Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The distance between us felt thinner. Like this tiny kitchen in this cozy house was some pocket universe where Victor didn’t exist, where paparazzi didn’t flash, where I wasn’t Julian Vale.
Where I could just be.
And that was terrifying.
But for now... I stayed.
The pasta was simmering. The whole house smelled like garlic and herbs and warmth.
I wasn’t used to warmth.
Miles flopped onto the couch first, sighing like he’d been working for hours—which he hadn’t, but I didn’t say it. His hair was a little messy from cooking, cheeks flushed, and that ridiculous soft smile still clinging to him like static.
I stood there for a breath too long, watching him.
Then I sat beside him. Close. Too close. Our knees touched.
I should’ve shifted away. Should’ve said something sarcastic or cold, kept the wall up where it belonged. But I didn’t.
I stayed.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, surprising myself, I muttered, “Thanks... for keeping me company. No one’s ever been like this with me.”
His head turned. His wide, golden-brown eyes found mine. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
Miles smiled gently, voice low, soft like the dusk creeping through his window. “You deserve this kind of company, Julian. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
His words cracked something in my chest. Something I’d buried so deep it hadn’t seen light in years.
I let my gaze linger on his mouth. Stupid, soft, always-moving mouth.
And just like that, he leaned in. Careful. Slow. Like if he moved too fast I’d vanish into smoke.
I didn’t stop him. Worse—I leaned in, too.
The space between us disappeared.
A brush. Barely there. Our lips touched—a fleeting, soft connection that sent a shiver down my spine. Nothing desperate. Nothing greedy. Just a quiet, terrifying promise.
I felt him tremble against me—nervous as hell. I knew the feeling.
My eyes fluttered shut. My breath caught.
And then—
Bang!
A streak of gold and mud barreled into the room, paws skittering across the floor.
Sunny.
Before either of us could react, she lunged—straight for me. Not Miles. Me.
“Sunny—no! Wait—!”
Too late.
She launched onto the couch, soaking wet, her muddy paws colliding with my chest. I stumbled back with a grunt, arms flailing, slipping sideways into the cushions as the giant dog wagged her tail like I was her favorite toy.
Miles choked—a sound that quickly became uncontrollable laughter.
“Sunny! Oh my God—Sunny, no!” he gasped, doubling over, wiping tears from his eyes.
I sat there, stunned. My shirt soaked. Mud smeared across the front.
I should’ve snapped. Should’ve cursed or scowled.
But then I heard it—Miles, laughing so hard his whole body shook, the sound bubbling out of him like pure sunlight.
And for some reason... I smiled. A real, small, helpless smile.
A laugh even slipped past my lips. Quiet, but real.
“You trained her to do that, didn’t you?” I muttered.
Miles grinned, breathless. “I wish. She’s got good taste, though.”
Sunny sat proudly at my side, tongue lolling, tail thumping like a drum against the couch.
I ran a hand through my hair, sighing. “Great. Now I smell like wet dog.”
Miles stood, still grinning ear to ear. “Come on. I’ll get you a shirt. One of mine. It’ll drown you but...you’ll look cute.”
I shot him a warning look—half-hearted, no heat behind it. “Don’t push your luck.”
He winked. “Too late.”
I followed him down the hallway, the soft creak of the wooden floor under my feet the only sound between us. His house smelled like him—clean, warm, a little like citrus—and I hated that I noticed. Hated that it made something tight in my chest loosen without my permission.
He pushed his bedroom door open with his shoulder. “You can borrow something to change into,” he said lightly, stepping inside and going straight for his dresser.
I paused in the doorway. My eyes dragged over everything.
The room was messy in the way that made sense for Miles—clothes draped over a chair, books stacked unevenly on the nightstand, a record player in the corner with a half-played vinyl left out like he’d been too distracted to put it away.
A framed photo of him with his family, smiling like idiots in front of some Christmas tree.
It was stupid how that made my throat pinch.
“Here—try this.”
I turned at the sound of his voice.
I didn’t realize how close he’d come. Not until I bumped right into him—his chest warm and solid against me. My breath caught. My whole body tensed, ready to snap away.
But then he chuckled. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing to be afraid of. His hand slipped to the small of my back, steadying me gently. Not forcing. Just... holding.
I stared up at him, caught, pinned by the quiet in his eyes. They weren’t teasing, not this time. They were careful. Like he knew every wrong move could shatter this moment. Shatter me.
“Julian,” he began softly. Like he was trying not to spook a wild thing. Maybe he was.
I should’ve stepped back. Made some sarcastic remark. Saved myself.
I didn’t.
I lifted my chin just a little. Just enough. And that was all it took.
Miles leaned in, slow like gravity itself pulled him toward me. His other hand rose—fingertips brushing gently against my cheek, warm, grounding, real.
His breath ghosted against my mouth before his lips touched mine.
Soft. Careful. Barely there.
But it was there.
A quiet press of lips. No rush. No fire. Just... closeness.
I felt my chest tighten, crack at the edges. A quiet, aching break.
I kissed him back. Barely. A breath of pressure. Enough to feel him.
His thumb swept gently along my jaw as if reassuring himself I was real.
When we pulled apart—slow, reluctant—I didn’t move. Neither did he.
His hand stayed on my cheek.
I hated that I missed the warmth the second it left.
I swallowed hard, trying to rebuild the walls that just crumbled a little more. But they stayed cracked.
Miles smiled. Not like the sunshine grins he always wore. This one was small. Private. Just for me.
And for once...I didn’t want to run from it.
Miles stepped back with a small smile, eyes lingering on me for a second longer than they should have, before clearing his throat.
“I’ll let you change,” he murmured, voice gentle, warm. Like the kiss still hung between us.
And then he slipped out, pulling the door shut behind him.
I stood there. Silent. Staring at the spot where he’d been.
My fingers drifted up to my mouth before I could stop them.
I hated this. Hated the way my chest ached. The way my skin still felt warm from his touch. I hated the softness of it all. How easy he made it to forget the weight I always carried.
But the worst part?
I didn’t hate the kiss.
I wanted more.
God, I wanted more.
I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, trying to shove the thought away. I wasn’t supposed to want that. I wasn’t supposed to need that. Him.
But he was breaking something in me. Slowly. Gently. Like the way sunlight pries its way through cracks in old wood.
And I was letting him.
I sighed, grabbed the oversized shirt he’d left for me, and pulled it on. It smelled like him—like fresh soap and clean air. Another curse.
When I finally stepped out into the hallway, Miles was waiting, leaning against the wall. He looked up—
—and smiled.
A real one. Soft. Stupid. Bright.
“Cute,” he mumbled with a quiet laugh, eyes dragging down the too-big shirt hanging on me.
I froze.
And the strangest thing happened.
I didn’t want to snap at him.
I didn’t want to run.
I wanted to stay.
I swallowed hard, looking away before he could see too much.
But the warmth stayed in my chest.