“Tate.”
He says my name so quietly I can feel his regret in the words he hasn’t even spoken yet. “I like . . .” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “I like kissing you, Tate.”
I don’t know why that sentence seemed hard for him to say, but his voice trailed off toward the end as though he was attempting to stop himself from finishing his words.
As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he releases me and quickly steps around the partition as if he’s trying to escape from his own confession.
I like kissing you, Tate.
Despite the regret I think he feels for saying them, I’m pretty sure I’ll be silently repeating those words for the rest of the day.
I spend a good ten minutes mindlessly browsing, running his compliment through my head over and over while I wait for him to finish his transaction. He’s handing over his credit card when I reach the counter.
“We’ll have these delivered within the hour,” the saleswoman says. She hands him back his credit card and begins to take the bags off the counter to place them behind her. He takes one of the bags from her when she begins to lift it. “I’ll take this one,” he says.
He turns and faces me. “Ready?”
We make our way outside, and it somehow feels as if it dropped twenty degrees since we were last out here. That may just be because he made things seem a lot warmer inside.
We reach the corner, and I begin to head back in the direction of the apartment complex, but I notice he’s stopped walking. I turn around, and he’s pulling something out of the bag he’s holding. He tears away a tag, and a blanket unfolds.
No, he didn’t.
He holds the blanket out to the old man still there bundled up on the sidewalk. The man looks up at him and takes the blanket. Neither of them says a word.
Miles walks to a nearby trash can and tosses the empty bag into it, then heads back toward me while staring down at the ground. He doesn’t even make eye contact with me when we both begin walking in the direction of the apartment complex.
I want to tell him thank you, but I don’t. If I tell him thank you, it would seem like I assume he did that for me.
I know he didn’t do it for me.
He did it for the man who was cold.
• • •
Miles asked me to go home as soon as we returned. He said he didn’t want me to see his apartment until he had everything decorated, which was good, because I had a lot of homework to catch up on anyway. I didn’t really have time carved out of my schedule to hang up curtains, so I appreciated that he didn’t expect my help.
He seemed a little bit excited about hanging up new curtains. As excited as Miles can seem, anyway.
It’s been several hours now. I have to be at work in less than three hours, and as soon as I begin to wonder if he’s even going to ask me to come back over, I receive a text from him.
Miles: Have you eaten yet?
Me: Yes.
I’m suddenly disappointed that I already ate dinner. But I got tired of waiting for him, and he never said anything about dinner plans.
Me: Corbin made meat loaf last night before he left. You want me to bring you a plate?
Miles: I’d love that. Starving. Come look now.
I make him a plate and wrap it in foil before heading across the hall. He’s opening the door before I even knock. He takes the plate out of my hands. “Wait here,” he says. He steps inside his apartment and returns seconds later without the plate. “Ready?”
I have no idea how I know he’s excited, because he’s not smiling. I can hear it in his voice, though. There’s a subtle change, and it makes me smile, knowing something as simple as hanging up some curtains makes him feel good. I don’t know why, but it seems as if there isn’t a lot in his life that makes him feel good, so I like that this does.
He opens the door all the way, and I take a few steps into the apartment. The curtains are up, and even though it’s a small change, it feels huge. Knowing he’s lived here for four years and he’s just now putting up curtains gives the whole apartment a different feel.
“You made a good choice,” I tell him, admiring how well the curtains match what little I know about his personality.
I look down at the rug, and he can see the confusion as it crosses my face.
“I know it’s supposed to go under the table,” he says, looking down at it. “It will. Eventually.”
It’s positioned in an odd spot. It’s not in the center of the room or even in front of the couch. I’m confused about why he placed it where he did if he knows where it would look the best.
“I left it there because I was hoping we could christen it first.”
I look back up at him and see the adorably hopeful expression on his face. It makes me smile. “I like that idea,” I say, looking back down at the rug.
A long silence passes between us. I’m not sure if he wants to christen the rug right this minute or if he wants to eat first. I’m fine with either. As long as his plan fits within my three-hour time frame.
We’re both still staring at the rug when he speaks again. “I’ll eat later,” he says, answering the question that was silently running through my head.
He pulls off his shirt, and I kick off my shoes, and the rest of our clothes eventually end up together, next to the rug.
chapter sixteen
MILES
Six years earlier
Everything is better now that I have Rachel.
Falling asleep is better, knowing Rachel is falling asleep right
across the hall.
Waking up every morning is so much better, knowing Rachel
is waking up right across the hall.
Going to school is better, now that we go together.
“Let’s skip today,” I tell Rachel when we pull into the parking
lot of the school.
I’m sure skipping school is even better with Rachel.
“What if we get caught?”
She doesn’t sound like she really cares if we get caught.
“I hope we get caught,” I tell her. “That means we’d be
grounded. Together. In the same house.”
My words make Rachel smile. She leans across the seat and
slides her hand around my neck. I love it when she does that.
“Being grounded with you sounds really fun. Let’s do it.” She
leans forward and gives me a simple, quick peck on the lips.
Simple kisses are better when they’re from Rachel.
“You make everything better,” I tell her. “My life. It’s better
with you in it.”
My words make Rachel smile again. Rachel doesn’t know this,
but every word I speak is voiced for that sole reason. To make
her smile.
I pull out of the parking lot and tell Rachel we’re going to the
beach. She says she wants her bathing suit, so we go to the
house first and get our bathing suits. We also pack a lunch and
a blanket.
We go to the beach.
Rachel wants to sunbathe while she reads.
I want to watch Rachel sunbathe while she reads.
She’s lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. I lay my
head on my arms and watch her.
My eyes follow the smooth curves of her shoulders . . . the