Chapter 24 #2
a serious catty streak. Especially when it comes to that woman.”
I laugh, but there’s an unsettled feeling inside me.
I want to talk to Miles. I want to know what happened. But also? I want to apologize. No wonder what I said offended him.
His past is not my business, and he already told me he doesn’t talk about it, but it would be so much worse for me to ask
his friends to fill me in. I won’t betray him like that.
These people were in his life when it all happened. Maybe he doesn’t tell new people the gritty details because he doesn’t
want their pity. Or maybe he doesn’t want what happened to shape anyone’s opinion of him.
I understand that logic better than most people.
I hesitate to tell anyone anything about John. Sharing that kind of rejection is vulnerable. Will admitting it make people
wonder if there’s something wrong with me? Will they start looking for reasons to walk away?
But I can’t imagine Miles has these same insecure thoughts . . .
“I’m going to run to the bathroom before we start back up,” I say.
Julia scoots to the side, and I spot Miles across the bar, standing beside a tall table talking to a few people who aren’t
here to play trivia.
I keep my eyes on him as I make my way through the crowd, thankful it’s thinned out a little. Just when I’m about to reach Miles, I hear a man say, “Oh, it’s you!” And for reasons I can’t explain, I sense that he’s talking to me.
I turn in the direction of the voice and see Barry, my horrible improv date, standing in a clump with two other guys. He’s
holding a beer and looking slightly unsteady on his feet, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“You’re the chick who didn’t put out!” He says this so loudly, it draws the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity.
“Excuse me.” I try to maneuver around him, but Barry isn’t done.
He looks at his friends, slaps one on the chest, then points to me. “Don’t let her hotness fool ya. She’s an ice queen.”
They laugh, and I find myself getting impatient. I don’t have time for this.
“A guy spends money on a ticket to a show, plus drinks, and she won’t even give it up.” He leans in so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I didn’t know I was going out
with a nun.” He barks out a laugh, then takes another drink.
I try to sidestep him, but he moves with me.
“You can make it up to me now.”
Now I’m uncomfortable. All of a sudden the bar feels way smaller. People are too close.
“Whaddya say?” His words are slightly slurred. He leans in. “I never leave a woman unsatis—”
“Hey, buddy.”
Barry turns toward Miles’s voice.
“How about you apologize to the lady?”
Barry laughs in Miles’s face. “Why would I do that? I have a legitimate complaint.”
“Apologize or leave.”
Barry looks at his friends, the smile fading from his face.
Without a word, he turns back and raises a fist, but Miles ducks out of the way.
Barry stumbles forward but quickly rights himself and takes another swing.
Miles dodges it, but when it’s clear Barry isn’t going to stop, he hauls off and clocks him, full on his jaw.
It sounds like a punch from an action movie—a cracking thud—and Barry spins around and lands chest first into the bar, spilling two drinks.
“You should watch what you say to my friend,” Miles says coolly, shaking out his fist.
Barry scrambles to his feet, now with a bloodied lip that’s already starting to swell. He takes a wild swing at Miles, who
sidesteps it easily, puts his foot in front of Barry’s, and pushes him, tripping him to the ground where he lands face-first
in a crumpled pile.
“Hey!” The female voice comes from across the room.
Miles lifts a hand. “Sorry, Gina!” He looks at Barry’s friends.
They look back, unsure what happens next.
Miles points to the floor. “Get him out of here.”
They scramble to pick Barry up. As they pull him toward the door, Barry starts shouting that he’s going to call his lawyer
or the cops or someone to throw Miles in jail, all of these threats littered with expletives until, finally, they get him
outside. And the door closes behind them.
As it does, the people in the bar cheer.
A couple of people pat Miles on the back as they pass by, calling him “Champ” and saying things like “That guy deserved it.”
Everyone slowly goes back to doing whatever they were doing, but my feet might as well be glued to the floor.
Miles looks at me, wild-eyed, still wired from what just happened.
I have no words. But then I look at his hand and blurt out, “Ice!” I grab him by his good arm and pull him over to the bar.
“Can we get some ice in a bag?”
Gina, who has yet to return to the stage, looks at Miles, rolls her eyes, and points to a door behind the bar. “Go get some
out of the cooler.”
I lead him through the door and into the kitchen, then point to a stool. “Sit.”
“You’re so bossy,” he says.
“Yes, I am. Especially when people do stupid things.” I walk around the kitchen, searching for any kind of plastic bag.
“Hey.”
I turn and find him holding a large, empty freezer bag. I walk over, grab it, and point at the stool again. This time, he
sits.
I fill the bag with ice and walk back over to Miles, then carefully pick up his already swollen hand and gently set the ice
on his bright red knuckles. “Why did you do that?”
He moves slightly, his body angled directly in front of me. “Was that one of your app dates?”
“Miles, it’s fine.” I go quiet. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s not fine.” He stands, eyes fixed on me.
A heat-filled moment passes between us, laced with the emotion of unsaid words. I can’t think of a time when someone stuck
up for me like that, and I don’t know what to make of it.
All I know is that it’s getting more and more difficult to remember that he and I are just friends.
Miles inhales a slow breath as if he’s trying to slow his pulse, then reaches up and gently brushes my hair away from my face.
“You should’ve told me.”
I can’t look at him. I don’t trust myself. “It’s not your job to protect me.”
He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger, lets it go, then makes a fist and pulls his hand away. “What if I want it
to be?”
I can feel his eyes on me, though I’m doing everything I can to not look up at him. Because if I do, every ounce of my resolve
will disintegrate into thin air.
The bag of ice is sitting on top of his swollen hand, which is pressed against his chest, and I reach over and move it, just
a little.
I don’t know how I manage to get the words out because I’m pretty sure I’m holding my breath, but I find a way to ask, “What are you saying?”
At that, he angles away from me, dropping down onto the stool. “I don’t know. I just—” He drags his hand across his forehead
and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
I move an inch closer. “We talked about this—”
“I know, Claire.” He looks at me and shrugs, resigned. “I know. But when I saw that guy messing with you, it just”—he blows
out a breath—“made me crazy.”
I think about everything I learned about him tonight.
The way he donates his time and skills to help make this city beautiful.
The way the women in his orbit trust him enough to ask him to be their plus-one.
The way he always says yes, always takes time, always helps.
He takes care of everyone—he can’t help it. It’s just who he is.
That’s all this is. Miles doing what he does—swooping in to help.
Maybe he’s just confusing that innate need with feelings . . . but the way he’s looking at me right now makes it really hard
to believe that.
There’s a beat of silence, and I search my mind for a way to keep the moment from getting even more awkward and end up saying
the only thing I can think to say. “Why didn’t you tell me the women I saw at your apartment that first day were your daughters?”
He half laughs. “You didn’t ask.”
“I actually thought you were dating women half your age,” I say. “And you didn’t correct me.” I go quiet. “I didn’t mean to
be so judgy.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not,” I say. “And it’s also not okay for you to keep sending me mixed signals, so you have to stop that.”
“I know.” He looks at me, apologetic. “I swear it’s not on purpose. You just—” But he doesn’t finish the sentence.
I hear Gina call for teams to return to their tables.
I look up at Miles.
He looks back at me.
He narrows his eyes.
I narrow mine right back, thankful for the levity.
“Winner pays the next time we try a new cuisine?” He raises a single eyebrow.
I stand, not breaking eye contact, then say with confidence, “I haven’t tried Japanese hibachi. Bring your wallet.”
I just wish I was as confident with my heart.
The Porch is now on social media!
THANK YOU, ZOEY!
We’re meeting this week to talk about branding and messaging and all kinds of things, but it’s really happening.
I’m going on date #2 with Duffy. He’s picking the place. I’m betting it won’t be anywhere with cats.
I hired two people! I’m officially an employer. I’m going to start off doing all the baking myself, but I have two college
students helping me at the counter. They’re really sweet and make me miss Minnie, but since she’s coming home in a few weeks,
I guess that makes sense.
Oh.
It’s been three days since Miles punched Barry at the bar—and since our team won at trivia—but I haven’t seen him since.