Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
MIRANDA
Something is strangely comforting about failure when you’re not alone in it. The smell of burnt sauce lingers in the air as Miles and I sit cross-legged at the kitchen island, devouring sandwiches from the deli down the street.
“Okay,” I say through a mouthful of turkey and Swiss, “I think this qualifies as one of our finer meals.”
Miles looks up from his own sandwich. “You mean compared to Salty Firepit Pasta? A hundred percent.”
“Exactly.” I laugh. “I think the deli deserves a five-star review. Maybe even six.”
He lifts his sandwich like a toast. “To the true chefs of the evening—Greg and Denise from the deli.”
I tap my sandwich against his. “Cheers.”
The crinkle of deli paper around our sandwiches echoes in the quiet kitchen. The dishwasher hums in the background, and the whole place smells like toasted bread, melted cheese, and the faintest trace of our earlier disaster.
“Honestly,” I say, taking another bite, “this might’ve been my favorite dinner in a while.”
“Really? Even with the sauce explosion?”
“Especially because of the sauce explosion. I haven’t laughed that hard in months.”
He grins—that easy, boyish grin that makes something flutter in my chest. “Yeah, it was pretty epic. And, honestly, dangerous. I feel like we survived something big.”
“Oh, we did.” I point toward the mess we haven’t finished cleaning. “There are still red splatters on the cabinets to remind us of the ordeal.”
He glances over and chuckles.
For a while, we eat in comfortable silence—the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words. That’s what’s easy about being around Miles. There’s no pressure to perform. I don’t have to be an organized assistant or the professional publicist who always has the perfect response. I can just… be.
He finishes his sandwich first, pushing his plate aside and leaning his elbows on the island. His forearms flex, drawing my attention before I quickly look away.
“So,” he says, “what’s the schedule look like this week? I have a home game Tuesday and another Saturday.”
“Anna and I will be at both,” I say immediately.
He arches a brow. “Both? You sure? I know you’ve been running nonstop with all her post-award stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s been crazy, but I’ll be there.” I tear off a piece of crust and fidget with it. “You know I love watching you play.”
The words come out too easily, too honest, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he pretends not to.
“You and Anna are our good luck charms,” he says instead. “Every time you’re in the stands, I score.”
“That’s because you’re good, not because of us.”
He smirks. “Maybe. But I’m not taking any chances. You'd better be there.”
“I will,” I promise.
“Good.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. The hem of his sweatshirt lifts slightly, revealing the toned lines of his stomach. My eyes betray me before I can stop them, darting down just long enough for me to silently scold myself.
I take another sip of soda, praying he didn’t notice.
“So what about Friday?” I ask, redirecting. “You have practice, right?”
“Yeah, morning skate. Then team meetings in the afternoon.”
“And then?”
He tilts his head, studying me with mock suspicion. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to plan my social life?”
“Because I am. Anna and I were actually thinking of having people over that night,” I say. “Just a casual hangout. Some of the team. Nothing crazy. We could host here or at Anna and Jaden’s place.”
“That sounds good,” he says easily. “You know me—I’m always up for food and company.”
“Good. I think it’ll be fun. It feels like it’s been a while since we’ve had a team get-together.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Max is busy with the baby, and most of the other guys are all coupled up and in love. We don’t plan as many nights out as we used to.”
“Well, we’ll fix that. Logan and Finn will come, and of course, Eddy will want to hang out. Oh, and you…” I pause, realizing too late how it sounds. “You’re single.”
The words stumble out awkwardly, and my cheeks flush again.
If Miles notices, he doesn’t show it.
“Yep,” he says casually. “I am single.”
“Is there anyone special you want to invite? Feel free.”
He shakes his head. “No one who comes to mind. Just the team and friends, like usual. I’m sure Logan or Eddy will bring random dates, but I’m good if it stays small. It’s better that way.”
“Yeah,” I agree quickly. “Just… please remind Eddy that his dates need to remain dressed.”
Miles laughs, that deep, warm laugh that always seems to find its way under my skin.
I don’t think he realizes how much I notice him—the way his shoulders shake slightly when he laughs, the way his eyes light up when he teases me, the way his voice softens when he says my name.
His every move shouldn’t have such an effect on me, but it does. I find myself waiting for his smiles, craving his attention like sunlight on a cold day.
And I know I have to find a way to tamp that down. Feelings like this don’t lead anywhere good. What I have with Miles is too important to risk.
After a while, our conversation drifts to movies, old road trip stories, Anna’s interviews, and my completely irrational fear of spiders. The more we talk, the easier it is to forget the rest of the world exists.
He tells me how nervous he was walking into his first NHL locker room. During his first home game, he forgot his stick on the bench during warm-ups because he was too busy staring at the crowd.
“You’re kidding,” I say, laughing. “You always seem so confident out there.”
“For the most part, I am. But those first few weeks, I was in awe.”
“Like you were in Hollywood with Jennifer?”
“Exactly.” He chuckles. “The dream I’d worked toward my entire life had come true. I’d made it. It took a while to sink in.”
“I can’t picture you being nervous about anything.”
He smiles faintly. “You want to know the first game I actually felt at ease?”
I nod.
“It was the first time you and Anna came. You were in Jaden’s box, wearing my number sixteen jersey.
I looked up and saw you cheering. It’s hard to explain, but it felt incredible—like I’d finally made it.
There was someone in the stands wearing my jersey.
The fact that it was a gorgeous woman wearing it? ” He winks. “Icing on the cake.”
I blink, caught off guard. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. That made my day.”
“Well, I’m glad,” I say softly. “It’s still my favorite jersey number.”
He studies me for a beat, something warm flickering behind his eyes. Then his gaze dips slightly, and he says, “You’ve got something on your cheek—a crumb.”
My heart stutters as his thumb brushes my skin, gentle and warm. He wipes it away, but his hand lingers for a heartbeat too long, fingers hovering like he’s debating whether to move.
I bring my own hand up, pressing it lightly to where he touched. “Thanks.”
He clears his throat and leans back, giving a quick nod. “No problem.”
I stand abruptly, collecting our plates just to have something to do. “You want ice cream? I think we have cookie dough in the freezer.”
He grins. “Absolutely.”
While I scoop the ice cream, he pulls up music on his phone. A soft, mellow indie song fills the kitchen. It feels like the perfect soundtrack to this little bubble we’ve built—warm light, tired laughter, and the faint smell of burnt tomato sauce.
We eat standing at the counter, spoons clinking against our bowls.
“You know,” he says between bites, “I think we’re going to get good at this whole cooking thing.”
I smirk. “You think?”
“Yeah. The first time’s bound to be a disaster, right? We’ll get better as we go.”
“I sure hope so.”
“We’ll make it a weekly thing,” he continues. “Pick a new recipe, go shopping, cook together. Every dish can’t be a disaster. And even if it is, it’ll be time spent together. That’s what matters.”
I glance up at him, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. His tone is light, but his eyes—there’s something deeper there.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’re right.”
He smiles, and it hits me like a punch to the chest—how easy it would be to fall for him if I let myself.
But I can’t. I know better.
I’ve spent too many years rebuilding myself, too many nights convincing myself I’m finally okay. Miles is my friend—my safe place—and I can’t risk that.
Still, when he yawns and stretches, muscles flexing under his sweatshirt, I can’t help but smile.
“Long day?” I ask.
“Long week,” he says with a groan. “But tonight was worth it.”
“Even with the firepit pasta?”
“Especially with the firepit pasta.”
He sets his bowl in the sink beside mine. “Thanks for hanging out, Sunshine.”
“Anytime,” I say softly.
As he heads toward the hallway, he pauses and turns back. “We’ll try again soon. Maybe tacos next time. They can’t be that hard.”
“Deal.”
He gestures to the kitchen. “No cleanup tonight. I’ll help tomorrow. I have early practice, and I’m beat.”
“Okay.” I nod.
When he disappears down the hall, I lean against the counter, my heart still doing that stupid fluttering thing.
The kitchen is warm and messy, smelling faintly of burnt sauce and toasted bread. The day with Miles wasn’t without its hiccups, yet somehow it was absolutely perfect.
As is most of the time I spend with him.