Chapter 37
SADIE
I wake before Milo does, my eyes soaking in the way the light warms his bare back in the bed next to mine. He’s lying on his side, the covers pooled around his waist, head cradled in his left arm. I want to reach out and trace his ridges and freckles, drawing constellations on his flesh.
His body suddenly stretches into the sunlight, like he can feel me watching him, and when he turns over, the blue in his gaze is bright, and a sleepy grin grazes up against his cheeks.
“Good morning,” he mumbles.
“Morning,” I say, my head cradled in my bent elbow.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
I give a faint nod.
We stare at each other for a few moments, lingering in this moment, and while there are at least three feet between the beds, I feel as if his breath is on my skin.
Milo finally rolls to his back, stretching his arms above his head. I watch his movements as he slides out of bed and walks toward the coffee pot. “Want a cup?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say as I sit up, combing my fingers through my frizzy hair.
I hear him open a bag of coffee and pour water into the machine, and soon the room smells bold and warm.
“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask as I pull my legs up under me.
He turns and smiles. “You’ll see. We aren’t too far. An easy walk.”
I continue to study him as he eventually pours two cups of coffee and hands me one before sitting next to me on my bed. He gently blows and steam rolls away from his breath.
“You seemed kind of confident driving last night,” I muse. “Like you’ve done it often.”
He chuckles. “It’s a little different than back-roads driving.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting the velvet bitterness settle on my tongue before I swallow. “Did you live in New York City?”
He shakes his head. “No, I lived out in Jersey. Cedar Grove.”
I nod. “Did you like it?”
He shrugs. “It was nice. Lots of trees, great parks and restaurants.”
“But did you like it?” I repeat.
He smiles. “I didn’t hate it. Winter is a beast, though. My Texas blood froze.”
I laugh before I ask, “Was the snow beautiful?”
“It was. It’s the kind that truly blankets the earth and makes you believe for a moment that you’re in a snow globe.”
I smile, imagining it. I’ve always wondered if I’d love a real winter, not the kind that fades quickly in the Texas warmth, but the kind that stays and forces you to make peace with its crisp chill and frosty bite.
That, and I always thought I could pull off a beret and wool coat. You don’t need either of those things in Dusty Hollow.
I take another sip of coffee. “I really like this,” I say as I hold the cup up slightly.
“Coffee?” he teases.
“Plain coffee,” I correct. “I never thought I could tolerate it without milk or sugar.”
“Ah,” he replies. “As long as it’s not Grandpa’s coffee. Pretty sure his is made of tar and tobacco juice.”
I laugh. “It’s whatever is in that big bulk can.”
Milo’s brows rise. “He told me it puts hair on your chest.”
I dare to dip my eyes down to his. “So it seems you’ve had some, then?”
“No,” he answers quickly as his grin grows. “This just . . . happened.”
I squint my eyes. “Is that some silver I see?”
He mocks hurt. “Whoa. Let me turn thirty before you start making such harsh accusations.”
The heat from the mug in my hands and the conversation continue to seep through my body as I stand. When I’m a good ten feet away, I turn and say, “You shouldn’t worry. You’ll look good when you go gray.”
What I don’t say out loud is that I want to grow gray with him—to let our life show up in the lines on our faces and the stories we keep.
I’ve pictured us a hundred times at eighty, still laughing.
Sitting on a porch swing with coffee. Me in a comfortable muumuu, him in a cotton pajama set with a pocket for his reading glasses.
Milo was once the only thing I was sure about, but the problem with placing your certainty in another person is there’s the possibility they’ll let you down.
And then there’s the fact that you can let yourself down.
A fact I’m growing more aware of daily.
“So, what’s this surprise?” I ask, letting my thoughts dissolve.
Milo jumps up from the bed. “Let’s go find out.”
After we’ve both dressed, we quietly ride the elevator down until it spills us out into a lobby that’s even more noticeably glamorous in the daylight.
Large crystal chandeliers hang from above, and the floor is so shiny that the chandeliers are a perfect reflection in their gloss.
I turn in circles, taking in all the sleek surfaces that make the city look like glitter and Dusty Hollow look . . . well, dusty.
I flinch at the thought of the expense. I don’t know what Milo’s finances are like. He might have been a pro football player for a couple years, but he’s now a teacher with a TikTok account.
Milo’s hand finds mine, our fingers naturally entwining, and he pulls me along. “The surprise isn’t the hotel,” he teases.
I let him lead me out onto the street, where the sounds are louder than I remember from last night.
Everything is bright and moving so quickly.
People aren’t walking just to walk—they’re on a mission.
But Milo strides confidently in front of me, pulling me toward his back so I don’t have to dodge or be shouldered by people who are distracted by phones in their hands or worries in their heads, which I can see in their frown lines.
I’ve never heard so much noise in my life, but in the midst of all of it, I can practically taste the possibility—once I get past the smog and smell of exhaust and cigarette smoke.
When we finally stop, I look up at the building in front of us.
It’s an old building with a green gate and fence.
There’s an arch at the entrance, and it looks like someone plucked the building from a history book and placed it in front of me.
Except this is not a book. I’m here. Standing at the threshold of what feels like something magnificent.
“Wait until we go inside,” Milo says, his tone buzzing with anticipation.
He pulls at my hand, and I happily let him drag me along as my head tilts upward and I take in the sculpting where someone’s hands have created something that has stood the test of time—but I’m not ready for what’s behind the large door.
My jaw drops as we step into a different time period.
Three stories of walls are bookcases, bursting with stories and worlds.
Dark wooden railings keep them safe and secure while light pours in from stained glass windows.
But it’s not just books; it’s the art painted on every wall and ceiling, capturing a different way of life.
The kind that seems slow and intentional. The kind that cared about the details.
“I came here a few years ago and all I could think of was you,” Milo says softly as he squeezes my hand.
“I . . .” Words are not enough, not when millions of them are inked within these old books full of life lived and thoughts thought.
“I knew you’d love it,” he whispers, his voice easy and sure, like he’s known me all along.
And I do love it. Something within me shifts with a sharp recognition: I want to taste and feel the joys and pains of the world.
I want to touch something that mattered to someone and let it matter to me.
I want to be surprised and stunned, to be untethered and yet rooted.
I want to be more than what I am now, but I don’t really know what that is yet.
Milo’s hands are soon soft on my face, wiping tears I didn’t realize I’d even cried.
“Hey.” His voice is gentle. “I’m here.”
“Can I live here now?” I tease, his hands still on my face as I gaze into his eyes.
“You can live wherever you want, Sadie,” he answers.
I smile at the sentiment, but life doesn’t feel that easy. Not when reality is waiting for me back at home, but I blink away that dread and let the sureness in Milo’s eyes keep me steady.
“Can we explore?” I ask.
“For as long as you want,” he replies.
So we do. I marvel and am awed. I read and I weep. I laugh and I lament.
And I let Milo keep me grounded while I discover things I’ve never known to look for.