Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
MILES
Our house smells like barbecue and beer—two of my favorite scents.
I glance around, surveying the scene. The living room has been transformed into a full-blown team hangout zone.
Catering trays line the kitchen counter—ribs, pulled pork sliders, mac and cheese, coleslaw, the works.
Miranda insisted on having the party catered, and I didn’t disagree.
When it comes to food and guests, leave it to the professionals.
“Dude,” Finn says from the couch, raising a beer. “You’ve officially outdone yourself. This spread is legendary.”
“Correction,” I say, tossing him a napkin, “Miranda outdid herself. I just helped carry the trays inside and taste tested the mac.”
“I think you two are the new official Crane party hosts.” He plops an entire pulled pork slider in his mouth.
I laugh. “Let’s not go that far. We can spread the joy of hosting around.”
Miranda steps out of the kitchen carrying a platter of chicken skewers, and every conversation in the room seems to dip a little quieter. She’s wearing simple jeans and a soft cream sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. Nothing fancy—but she doesn’t have to try. She just glows.
“Okay, people,” she says brightly, setting the tray down. “Eat before the guys devour everything. And by guys, I mean Logan.”
Logan, already holding two plates, raises his hands. “Hey, I burn calories faster than anyone here.”
If Gunner, our goalie, were here, I might argue. That guy definitely eats the most. But Logan can pack it in.
“Don’t forget a salad,” Miranda teases.
“Yo, I’m sensing some food shaming.” He narrows his gaze.
She shakes her head. “Not at all.”
Her ease with everyone amazes me. She fits right in with the team and their chaos—effortlessly balancing humor with grace. Watching her laugh with them, I feel that familiar tug in my chest again.
I should be mingling, but I can’t stop watching her.
She laughs at something Cade says. She brushes her hair behind her ear and smiles that easy smile that never fails to hit me somewhere deep. Every time I think I’ve gotten over it—over her—I see that smile and realize I’m still standing at the edge, ready to fall again.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.
I open it to find Max, Delaney, and baby Caroline bundled in her pink coat and tiny beanie.
“Hey, man,” Max says, stepping inside. “Smells amazing in here.”
“Plenty of food left. Come on in. So glad you could make it.”
Delaney laughs softly. “Yeah, we can’t stay long. It’s almost Caroline’s bedtime, but we wanted to stop by and say hi.”
Iris’s screech comes from behind as she runs toward her best friend Laney and pulls her into a hug. “I didn’t know if you guys were going to come. And with the baby!” she squeals before kissing Caroline on the cheek.
Caroline babbles something incoherent and smiles. That baby loves attention.
“Come in, make yourselves at home,” Miranda says, appearing behind me with a warm smile. “I can hold the baby if you want to grab yourselves a plate.”
“Oh, I got it,” Iris says, taking Caroline from Laney’s grasp. “If you don’t mind? I’m having serious baby withdrawals.”
“No worries,” Miranda says. “I’ll get some time with her later.”
Miranda lays out plates for them while I hand Max a beer and settle in beside him.
“Still loving the dad life?” I ask.
He smiles and looks affectionately at his daughter, who is making the rounds with Iris. “It’s pretty great. Oddly enough, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Something about the way he says it—so sure, so steady—gets to me.
I glance across the room where Miranda is laughing with Anna, her head tipped back, the soft glow of the lamp hitting her face just right.
The door opens again, and Eddy, our equipment manager, walks in with a couple of the self-proclaimed puck bunnies—women who’ve practically made a career out of chasing hockey players.
They’re all legs and perfume, their laughter sharp enough to cut through the music. Eddy waves like he’s proud to have brought reinforcements.
“Ladies, this is the crew,” he announces. “We’ve got players, food, and beer. Pick your poison.”
Finn grins. “Guess that’s my cue to grab another drink.”
One of the girls beelines across the room until she’s sidled up next to me, brushing a manicured hand against my arm. “You’re Miles, right? Number sixteen?”
I take a polite step back. “That’s me.”
“I watched you play last week. You were amazing.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile. “Appreciate it.”
She twirls a strand of hair and leans closer. “Maybe you can give me a personal lesson sometime.”
Before I have to come up with an excuse, Miranda appears at my side like divine intervention.
“Hey, Miles, can you help me with the extra chairs?” she asks, her tone light but her eyes sharp enough to make the woman step back.
“Yeah, sure thing,” I say quickly, moving toward the dining area with her.
Once we’re out of earshot, she grins. “You’re welcome.”
I chuckle. “I was two seconds away from faking a phone call.”
“I saw that. You looked like a cornered animal.”
“She came in hot.”
“That’s Eddy’s doing.” She shakes her head. “He loves to stir things up.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in any of that,” I mutter.
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “No?”
“No.” I grab the stack of folding chairs and set them up beside the table. “I’m not into the puck bunny thing. Feels… empty.”
“Empty?” she echoes.
“Yeah.” I glance up at her. “All surface, no depth. I want more than that.”
Her lips part, and for a second, it feels like I’ve said too much. I clear my throat and add quickly, “You know what I mean. Real connection. Something solid.”
She nods slowly, her eyes soft. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”
For a beat, the noise around us fades—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the music. It’s just her and me, standing way too close in a room full of people.
Then Anna’s voice cuts through the air. “Miles! We need you for flip cup!”
Miranda laughs, breaking the tension. “Go. They need your competitive energy.”
“Only if you’re my teammate,” I say.
She pretends to think it over. “I don’t know, Keller. You’re kind of a sore loser.”
“False. I’m a passionate competitor.”
She grins, already walking toward the kitchen island where Anna’s set up red plastic cups. “Fine, I’ll play. But if we lose, I’m not claiming any responsibility.”
“Fair.”
The game is loud and ridiculous—everything about tonight is exactly the kind of night I didn’t realize I needed.
There’s beer spilled across the counter, Logan shouting about “team morale,” and Eddy booing every time he misses a flip.
Miranda stands beside me, laughing so hard she can barely breathe.
When we win the final round, she throws her hands up in victory and turns to high-five me. I catch her hand—and somehow we just… stay there. Her palm against mine, warm and soft, her laughter melting into a smile that lingers.
My heart beats a little faster.
She notices, because her laughter quiets, and for a second, it feels like time slows down again.
Then Caroline squeals from across the room, breaking the spell.
“Caroline just spit up on Jaden!” Cade calls out, laughing.
Miranda squeezes my hand once before slipping away to grab napkins for cleanup.
I watch her go, that familiar ache blooming in my chest again.
All night, she floats through the room as she belongs to every moment—laughing with Max, cooing at the baby, teasing Finn about his terrible playlist. She’s everywhere yet somehow always at the center of it all.
And me? I’m hopelessly, irreversibly drawn to her.
Later, when the crowd thins out and the laughter fades, I walk Max and Delaney to the door. Caroline’s already fast asleep in Laney’s arms.
“Good night, man,” Max says, clapping my shoulder. “That was a great party. Miranda is a hell of a host.”
“Yeah, she is.” I think of her role in Anna’s life, how she plans Anna’s day down to the minute during work days.
She’s had a lot of practice, sure, but something about the way she does it makes you feel cared for.
It’s a nice feeling. I glance over my shoulder at her, still tidying the kitchen, her hair falling loose around her face.
When the last guest leaves and the apartment finally goes quiet, I find her sitting on the couch, sipping the last of her wine.
“Successful night,” I say, leaning against the doorway.
“I’d say so,” she replies with a tired smile. She pats the seat beside her. “You look tired. Come sit.”
I drop down next to her, our knees brushing. The faint hum of a song still plays from the speaker.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say. “It meant a lot to have everyone here. I haven’t hosted since I bought the place. It was about time.”
Her gaze softens. “Of course. It was fun. You guys deserve it—you’ve been killing it this season.”
I shrug, suddenly aware of how close she is. “Still. You didn’t have to go all out like this.”
“I wanted to,” she says simply.
And that’s the thing about Miranda. She never makes a big display of it, but she chooses to show up—for people, for moments, for me.
The room is quiet again, and she leans her head back against the couch cushion, closing her eyes. I could sit here for hours just like this—watching her, memorizing the way the light plays over her skin.
I should go to bed. I should look away. But I don’t.
She must feel my stare because she turns her head and opens her eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing, really,” I respond with a cowardly lie.
“Clean up tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
She sets her empty wineglass on the coffee table. “I’m too tired to get up,” she says, plopping back onto the sofa.
I stand. “I got you.” I grab her waist and lift her from the couch.
She squeals, laughing. “What are you doing?”
Tossing her over my shoulder, I hold her thighs—resisting the urge to smack her butt—and start toward her room. She giggles out some empty protests, but I keep walking. “If my bestie is tired, then I will help her.”
Her front dangles behind me, and she slaps my butt. “By carrying me like a caveman?”
“Hey, there’s no complaining when one is being carried.”
“You’re insane.”
“Thank you.”
I stop at the entrance of her bedroom door and set her down. Her face is red from hanging upside down. She wobbles on her feet and steadies herself against the doorframe.
“Well, that’s one way to get to my room, I suppose.” Her stare, filled with humor, holds my own.
“Thanks again for everything you did to make tonight happen. It was awesome, and I want you to know it was really appreciated. Everyone had a great time.”
She nods. “It was no problem. I plan for a living. A get-together among friends wasn’t hard to coordinate. It was nothing, really.”
“Well, I appreciate the way you always take care of me and everyone around you.” I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes go wide, and her body tenses. “Is there anything you need?”
She shakes her head.
“Because you know I would do anything for you. I may not be able to predict people’s needs as you do, but I am more than happy to help. Just tell me what to do.”
“I’m good,” she whispers.
“Okay.”
We stand outside her bedroom door, neither of us saying anything for a solid minute.
There’s so much I want to say and do. So much I wish she’d say.
At the top of that list would be an invitation inside her room.
But she doesn’t. She simply looks at me.
I see—or at least I think I see—desire behind her eyes.
I feel the heat radiating off her body, matching my own.
It’s there—this more-than-friends connection between us—but I won’t be the one to say anything.
It has to be her. She’s made it clear she only wants friendship.
I won’t do anything to make our living arrangement awkward for her.
If she wants to change her stance, I’m here.
Leaning down, I kiss the top of her head. She pulls in a sharp breath. I clear my throat. “Good night, Sunshine.”
She dips her chin. “Night,” she croaks out, the single word barely a whisper.
Using all my willpower, I turn and walk away.