“I do.”
Smiling brightly, she hops off the bed and pulls her computer out of its bag and then brings it over to me. She sits with her back against the headboard, her shoulder bumping into mine. I loop my arm around her shoulder, and she snuggles in close. Fuck, I’ve missed this. How long has it been since we simply snuggled in bed and shared something about our lives? The fact that I don’t know shows what an utter asshole I am.
She turns on her computer as she says, “I just have mock-ups since this is a fake project, but the cool thing is, the building is real. It’s in downtown LA, so I got to go view it and plan it out. I took pictures of my own and could play off those in my design program.”
“That’s really cool, babe.”
“And our teacher said that she’s going to submit the top five to the building owner and see if they’re interested in any of them. If they are, there’s a possibility to be hired out.”
“Holy shit, really?” I ask. “That’s awesome, Myla.”
“I know it’s a long shot.” She taps around on her computer. “But it would be pretty cool.” She opens a screen and shows me a picture of a plain concrete lobby. Expansive windows reach up to the ceiling, but that’s about it when it comes to any architectural appeal. “So this is what it looked like before. The best thing about it was the sunlight coming in.” She clicks around and pulls up a picture. “And this is what it would look like with my special touch.”
The lobby is transformed from a bleak, cold space to a bright and modern aesthetic with her slat board lobby desk, potted, leafy ficus plants, and then paint accents that make the concrete feel oddly warm.
“Wow, Myla.” I take the computer from her to get a closer look. “This is . . . this is incredible. I like the natural colors you used. Pulling in that sage color warms the place up and makes it not so cold and dreary. The desk is clearly the focal point, and the computers on the wall behind it are really fucking cool.”
“Thank you. I really love it. And like I said, I know it would be a long shot to get picked, but it’s something cool to place in my portfolio that I’ve been building for a bit now.”
“You have more?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Can I see them?”
She glances at me and says, “Are you sure this isn’t boring you?”
I shake my head. “No, babe, not at all. I really want to see them.”
Her smile stretches from ear to ear, filling me with joy because that’s the smile I fell in love with. It’s utterly beautiful. Relaxed. Carefree. My Myla’s. “Okay, let me pull them up.”
“Hold on, where did you go?” I ask Myla as we sit across from each other at dinner. We opted to have dinner together, just the two of us, in the balcony restaurant that overlooks the vineyard. Not sure how I scored the table, but it seems like someone was watching over me.
We spent most of the day looking over her portfolio with her explaining everything that went into them. I listened. I asked questions, and I was fucking amazed. She’s brilliant. When it came to lunch, we both decided to take a walk to the pool, where we ate poolside and hung out with Huxley and Lottie while JP and Kelsey went over last-minute wedding preparations.
After lunch, we walked the vineyards hand in hand and talked about the night of the steak and shriveled potatoes. I admitted that it tasted like absolute garbage, and she admitted that she took extra long eating hers so she could rub it in my face.
We both laughed.
And when we got back to the hotel room, I asked her if she wanted to take a nap since we barely got any sleep the night before. She said yes, and she cuddled into me the entire time.
It’s been . . . fuck, it’s been eye-opening. I can’t remember the last time we had a day like this, where it was just us, nothing going on but doing what we felt like. I’ve been so focused on making sure that I prove myself to . . . fuck, who knows, that I’ve forgotten how to relax. Not to mention, I’d forgotten how perfect Myla is for me. How spending time with her used to be my solace. My joy. How did I lose sight of that? Of her?
Myla picks up her wineglass and looks at me mischievously. “While you were in Atlanta a few years back, it was . . . God, you had that big toe injury that you kept bitching about.”
I chuckle. “It hurt!”
“Oh my God, it was your big toe. Get over it.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Anyway, I couldn’t take your moaning anymore, so when you went to Atlanta for the start of your away trip, Nichole and I went to Hawaii.”
I shake my head, unable to believe it. “But I spoke to you. We did FaceTime, and I saw our bedroom.”
“Nichole brought a green screen.”
“No, she didn’t.” I lean back in my chair in disbelief.
Myla nods. “Yup. We thought we were being so sneaky. We did a green screen and made sure to practice before you called. Oh yeah, we really pulled the wool over your eyes.”
I tap my fingers on the table and say, “You realize if you told me you went to Hawaii, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have encouraged it.”
“Yes, but this was out of spite because of all your toe complaining. Plus, it was fun to see if we could get away with it. You know how we love the adventure.”
“Yeah, I do.” I lightly chuckle. “Was that the only time you did that?”
“Yes. Because it was the only time you pushed me over the edge with the complaining about your big toe.”
“Babe, that shit hurts. It’s a legitimate injury.”
She smiles and lifts her wineglass up. “Okay. So would you compare your pain to something like . . . I don’t know, menstrual cramps?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to fall for that. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is as bad as menstrual cramps.”
“You’re only saying that because when we did the simulator, you clocked out at level six.”
I lean forward and whisper, “Babe, I thought my balls were about to explode.”
She tilts her head back and lets out a roar of a laugh. Clutching her chest, she says, “The image of you ripping the pads off your genitals will live rent-free in my mind forever.”
“Fantastic.” I chuckle. “Any other memories that live rent-free in your head?”
She twists the stem of her wineglass on the table as she stares at me. The sunset behind her is casting a picturesque glow around her, so I pull my phone out of my pocket and say, “Smile.” I need to capture this moment. She’s so goddamned beautiful.
She offers me one of her closed-mouth smiles that just barely tilts up the corners of her mouth.
I snap the picture and then sigh as I look at it. “Sorry, but the way the light is hitting you from behind, and the sunset . . . you’re stunning, Myla.” I show her the picture, and she just smirks.
“Rent-free memories? Well, obviously, when we first met, the look of confusion on your face is one of my favorite moments. The rooftop, where we were intimate for the first time.” She wets her lips and stares down at her wine. “The day you went with me to the reading of my dad’s will after he passed away, the way you told my mother off. Probably will never forget that.”