Chapter 10 Oops, Feelings #3
Miles dragged me to my feet, crashing our mouths together, tongues dueling, spit and come and everything between us. He held me tight, bodies pressed together under the rain of the shower, neither of us willing to let go.
“Don’t ever stop doing that,” he whispered, voice shaky, raw. “Don’t ever stop wanting me like this.”
I smiled against his mouth. “I couldn’t if I tried. You’re mine, Miles. All of you.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, the water cooling around us, both of us breathing hard. Finally, Miles laughed, soft and breathless.
“We're going to be so late.”
“Worth it.”
“Completely worth it.”
We actually showered after that, washing each other with gentle hands, stealing kisses between rinses. By the time we finally turned off the water and stepped out, we were both grinning like idiots again.
“Okay,” Miles said, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Now we really, really need to go.”
“Fine. But I'm still driving.”
“Like hell you are.”
We bickered the whole way to the festival, but it felt different now. Lighter. Like the sharp edges had been filed down, leaving something softer underneath.
By the time we arrived, the festival grounds were already buzzing with activity. Vendors set up their booths, families wandered between attractions, and the air smelled like cider and caramel apples and the promise of Halloween.
“There you are!” Lila appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Miles by the arm. “Where have you been? I've been calling you all morning!”
“My phone died,” Miles said quickly.
“Uh-huh.” She glanced between us, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “And where were you when your phone died?”
“None of your business.”
“Derek's place?”
Miles's face went red, and I bit back a laugh. Lila's grin widened.
“I knew it. Jenna owes me twenty bucks.”
“You bet on us?” I asked.
“Obviously. You two have been eye-fucking each other for weeks. It was only a matter of time.”
“Can you please stop saying eye-fucking in public?” Miles hissed.
“Can you please stop being so obvious?” Lila shot back. Then she grabbed both of us, steering us toward a tent I hadn't noticed before. “Come on. You two need a break before the contest tomorrow. Organizers just opened the arcade.”
“Arcade?” I repeated.
“Halloween-themed. Neon lights, claw machines full of plush skeletons, the whole deal. It's ridiculous and perfect, and you're both going.”
Before either of us could protest, she and Jenna were pushing us inside.
The arcade was chaos in the best way. Flashing lights, cheesy Halloween music blaring from speakers, kids in costumes running between machines. Skee-ball lanes lined one wall, claw machines filled with pumpkin plushies sat in the corner, and a massive air hockey table dominated the center.
“This is insane,” Miles said, but he was grinning.
“It's amazing,” I corrected.
“Same thing.”
We wandered through the tent, taking it all in.
“Skee-ball,” Miles announced, pointing at the lanes. “You and me. Winner gets bragging rights until death.”
“You're on.”
We claimed two lanes, feeding tokens into the machines, and the game began. Miles was terrible at it, his balls ricocheting off the edges, barely scoring anything. I, on the other hand, was killing it. Precision. Focus. Technique.
“You're cheating,” Miles accused after my third 100-point shot.
“How is skill cheating?”
“Because you're too good at everything and it's annoying.”
“Sounds like jealousy.”
“Sounds like you being insufferable.”
He hip-checked me mid-throw, sending my ball careening into the gutter, and I turned to him, mock-offended.
“Did you just sabotage me?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“That's cheating.”
“That's strategy.”
I grabbed him around the waist, pulling him against me, and he yelped, laughing. We wrestled for a moment, both of us grinning like idiots, and I realized with startling clarity that this felt dangerously close to dating.
And I didn't hate it. Not even a little.
We played a few more rounds, the competition devolving into chaos and laughter. Every time he leaned close, I caught the scent of him, coffee and something warm and uniquely Miles.
This was what I'd been missing. This easy, playful connection. This feeling of being seen and wanted and maybe even loved.
I was so screwed.
“Alright, alright,” Miles said eventually, holding up his hands in surrender. “You win. You're the skee-ball champion of the world.”
“Thank you. I accept this honor with grace and humility.”
“You're the worst winner I've ever met.”
“And yet, here you are. Still hanging out with me.”
He smiled, soft and genuine, and my chest tightened. “Yeah. Here I am.”
We wandered out of the arcade as the sun started to set, the festival lights flickering to life overhead. The crowd had thinned slightly, families heading home, vendors preparing for the evening rush. It was peaceful. Beautiful.
And then Gavin appeared.
He stood at the edge of the arcade tent, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, that same smug smile on his face. Everything about him screamed money and power and the kind of arrogance that came from never being told no.
“Took a break from losing to have a little date?” Gavin said, his voice smooth.
Miles tensed beside me, and I felt my own hackles rise. But I kept my voice calm, controlled.
“Gavin. What do you want?”
“Just thought I'd check in. See how the competition's holding up.” His gaze swept over us, taking in our proximity, the way Miles's hand had found mine without either of us realizing. “Cute. Really. But I hope you're not too distracted. Wouldn't want you to miss the contest tomorrow.”
“We'll be there,” Miles said, his voice tight.
“Good. Because I'd hate for you to forfeit. Especially after I went through all that trouble securing those new vendor contracts with the festival board.”
My stomach dropped. “What contracts?”
“Oh, didn't you hear? The board's implementing new permits for next year. Priority given to established businesses with proven track records. Corporate sponsors, that sort of thing.” He smiled, sharp and predatory.
“Small pop-ups and independent cafés might have a harder time qualifying.
But I'm sure you'll figure something out.”
He was trying to edge us out. Not just for this contest, but for good.
“That's bullshit,” Miles said.
“That's business.” Gavin adjusted his cuffs, his expression smug. “Enjoy your little date while it lasts, boys. Tomorrow's going to be... interesting.”
He walked away, leaving us standing there in the fading light. I felt Miles's hand tighten in mine, saw the anger and fear flickering across his face.
Miles and I stood there in silence, watching Gavin disappear into the crowd. The festival lights twinkled overhead, cheerful and oblivious to the tension coiling in my gut.
“He's full of shit,” Miles said finally, but his voice had lost some of its edge. He was still holding the skeleton plush, gripping it a little too tight.
“Probably. But what if he's not?” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think. “New vendor contracts? Priority for corporate sponsors? That's exactly the kind of thing the festival board would go for if someone with deep pockets started waving money around.”
“So what, we just roll over and let him win?” Miles turned to face me, his jaw set. “Let him push us out because he's got better lawyers and a bigger checkbook?”
“No. God, no. I'm just saying we need to be smart about this.” I looked at our booths, at the patchwork repairs we'd made last night, the mismatched decorations and jury-rigged lights. It all felt so fragile suddenly. “We can't fight him the way he fights. We don't have the resources.”
“Then how do we fight him?”
“By being better.” The idea was forming as I spoke, pieces clicking into place. “He's got polish and money and corporate backing. But we've got something he doesn't. We've got people who actually give a shit. About the coffee, about the town, about each other.”
Miles was quiet for a moment, studying me. “You really believe that makes a difference?”
“I have to. Because if it doesn't, then what's the point of any of this?” I gestured at the festival grounds, at the families wandering between booths, at the whole messy, chaotic, beautiful thing we'd been part of.
“Gavin can buy his way into a lot of things.
But he can't buy what we've built here. The connections, the community, the fact that people actually want to come to our cafés because they like us, not just because we're convenient.”
“That was almost inspirational. I'm a little concerned about you.”
“Shut up. I'm trying to have a moment here.”
“Sorry. Continue with your heartfelt speech about the power of friendship.”
I shoved his shoulder, and he grinned, some of the tension finally leaving his face.
“I'm serious though. Tomorrow, at the contest, we don't try to out-corporate him. We do what we do best. You bring the chaos and heart, I bring the precision and presentation, and we show everyone why small businesses matter.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It's not. But it's all we've got.” I paused, then added, “Plus, if we win, we can rub it in his smug face for the rest of eternity.”
“Now you're speaking my language.” Miles shifted the skeleton plush to his other arm, looking more like himself again. “Alright. Tomorrow we bring our A-game. Show that corporate asshole what real coffee tastes like.”
“Together?”
He looked at me, something soft flickering in his expression. “Yeah. Together.”
We stood there for another moment, the weight of everything still pressing down but somehow more manageable now. Then Miles bumped his shoulder against mine.
“Come on. Let's check our booths before Lila sends out a search party. She's probably already convinced I've been kidnapped by pumpkin-themed serial killers.”
“That's... oddly specific.”
“You haven't seen the true crime documentaries she watches. It's disturbing.”
We walked back toward the booths, still talking, the conversation flowing easier now. And despite Gavin's threats, despite tomorrow's uncertainty, I felt something like hope settling in my chest.