Chapter Eighteen #2
He focused on the salad. That night on the boat, she’d been so honest about what she wanted.
A relationship. And he wanted one too. In the Boathouse, she’d mentioned that people who made a commitment to one another tackled their obstacles together to make the relationship work.
He now stood at one of his emotional roadblocks and he owed it to her to try.
He squeezed her hand and met her gaze.
“When did summer become so busy? I just want to spend time on the lake with my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. It had slipped out naturally and somehow, he felt a shift. Miles and Avery. They were a couple now. Avery’s gorgeous smile almost knocked him over.
“We will make the most of this summer, I promise.” She threaded her fingers through his and rocked their hands side to side. “Most of our commitments for the next month are two or three days each. That leaves four or five days in the week to be together.”
When she put it that way, it sounded better.
Except she’d leave halfway through August. He couldn’t bring that up because he refused to insert his opinion into her MBA.
She’d never had a boyfriend who supported her choices and celebrated her accomplishments.
And Miles wanted to be the partner she deserved.
But he also wished they could stay suspended in some kind of perpetual summer, free of obligations.
The only time he could visit other camps was in the coming weeks.
Regardless of how busy they might be, this summer was already one of the best he could remember.
Ever since they committed to this relationship, they’d been discussing their challenges and figuring out solutions.
“So what do we do?” he asked. “Let’s make this work.”
As the warmth of her smile washed over him, Miles grew confident Avery’s plans would set everything right.
“We sit down with our calendars and treat the days we’re both available as sacred,” she said. “More sacred than Hazel Matheson tickets or Super Bowl tickets.”
“More sacred than Hazel Matheson playing the Super Bowl halftime show.” He nodded.
“Exactly. Nothing interrupts our time together unless we discuss it first. It’s what modern, professional couples do.”
Leave it to the girl who made lists and mapped out rooms before buying furniture to suggest merging calendars. Miles liked the idea. And he could take it a step farther.
“So we share a calendar,” he said, excited by the idea of taking such a big step.
Avery’s eyes fell as she smoothed her napkin over her lap. Miles felt a knot in his stomach. He’d hit a nerve. Maybe sharing calendars was too personal.
“I won’t make you do that.” She huffed, as if trying to make something big feel smaller.
“I thought it made sense. To keep us from booking something else during our time.”
“Yeah, but—” She shook her head. “I asked Trent to do that once, and he called me a nuisance. He said his calendar was his business, and no men he knew did that.”
The hairs on Miles’s neck rippled in protective response.
He had never punched another person. If he ever met Trent, that might change.
He couldn’t tolerate anyone who made his sweet, kind Avery feel bothersome and insignificant.
Miles’s Yale Track sweatshirt wasn’t the only thing Avery had hidden away.
She’d kept her hurts and dreams to herself.
Little bits came out when she felt safe, like now, or as a last-ditch effort, like when she’d told him she loved him that summer.
That day on the beach ten summers ago, she’d acknowledged and respected his pain, like she’d done with his furniture aversion earlier in the day.
He wanted to be there for her. Where Trent made her feel little, Miles wanted her to never question how much he valued her.
He didn’t need a sky full of stars. He only needed one.
“I don’t see what’s a nuisance about sharing a calendar with my girlfriend.” Miles lifted his chin to demonstrate he’d take on the challenge. “It’s the easiest way to keep track of the only thing more important than Hazel’s Super Bowl Halftime show tickets.”
He took a bite of their salad. As he chewed, he thought about how things would go down if he met Trent. More specifically, how Trent would go down. Hard. Miles filled his fork again. If her ex showed up, Miles would show him a different kind of stars.
Her wide grin beamed across the table and his MMA ass-kicking fantasy faded to black, replaced by a vision of the sectional sofa he’d just bought. He’d lay her down on that couch the day it arrived and kiss his way up her inner thighs, her gasps and moans filling the quiet house.
Their server arrived with a full tray. “Two lobstah plattahs, one with steamahs.”
“The one with steamahs belongs to my boyfriend.” Avery’s eyes darted toward the tray and back to him.
Steamahs. Avery had nailed the northern accent.
He winked at her because he wanted her to feel appreciated.
Every day. She could fill his house, his calendar, and all other blank spaces in his life, including the one in his heart.
His girlfriend. She checked every item off his list. The one she didn’t know existed because he, Miles Magrum, had been too afraid to admit that what he wanted, more than anything in this world, was her. The woman who took away his loneliness.