“Can we lock Julia out for a while?”
He laughs. “We’ll send her to Ashleigh’s for a bit.”
“Then yes.”
He crushes me to him, a deep kiss, full of feeling: joy and fear and need and hope. A rough, no-holds-barred kiss that prompts one car rolling past to honk its horn, the automobile equivalent of a wolf whistle, or maybe a scolding.
We pull back smiling, our foreheads resting together. We smile and breathe and touch one another and dream about the future without saying any of it aloud.
Summer turning into fall. Trips with Ashleigh and Mulder to the apple orchards an hour south. Bonfires with Julia as the air chills and the leaves blaze into color. Poker nights with cigar smoke thick in the air and long morning walks with hot chai from Fika in hand.
And even the hellish cold of winter. A new apartment, complete with gas fireplace. Bundled hikes through feet of snow, Miles and I slipping out of our clothes and under the sheets to warm each other.
And things I can’t dream up too. The ways it will all go wrong, and the beauty that can only happen in the wake.
A second act I fell into, and the home that I chose, as much as it chose me.
I can’t wait. I can’t wait for this whole world I’ve invited to surprise me.
38
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 3RD
412 DAYS SINCE I STAYED
Through the door, Celine Dion is bemoaning the fact that she doesn’t want to be all by herself. The chime of the oven timer barely cuts through the song, and I flip on the interior light to check that the edges of the brownies have gone crispy, the top cracking in that mouthwatering way. I pull them out and set them atop the stove, eyeing the clock.
Of course today I would be running behind.
I jog to the shut-tight door and rap on it. He doesn’t hear the first time, so I knock again. The music stops.
“Yeah?” Miles calls.
“You okay?” I ask.
A pause. “Yeah?”
That didn’t inspire confidence. “Can I come in?”
The door swings open. He’s standing there shirtless, shaving cream covering the lower half of his face, razor in hand.
“I thought I should shave,” he says, by way of explanation. “Since your mom’s coming.”
I fight a smile. “You once told me that women of a certain age love the scruffy thing.”
“Oh, they do.” He leans against the sink. “I can’t have your mom falling in love with me.”
A ridiculous chortle jars out of me. I’d actually finally talked her into going on one date with a guy from her gym. It had gone surprisingly well, but afterward she’d told me, “I think I’m too busy to date.” The more important thing, though, was that she was too happy with the life she’d built for herself to change it for anyone who didn’t set her world on fire. And I liked that for her. She deserved the life she’d worked so hard for.
“You know I think you’re unbelievably hot,” I tell Miles, “but I think Holly Vincent is safe from your charms.”
His smile deepens. “I want to impress her.”
“She already knows you, Miles,” I say.
We’d gone to her place for Christmas last year, slept on the tiny pullout couch, and eaten Korean barbecue takeout while watching It Happened on Fifth Avenue, followed immediately by Die Hard.
“Yeah, but this will be the first time she sees us here.” He waves toward our new (old) place.
Technically, it will be the first time anyone’s seen us here, other than Ashleigh and Julia. The place is still a wreck, but the living room, one bathroom, and Miles’s and my bedroom at least are functional at this point.
Even if one of the diamond-paned windows is literally being held together by packing tape, and the power goes out when we run more than one fan.
It will take years to fix up this eye-bleedingly orange cottage, two and a half blocks from the green one with the same floor plan. But I don’t mind. I love it enough as it is that I’m happy to wait.
The doorbell rings, which is a surprise. It only works about every eighth time someone touches it.
“Shit,” Miles says. “I’m late. Sorry.” He grabs the towel off the rack to wipe off his shaving cream, thoughts of a smooth jaw abandoned.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Just put on a shirt and meet me in the living room. Or skip the shirt. I told everyone tonight’s casual.”
He doesn’t even wait to finish laughing before kissing me, leaving foam behind on my face when we pull apart. He wipes my chin off with the towel. “Be right there,” he promises.
I’m not worried about my mom, or tonight. I’m more nervous for next week.
Sadie’s first visit to see me since we started really talking again.
