heart attack.”
“You’re in luck,” I tell him. “The library paid for me to get CPR certified.”
He smiles. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Nothing, I guess.
The air is misty, the streets and sidewalks empty apart from the occasional spandex-clad jogger or bicyclist.
Out on the water, a couple of boats drift, but still, it feels like just the two of us in a world that’s fast asleep.
We wander along the lake’s edge, and the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It’s its own kind of conversation, a reintroduction after our time apart.
“Thank you for being there last night,” I finally say.
“I was always going to be,” he says. “Just so you know. No matter what, I would’ve been there.”
I blink back the rising tears. “I know.”
“Elda, Katya, and Banks, on the other hand,” he says, “getting them to help took bartering.”
“Well, Elda at least will probably let you off the hook,” I say. “She and my boss were really hitting it off.”
“They were cute,” Miles agrees.
Another few minutes pass. We turn up a side street. My heart is vibrating. I take a deep breath, slowly release it. “I know you went to see my dad.”
Miles’s gaze slices toward me. He stops. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I did that. It was stupid.”
“I understand why you didn’t,” I say. “Really.”
The grooves at the inside corners of his brows soften. “The other night . . . I think you misunderstood me. I didn’t wake up and panic. I woke up . . . happy. Happier than I can remember being.”
He rubs the back of his head. “And then Petra called, and she was sobbing. So hard I couldn’t understand her. I’d never seen her cry before. I honestly thought someone had died. She asked if I could come see her, and I said yes. Because I was worried. I still care about her.”
“I know you do,” I say thickly.
“I got to Peter’s place and she was sitting out front . . .” He lets out an exasperated breath. His eyes cut up to me, watching for a reaction. “She told me they broke up.”
I don’t say anything.
“You don’t seem surprised,” he says.
“I’m not,” I say. “Peter told me.”
Something flashes across his face, too quick for me to read. “Right,” he says softly. He rubs the back of his head, nodding a few more times. He clears his throat, but it stays hoarse: “So you’ve talked.”
“He came by,” I say.
His gaze sweeps to our feet, and he nods again.
“Miles?”
His dark eyes lift to mine, faintly glossed.
“Shit, what’s wrong?” I can’t help it; I reach for him, slide my hands up to his shoulders.
“Nothing.” He forces a smile. “I’m happy for you.”
“Happy for me?” I say.
He flushes. “I mean, if you guys are . . .”
