By the time I made it to his door, I was out of breath, but I banged on it anyway. I’d been playing it safe with Milo. I’d been hiding my feelings, worried I would lose him. It had never occurred to me that I might lose him anyway. Perhaps a little recklessness is in order.
I heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps and then a pause. I knew he was looking through the peephole, so I lifted up the bag of tacos, giving his door a stern glare. “I know you’re in there. I have tacos,” I said, but didn’t add, And I’m not afraid to use them.
I felt his hesitation. Seconds stretched. I swallowed, glaring at the door, tempted to knock again. But thankfully, I didn’t have to.
Milo opened the door—not wide but not a crack either—and leveled me with a look that felt reluctant. “Alice.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Uh—”
“If this is a bad time, I can leave. I brought tacos, but I will leave them here if you want them. Basically, they’re no-pressure tacos. They are yours regardless of whether you want me to stay.”
He exhaled something that sounded a little like a laugh and blinked several times, taking a step back. Milo’s green eyes moved between me and the bag of tacos and I could see I’d truly surprised him. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
Rather than continue to stand silently outside his apartment waiting for him to gather his wits, I pressed on, “I’m serious. No pressure if you just want the tacos. It’s just, I’m worried about you.”
His gaze darted back to mine and narrowed. “Why are you worried about me?”
“Because you’re ignoring me.”
He grimaced, his attention dropping to the floor. “I’m not—I haven’t been ignoring you.”
That statement was patently false and sounded like code, so I said, “No, you have definitely been ignoring me. But it’s okay. I can live with you ignoring me if I know you’re okay. Are you okay?”
His mouth was flat as he brought his eyes back to mine and gave me a short, stiff nod. “I’m okay.”
I stared at him, openly assessing. He stared at me, looking guarded. When this continued for many seconds, I nodded, my stomach sinking.
“Okay, okay. If you’re okay, then I guess I’ll be going. Do you want the tacos?”
Milo’s stare grew less guarded and more . . . something else. Something I couldn’t define. Distracted maybe? Frustrated? It was a look I didn’t recognize, so I waited for his answer.
At length, he sighed loudly and stepped back from the door. “Come in, Alice. We’ll have tacos.”
I clutched the bag to my chest protectively. “Are you sure? I don’t want to force my tacos on you. I did not come here to make you eat unwanted tacos.”
The side of his mouth curved, just the slightest fraction of an inch, and his handsome green eyes twinkled at me, just the slightest fraction of twinkle. But the sight made my heart go flip-flop and my sinking stomach reverse course.
“I’m starving, and I want your tacos. I want your tacos real bad.”
I grinned, resisting the urge to squeee. Instead I nodded and stepped into Milo’s apartment. He took the bag, turning away and crossing to the kitchen table as I closed the door.
“Do you want something to drink?” He placed the bag on the table next to a big glass of water. “Tea? Water? Wine?”
The word wine came out weird—or at least it sounded weird to me—all sardonic and brittle, like wine was code for something else.
Maybe that’s why I said, “Yeah. Sure. I’ll take some wine.”
Milo glanced at me over his shoulder, a single eyebrow raised. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” I smiled in spite of his weirdness. It was such a relief to see Milo, spend time with him, be near him. If he wanted to be weird, I’d let him be weird.
“Okay.” He said the word haltingly, his eyebrow lift persisting, and crossed to the sideboard where he had a tabletop wine rack.
Meanwhile, I watched him move. I watched his long fingers pull a bottle from the rack. I watched his strong hands hold it. I watched his dark curly hair fall over his forehead and his achingly handsome profile as he studied the label.
Who am I kidding? I’m not watching, I’m admiring. I might even be lusting.
And I couldn’t stop. My eyes traveled over his broad shoulders, his bared bicep and arm, his tapered waist and hip and long, lean legs. Mouth suddenly dry, I wished I’d asked for water. But it was too late. Milo had already started opening the bottle, cutting away the foil at the top.
I tore my gaze away, telling myself I hadn’t come here to ogle him, and forced my attention to survey the apartment. It was just the same, just the—
“Wait a minute.” I frowned, my head turning toward the patio door, the entryway table, the corner of the living room. “Where are all your plants?”
Milo’s back straightened and he rolled his shoulders, momentarily pausing his progress with the wine bottle, but he didn’t look at me. “I—uh—I gave them away.”
“You . . .” All the breath left my lungs, forced out. He’d knocked the wind out of me.
He snuck a quick look in my direction, the line of his mouth stern. “Yes. I gave them away. All of them.”
“I see,” I said weakly, my eyes dropping to the floor, my brain rioting. “I see.”
But I didn’t see.
I’d given him those plants. He’d said he loved them. He’d said he loved that they reminded him of me. He’d said he would always take care of them. And he’d given them away?
I couldn’t think past this news, which was probably why I blurted, “Why would you do that?”
Milo chuckled, shaking his head. It was not a friendly sound, and it confused me. “Come on, Alice. We both know it was never going to happen.”
This sounded like more code. “What wasn’t going to happen?”
“I was never—am never—” He waved a hand in the air, as though looking for the right words. “I’m never going to be good at taking care of houseplants. It was time to, you know, face reality.”
More and more and more code. But unlike computer code, this was a cipher I couldn’t solve. “So you gave them away? To whom?”
“Carly.”
“Carly?” I blinked rapidly. “Do I know her?”
“You don’t know all my friends.” He shrugged, the words dismissive.
I continued staring at him, watching him. This time not with admiration but with worry. An odd, unpleasant sensation took up residence in my stomach. Something was wrong.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I'm fine. You want to unpack the food?” His voice flat, he finished uncorking the bottle and reached for two glasses, setting them on the sideboard. They were huge, and he filled them almost to the top.
“Oh no.” I stepped forward, walking to the table. “Milo, that’s too much for me. If I drink all that, I’ll have to stay the night.”
“You know you can stay any time you want.” He walked around the table to the kitchen, throwing away the cork and foil while saying something under his breath I didn't catch.
“What was that?” I opened the bag of tacos. Oddly, I was no longer hungry.