Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
MIRANDA
My hands tighten and loosen on the steering wheel in the same repetitive motion.
The constant clenching is starting to make my fingers cramp.
I check my rear-view mirror, my side-view mirrors, the speedometer, and the space between me and the car in front of me.
Then I repeat the cycle. And repeat it again and again.
Miles sits beside me, giving a steady stream of encouragement, but I'm not absorbing a single word of it. I can’t. I simply have to focus.
And it’s working because I’m actually doing this.
Red light? I stop.
Green light? I go.
Cars around me? I don’t hit any of them.
Should a simple drive home from the grocery store be an epic feat? For most people, absolutely not. But the grocery store we went to is six miles away, and now I am two blocks from home—and guess what?
Not a single person has honked at me.
No one has swerved or glared.
We have not almost died even once.
It’s almost too good to be true, and my chest fills with giddy excitement because I cannot wait to pull into our driveway and end this triumph before the universe realizes its mistake.
One more block.
A child rides her bike along the sidewalk to my right.
Now that the snow has melted and spring is threatening, Michiganders have emerged from their winter hibernation like eager woodland creatures.
People are everywhere. While I normally find that adorable, today it’s one more obstacle that I, a newly competent driver, must avoid flattening.
But I’m doing it.
Half a block.
On my left, a kid on a skateboard glides down a driveway. Please don’t shoot into the road, I mentally beg. Miraculously, he doesn’t.
A giant smile overtakes my face as I turn carefully into our driveway. I shift the truck into park and hit the button to turn it off. I sit there for one stunned, glorious second before turning to Miles.
And then—
We scream.
Pure, unfiltered joy.
I unbuckle my seat belt at lightning speed, fling open the door, and sprint around the front of the truck just as Miles reaches me. He lifts me easily, spinning me in a dizzy circle of laughter and relief.
“I did it! I did it! Oh my gosh, I did it!”
“You did,” he says, beaming. “I think you’re ready for your test.”
I bury my face in his neck, laughing so hard my ribs ache. “I can’t believe this. This is so stupid. It should not have been this hard!”
He kisses the top of my head, warm and proud. “Doesn’t matter how long it took to get here. The point is you’re here, and that drive was perfect. I don’t have a single critique. You’re ready to get your license.”
I shriek again as he sets me down, bouncing on my toes. “This is a miracle. Like truly, an honest-to-God miracle.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it kind of feels like one, doesn’t it?”
The girl on the bicycle slows as she approaches our driveway, riding right past the front of the house. I turn to her, unable to stop myself, and shout, “I can drive!” like an absolute lunatic.
Her head jerks back, brows scrunching together in a mix of confusion and mild alarm. She clearly thinks I’m unhinged.
I do not care.
Because I can. Drive.
Still riding, she mumbles something under her breath about me being crazy. I spin back to Miles, breathless and euphoric.
“When should I take my test?”
“Anytime,” he says easily. “We can go to the DMV tomorrow after practice if you want.”
“I think I should. I need to get my license while I’m feeling confident.”
“Agreed.” His smile is warm, proud. “But honestly, I think you’ve got this. It took a while to get here, yeah, but you’re good now. Every time you drive, it’s going to get a little easier.”
“Yay! I’m so excited.” I bounce on my toes. “And now, when you’re gone, I can run errands. I don’t have to call an Uber or ask Anna to send a driver.”
“Exactly.” He taps the tip of my nose. “That’s my point. Aren’t you glad you did this?”
I laugh. “Honestly? I wasn’t at first, not gonna lie. But now? I get it. I get the hype.”
“Good,” he says before pulling me in for a hard, celebratory kiss.
We grab our grocery bags from the back seat and head inside.
As we walk up the front steps, I take a moment to let everything hit me.
Life just feels… good. So good it almost overwhelms me.
I can drive. I love my job. I love my friends.
I’ve become part of this whole new community with the Crane hockey team—people who feel like family.
I’m in love with my best friend. We live together.
We cook together. We laugh together. We have this beautiful home and this messy, wonderful, almost-too-perfect life unfolding around us.
I never thought this would be my reality. Not in a million years. But now that I’m here… I’m just so grateful I made it.
Miles unlocks the front door and swings it open. Extending an arm, he nods for me to walk in first. “After you, Sunshine,” he says. “So what recipe are we trying today?”
“I got it from a TikTok video,” I reply, trying to sound confident.
“Oh boy,” he mutters, already amused.
I roll my eyes.
I’ve been learning a lot from social media.
I’ve favorited like a hundred cooking videos.
One of them is bound to win eventually. I mean, they look so easy on the sixty-second clip.
I get that the video is edited to make it look easy, but eventually, one of these recipes is going to stick, and then another.
It’s like driving; I just have to keep trying until I get it.
“The creator said that this one is foolproof, as in anyone can do it.”
He laughs under his breath. “Famous last words.”
It’s a simple ham-and-cheese slider with a honey-mustard glaze. The lady in the video promised me that it was a piece of cake. I hope we don’t prove her a liar.
Miles and I fall into easy chatter about our days as we unpack groceries.
It still amazes me how natural this feels—this relationship that’s barely begun but somehow carries the comfort of being years in the making.
We talk like an old married couple, finishing each other’s thoughts and filling every quiet moment without forcing a single word.
“Okay,” I say, pulling a pack of Hawaiian rolls toward me like I’m about to conduct a cooking show. “So first you slice the whole sheet in half. Tops and bottoms. Like a giant burger bun.”
Miles leans one hip against the counter, watching me with a grin that both encourages and teases. “Seems easy enough.”
“It better be,” I say, lifting my chin. “I watched the video about thirty times, and each time she said it was super easy.”
“It’s funny how a video repeats itself when you watch it over and over,” he deadpans.
I pull up the video again, turning my phone so he can see. “Just so we’re clear on the vision.”
We both watch the creator’s impossibly neat hands layer ham and cheese like a graceful culinary ballerina.
“All right.” Miles nods like he's taking mental notes. “Let’s be honest. We’re making glorified sandwiches. If we can’t do this, we need to throw in the towel,” he teases.
“Wow.” I turn to look at him. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I’m kidding. We can ruin as many meals as you want. There’s no timeline.” He bumps his shoulder gently against mine. “You’re adorable.”
I wave toward the pan. “You layer the ham and cheese on the bread. I’ll do the glaze.”
The glaze seems to come together easily. Butter melts in the saucepan, swirling with mustard, honey, and a mix of spices. It smells like heaven.
“This,” I announce confidently, whisking in quick, proud circles, “is foolproof. Literally impossible to mess up.”
Miles leans closer, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells delicious.”
“Right? I mean, how could this go wrong?”
“You did say that about the mac-and-cheese video,” he reminds me gently.
I narrow my eyes. “That was sabotage. An unrealistically edited video.”
He laughs, reaching over to rest his hand on the small of my back. “Well, this looks perfect.”
His palm lingers there—warm and gentle. My heart does an embarrassing little flip.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Now we pour the glaze over the sliders, pop them in the oven, and boom—chef-level dinner.”
Miles moves the pan of ham-and-cheese sliders across the counter. “Glaze them up, my Kitchen Goddess.”
I snort. “Don’t tempt me with titles I’m not qualified for.”
He helps me layer everything perfectly, and together, we slide the tray into the oven.
When the oven door clicks shut, Miles steps in front of me, bracing one hand on either side of the counter, caging me in. His body radiates heat. His face is inches from mine, his breath warm, his eyes dancing like he already knows exactly what he’s about to do.
“We should make out while we wait,” he murmurs.
A laugh slips out of me. “You know, they say new relationships really shouldn’t live together this soon. But I’m trying to figure out why.”
“I know, right?” he teases, leaning closer. “It’s perfect. I get to see you all the time.”
His mouth brushes mine, barely a whisper of contact, and the smallest sound escapes me.
Then he closes the distance fully, kissing me with that slow, unhurried certainty that always weakens my knees.
His lips move against mine. His fingers skim my waist, tugging me closer until I’m pressed against him, my hands curling into the front of his T-shirt.
The kiss deepens, warm and plush and addictive. His tongue sweeps against mine in a lazy stroke that sends heat pooling low in my belly. It’s one of those kisses that makes the world fall away until it’s just him and me.
Eventually, we break apart, and his forehead rests on mine, both of us breathing the same small pocket of air.
“Yeah,” I whisper, dazed. “Living together is definitely working.”
We migrate to the sofa, still smiling, legs tangling together as we scroll through streaming options. I’m halfway through convincing him that we should start a new series when I sniff the air and pause.
“Do you… smell burning?”
Miles sits up straighter immediately. “You set a timer, right?”
“I think I did.” I freeze. “Oh no. No. No. No. You started kissing me, and now I can’t remember if I did or not.”
“Uh-oh,” he echoes.
We launch off the couch in unison, sprinting toward the kitchen. I yank open the oven door, and a plume of dark smoke billows out.
“Nooo,” I groan, horror-stricken. “This is not supposed to happen.”
Miles grabs the potholders and pulls out the tray. The tops of the sliders are completely charred.
“It’s okay,” he says, optimistic to the point of delusion. “They’re still edible.”
“Miles.” I pin him with a stare. “They’re black.”
He squints. “Well… just the tops are black. Where the glaze was.”
“The glaze was the best part!” I throw my hands up. “Without the glaze, it’s just a dry ham-and-cheese sandwich.”
“No.” He holds up a finger. “They’re sliders.”
“The glaze makes them sliders, Miles.”
He shakes his head. “The small size makes them sliders.”
I gape at him.
He dumps the tray onto the cutting board and grabs a knife. “Just wait,” he says. With determination, he slices off the entire burned top layer.
Then he hands me a sad, decapitated mini ham and cheese.
With a long-suffering sigh, I take a bite.
“It’s… nothing special,” I say, discouraged.
“It just needs condiments,” he chirps. “Everything’s better with condiments.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Someday. Someday, we will be competent.”
“Exactly,” he agrees brightly. “Someday.”
We plate our dry-as-hell sandwiches. With the only condiment options in our fridge being ranch, Sriracha, ketchup, and Taco Bell hot sauce, we opt for ranch.
As we head back toward the living room, Miles shakes his head thoughtfully.
“It’s too bad she didn’t show herself setting the timer in the video.”
I pause, turn slowly, and narrow my eyes into a death glare.
Miles bursts out laughing.