Chapter 20 #2
“I could invest,” Miles says as he takes a bite of falafel.
My mouth is full of pita bread and hummus, but I shake my head, humming a closed-mouth “uh-uh.”
“Why not?”
I swallow the bite. “It’s a bad idea to get into business with friends.”
“Who says?”
“People,” I say, though I can’t for the life of me think of one.
“What if I wasn’t an investor, like, technically?” he says. “What if I just gave you some money to buy twinkle lights and
tablecloths? Like a gift.”
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
He frowns right back. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He makes it sound so simple. So obvious. I laugh it off and look away.
Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.
“Plus your idea is so cool, and everything I’ve tasted so far has been incredible.” He pauses. “You know this is a great thing,
Claire.”
“I read that most new businesses don’t even make it five years,” I say.
“Yeah, but all of those people are stupid,” he says, deadpan, and I almost spit out the bite of pita bread in my mouth.
He seems pleased by this. “Yours is going to make it.”
I look at him. “How are you so sure?”
He stops eating and looks at me. “How do you feel about it?”
“Terrified,” I admit. Then a smile bubbles to the surface. “But excited.”
He points his fork at me. “That’s how I know.” He takes a drink, then adds nonchalantly, ”Plus, you’ve got me.”
Do I?
Do I have you, Miles?
A shrug. “Plus, I believe in you.” He takes a bite of chicken and couscous and chews, oblivious to how these words are affecting
me. How starved I am to hear someone say them. How different it feels to have someone support me and not try to tear me down.
It’s this thought that makes my eyes cloud over, and I take a drink in hopes that doing so will hide all of these unwanted
emotions.
That’s when Miles notices.
“Wait, what’s wrong?” He turns toward me, but when I don’t move, he reaches over and spins me on the stool so I’m facing him.
I smile. “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just—”
His expression holds—serious, concerned.
“I just appreciate you believing in me,” I say.
At that, his brow quirks. “Oh no. Are you getting sentimental on me?”
I give his shoulder a shove, and he catches my wrist in his hand and holds it for a moment that feels like an eternity. My
breath is trapped in my throat as I meet his eyes, surprised to find that the concerned expression has shifted into something
else.
Something unreadable.
Something that looks—dangerous.
His grip loosens and slips from my wrist to my hand. “I do believe in you, Claire. I think you’re amazing.”
My laugh is nervous.
“You’re so used to being overlooked, you don’t realize it, but . . .” He twines his fingers through mine and looks down at
our hands.
But what? Why did he stop talking?
His thumb moves slowly across the side of my hand, and my skin tingles underneath his soft touch.
I lift my chin to look at him and find his eyes trained on me.
My mind floods with fear—the way I felt when I had to attempt a cartwheel on the balance beam in gymnastics when I was a kid.
I stood there staring at the beam, then at my foot, certain there was no way for me to stay safe if I tried it.
That’s how I feel now. A little unsafe. A little uncertain. Trying to figure out how not to fall.
My heart is at risk here, but the logical part of me seems to be out of the office.
Miles draws in a long, slow breath, moving forward on the stool and letting out a quiet, husky “Claire” before he takes my
face with both hands and kisses me so fully I feel it in every nerve ending in my body.
My breath catches as I feel his lips on mine—soft, sweet, firm lips that are hungry for more. Of me.
More of me?
Miles is kissing me. And I’m kissing him back. And it’s good. It’s really good.
My body rises off the stool, moving closer to him, our chests touching as my hands wrap up around his back, pulling him closer
and savoring every sweet second of this kiss.
I’m lost in it. Drunk on it—on him—and that realization is the thing that finally brings me back to my senses.
“Miles, I—” I pull back, my forehead pressing into his, hands on his chest as my gaze falls to the floor.
“Oh man, Claire, I’m so sorry—” He takes a step back, pushing the stool out of the way. “I crossed a line. I—” He drags a
hand down his chin.
I shake my head. “No, it’s—” I close my eyes, battling the ridiculous desire to do that again and the commonsensical realization
that I absolutely cannot.
Only . . .
“You don’t do relationships,” I say, a reminder to myself more than anything. “That hasn’t changed, right?”
He exhales and gives his head a quick shake. “No, it hasn’t.”
“Okay,” I say. “That’s good to know. Important to know.” I smile, but I want to hide. I move away from the counter, away from
him. I need air. And space. And distance.
“I screwed this up,” he says.
“No, not at all,” I lie. Because how do we go back to the way things were after this? Am I supposed to pretend it meant nothing
to me when it meant everything?
“It’s fine,” I say. “Just a moment that . . . got out of . . . you know, a blip that sort of . . .” But it’s not fine. And
this is obvious by my very visible spiral.
“I really like you, Claire,” he says. “You’re funny and smart and you have no idea how gorgeous you are. I don’t know anyone
else like you, and—” He turns away, making an embarrassed noise. “I made it all weird.”
“No,” I say, still lying. “It’s fine. I mean, seriously. It’s not a big deal.” I’m moving around the space as I say this,
grabbing my bag, stumbling to put my shoes back on. “I’m going to go.”
“No, please don’t—” He moves toward me, and I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I have to go,” I say, hoping he understands that him kissing me like that—like he wants me more than air—is not something
I’ll easily recover from.
That kiss came with feelings. Mine—not his. The kind that I’ve been actively burying because I know that he and I can never,
ever work.
Because Miles doesn’t do relationships. And I don’t do casual.
We want very different things.
I walk to the door, but before I open it, I turn back and look at him, terrified that this night will mark the end of what we have—a complicated but beautiful friendship.
I frown.
He frowns.
“I don’t want to stop being friends with you,” I say.
“Good.” I hear the relief in his voice. “I don’t want to stop being friends with you either.”
“But that can’t happen again,” I say. “I’m not . . . It’s a . . . My heart isn’t strong enough.”
He nods. “Understood.”
I smile. It almost feels real. “See you tomorrow?”
He keeps nodding. “Definitely.”
My gaze dips from those icy-blue eyes to his full, kissable lips, and the charged air between us sparks.
“I don’t do friends with benefits,” I say, but my voice is weak. Because for a fraction of a second, I sort of wish I did.
“Good to know.” He laughs lightly. “For the record, I didn’t think you did. I just—” He pushes a hand through his hair, leaving
it messy and disheveled and . . . sexy. “Lost myself for a minute. I promise it won’t happen again.”
I nod, open the door, and step out into the courtyard, trying really hard to silence the voice at the back of my mind that
says, Darn.
Unknown Number: Claire, this is Dr. David Fitzsimmons.
Lorraine Ashby gave me your number, I hope that’s okay?
Claire: Right! The dentist! Hi!
Unknown Number: People usually call me Duffy.
Claire: Right! Lorraine told me!
Duffy: It took me a little while to work up the courage to reach out. I saw you in that video, and you’re just . . . magnetic.
Claire: ?? Aw, that’s really sweet.
Duffy: I’d like to take you out this weekend if you’re free?
Claire: I’d love to. Saturday? I was thinking about visiting the zoo?
Duffy: Perfect. I’ll do a little planning and send you the details.
Claire: Sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.
Minnie: Are you still on a dating break?
Claire: Actually, I’m going out with a dentist on Saturday.
Minnie: Really? Did Miles set this up?
Claire: Nope. This isn’t an app match. He found me through a neighbor.
Minnie: Oh, wow. Okay.
So, since we haven’t vetted him, we need safety protocols. I’ll text Miles.
Claire: NO!
Sorry. No. Don’t text Miles.
Minnie: ? Okay . . . someone needs to make sure this guy isn’t a serial killer.
Claire: Follow this link:
Does this look like the face of a serial killer?
Minnie:
Claire: It’s a day date. In public. We’re going to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
Minnie: Fine. But please make sure someone knows where you are at all times.
And don’t try to pet the giraffes again.
Claire: That was one time. Leave me alone.
Minnie: ??????????