Chapter 27
ABBY
I eventually get up from my place at the front door when Captain comes down the steps to rub against me, insisting that I feed him. I stay in the guest room with him as he eats, and when he’s done, we play. Captain is good company when I’m feeling low.
It hasn’t been more than half an hour since Todd’s departure when I hear a knock on my door.
Did Todd come back?
The nerve. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Hazel about what happened, and this is really going to put the icing on the cake. I start composing a text to her, letting her know that Todd came back after having the audacity to ask me to get a drink with him.
My blood is pumping, my heart rate is picking up, and I can feel the anger rising. I was nice before, but he’s really going to get a piece of my mind now.
I fling open my door, ready to attack.
“Todd, I said I—”
But it’s not Todd.
It’s Miles.
I think my heart actually skips a beat. All the heat for battle in me extinguishes like a flame snuffed out by a gust of wind.
Miles Barker is standing on my doorstep, hands in the pockets of his gray shorts, his chain tucked under the collar of a white T-shirt, looking as handsome as ever.
My heart dares to hope.
Surely, there’s only one reason Miles Barker is on my doorstep right now.
“Miles,” I say, out of breath, as if I’ve just run down the stairs, though I’ve been staring at him for at least a minute. My heart is pounding so hard, the rest of my body probably thinks I’m in danger.
“Hi, Abby.”
My stomach flips when he says my name, and I think I might throw up between my racing heart and my fluttering, flipping stomach. He’s here. Miles is here.
“Who’s this?” Miles asks, pointing down at my feet, where I realize Captain is winding his way between my legs.
“This is Captain,” I say to Miles. “I adopted him when I got home.”
“May I?” he asks and squats down, holding out a finger to the grumpy old cat.
“If he lets you,” I say. “He doesn’t like many people.”
It feels easier to focus on Captain than Miles right now. Captain isn’t a surprise. Captain isn’t making my insides turn into a circus.
The cat sees the outstretched finger, and his nose scrunches as he sniffs.
He leans out, keeping his body in the house and just poking his head toward Miles.
To my complete and utter surprise, Captain sniffs his finger and then rubs his face along it.
He lets Miles scratch the top of his head, and to add insult to surprise, he starts purring so loud that I can hear it.
“Traitor,” I whisper to the cat.
“A very handsome boy,” Miles says, and as I pick up Captain—so he doesn’t think about making a run for it—I return my attention to Miles. We stand there for a long few seconds, just looking at each other.
It doesn’t feel real. My brain is trying to catch up with my eyes.
“May I come in?”
“Why are you here, Miles?”
I’m not mad, but I can’t get around my shock.
He tilts his head to the side, taking me in. “You left something in Cabo,” he says.
“You?” I ask, anticipating his joke.
His face softens, a smile cracking open his face. “Worse,” he says, digging in his pocket and producing a small pink shell.
I fight a smile as he hands over the shell. I cradle it in my hands, admiring the pretty pinkness of it before tucking it in my pocket.
“I’m here for you, Abby. And I have a whole speech prepared and I’m willing to do it standing on your porch, but I think it’s a conversation better had not across a doorway.”
I’m here for you, Abby.
My heart skips another beat.
“Come in,” I say, turning to go up the stairs. He follows me inside, shutting the door behind him.
I release Captain into the house, and he runs away to his room, presumably to hide, likely having reached his social quota for the day. When I turn back around, Miles has wandered into the living room, taking in all my decor and knick-knacks.
“Did you get this in Cabo?” He points to the sea turtle plushie sitting on my bookshelf.
I nod. My throat feels too clogged for words. Miles is here, in my apartment.
“I like your place. I know I’m just seeing the living room, but it’s so you.
All the art, the furniture,” he says, pointing to things as he names them.
For the second time today, a man is commenting on my living space, but for the first time, I don’t feel judged.
It feels like Miles means it. He seems to like the place because it feels like me, not in spite of it.
I warm at his words. Miles feels like the first day after winter, when you don’t need a heavy coat. Todd came through here like a blizzard, icing this place down, and Miles is here with his heat and his fire, changing the seasons for me.
“Is your job done? The house in Mexico?”
I follow him with my eyes as he wanders into my kitchen, taking in the newer cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. I would prefer a place with more charm, but a girl in need of an apartment will take what she can get.
“It’s not,” he says. “I’m just here until Sunday night.”
He leans against the stove, facing me finally, and the weight of his attention makes my head spin a little.
“And where are you staying?” I ask as I move into the kitchen too, leaning against the sink. He’s within arm’s reach. It wouldn’t take but two steps for me to be in his arms, but I wait. Because the ball is in his court and he needs to start the game.
“I have a hotel booked.”
“So you’re just here for the weekend? You go back Sunday?”
“That’s right,” he says. Why isn’t he saying more? What is he waiting for?
“How did you get my address?”
Miles’s face lights up with a smirk at this. “Your buddy Walter. He was at the resort for another week after you left and we got to chatting, and he had no problem passing on your address for the sake of true love, as he said.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “His words, not mine.”
“That old dog,” I say.
Walter and I haven’t started our pen-pal exchange yet.
I have his address and a half-written letter to him that I had every intention of finishing this weekend—and now I definitely will, as I’ll need to include some words about him giving out my address without asking.
No doubt Walter will have himself a little chuckle as he reads it, pleased as punch with himself.
I toe the hardwood floor, dragging the tip of my slipper across the ground in front of me. “Why didn’t you call, Miles? Or text?”
“I wanted to. Within days of you leaving, I wanted to reach out. I wanted to apologize. You deserve an apology from me, but I wanted to give it to you in person.”
“Okay…” I say, determined not to ask any more questions, to just let him speak.
“First and foremost, I want to apologize. When we had that conversation, I could not hear you the way you deserved to be heard. I was…selfish and single-minded and I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t think holding you tighter might mean I’d lose you anyway.
“And while this is not an excuse for my actions, I got diagnosed with anxiety shortly after you left. And I think I was close to having a panic attack during our conversation, so I only heard what the anxiety was letting me hear.”
As soon as he says the word anxiety, so many things click into place for me. The restlessness, the sometimes-unreasonable need for control over things, the way he sometimes seems super on edge. Even now, thinking back on his body language during our fight on the boat, anxiety certainly makes sense.
“And again, I’m not trying to make an excuse—”
“No, I don’t think you are. I believe you,” I say and reach out to place a comforting hand on his arm. His shoulders lower as he visibly relaxes under my touch. It makes me want to hug him so bad, but I sense he has more to say, so I resist and fold my arms across my chest again.
“Once I was able to clear my head, it became really obvious really fast that what you asked for isn’t unreasonable. That I was the unreasonable one to think it made sense for us to commit to each other again after such a short amount of time.”
The relief that sweeps through me at his words is enough to bring me to my knees. I dig my fingers into my arm just to stay grounded.
“Of course you didn’t trust me after nine days—a few of which you spent avoiding me. Of course you wanted to wait to commit to anything, and I am actually very grateful that you are being so mindful about a decision. I am, as always, impulsive and rash and it’s gotten me in so much trouble.”
His description of himself elicits a laugh from me. I feel lighter, like all the heavy feelings of missing him have been lifted. He isn’t just here. He’s here and apologizing and telling me that I was right.
I’m itching for him to pull me into his arms. For him to kiss me. But he continues.
“But I’m working on myself. As soon as I’m done in Mexico, I’m connecting with a therapist in Pittsburgh to figure out how to live with anxiety but also to address the stuff about my dad.”
My breath catches in my throat at this. What the hell happened in the last two weeks?
“You were so patient with me when we dated in college—when I was so emotionally stunted—and if I were you, I’m not sure I’d want to get emotionally involved again with me either.”
This is more than I ever expected from him.
I thought maybe I’d get an apology and a “you were right,” but this man is monologuing and I might need him to hold me so I don’t actually fall over.
I grip the sink behind me, hoping it will keep me steady.
Inside, I’m a goner. My heart is a puddle, melted by all his words, and tears are just a blink away.
“So I’m here to ask you to go on a date with me, but with the caveat that you should take all the time in the world you need to decide if I’m worthy of you. And I plan to prove that I am.
“I stand by what I said when I said I don’t want to wait, but I am more than willing to.
I want to earn your yes. I want to take you on dates and spend as much time with you as I can.
I want to get to know you and I want to show you all of me.
I want to make you laugh and hold you when you cry and I want—god, I want so much for you.
I want so much for us, but I am willing to wait as long as it takes for you to trust me, because Abby—”
His voice breaks as he says my name, and finally, he steps toward me, running his hands down my arms. Instinctively, I reach for him, resting my hands on his sides.
He swallows and blinks a few times, craning his neck back as if to keep tears from spilling.
I have no such sense of self-preservation.
I let the tears fall, and I think this is too much for him because his chin wobbles as he looks me in the eye.
He looks like he’s going to say something, but stops himself.
He slides his hands down the length of my arms to my hands, which he takes in his.
“Abby, you are so precious to me; I would be a fool for treating you with anything but the utmost care.” He brings my hands up to his mouth, pressing soft kisses along my knuckles.
“You put the ball in my court and I’m putting it back in yours.
And I’ll hold out until you’re begging me to be yours,” he says.
I let out an involuntary laugh-sob. The corners of his lips pull into a grin.
“You would.”
“I just mean that it’s going to be up to you. I’m going to keep showing up. I’m not going anywhere. And Abby…”
He slides his thumb over my cheek, wiping away the fresh tears and cradling my face in one hand. I lean into it, closing my eyes to savor his touch.
“Will you kiss me?” I ask, looking up at him through my wet eyelashes.
“I have just one more thing to say, and then I promise I will kiss you as much as you would like.”
“Deal.”
“You’re it for me, Abby. That’s why I’m willing to wait as long as it takes because I want a lifetime with you, and so what’s a few months or years?
You said it that night on the boat—that you didn’t want to be my girlfriend if you weren’t going to be my wife—and I’m telling you right now that when I ask you to be my girlfriend, you’re the last girlfriend I’ll ever have.
I’m not saying I’ll propose right away, but I’m telling you my intentions up front so you have all the information. ”
“Wasn’t I your first girlfriend, too?”
“The first one that mattered, yes.” He cradles my face with both hands and looks at me like maybe I’m the only person that’s ever mattered to him. “It’s my intention to ruin you for any other man, Abby.”
“You already have, Miles.” I dig my fingers into his waist, pulling him against me.
“Abby, I—”
“Shut up and kiss me already.”
He doesn’t waste another second and claims my mouth with his. He doesn’t just kiss me; he consumes me, crushing me against him in a kiss that tells me he meant every word he just said to me.
His kiss is all the promises he just made. It’s the yes I don’t have to say. It’s the two of us giving us a second chance.