42. 42
Miles lays on his side, sweet pine filling my senses and making me dizzy. His hand finds the clavicle at my neck, sending shivers down my arms and heat into my chest as his fingers move to cup around the back of my neck. My eyes flutter closed and then his lips, warm and soft, connect with mine. His mouth moves and I follow along—a puppy at his beck and call.
Lacing one arm about his neck and finding a fistful of his T-shirt, I pull him closer. I wind one leg around his, refusing to let him go. Not that Miles is attempting to flee. He moves his arm between the bounce house floor and my back, cradling me closer.
I might run out of air. I’m not complaining; it’s just a fact. When Miles breaks free of my lips, I’m ready to protest. But then, his lips press to the corner of my mouth, trailing kisses from my lips to my jaw to my throat.
Whether I want to admit it or not, I’ve had a crush on my husband for a while now—it’s nice to know it wasn’t unreciprocated.
Did I once tell Miles a kiss was just a kiss—no big deal? That had to have been someone else. Someone certifiably insane because this is poetry in motion. This is art at its finest. Kissing Miles Bailey might be pure bliss. To call it just a kiss is probably a crime.
“Time for gifts!” I hear someone outside the protection of our bounce house call.
Can’t we just move in here? It’s roomier than the loft without all the furniture crowding up the place. We could just stay here forever…
All his blissful kissing stops, and Miles blinks down at me. “We should maybe—”
“Do we have to?” I say.
“Has anyone seen Miles and Delaney?” Lucy Bailey asks from somewhere outside the safety of our little bounce house.
Miles sighs, rolling his neck to the side.
Yep—we’re moving in. I like it here.
“I did!” Alice bellows.
“Whoop—time to go,” he says, standing on uneven feet and holding out a hand to me. And just like that, all my fantastic real estate plans go out the bounce house window.
I breathe out a sigh. And I was just starting to love Miles’ family. “Okay,” I say with a groan. “Let’s do this.”
I slap my hand into Miles’ and he yanks me to my feet, grunting when my chest bumps his.
“Um, your—ah—” His hand circles above his head.
“My what?”
“Your hair—it’s kind of—” He stretches both hands out wide as if motioning to a giant invisible explosion.
“It’s what?” I lay my hands on top of my head, but I can feel it—no need to ask. The static electricity in here and my head full of hair have decided to join forces and create one heck of a science experiment. “Great,” I mutter.
I pull out the newly added brush from my crossover bag. Jostling on the unsteady ground while Miles holds me upright at my waist, I comb through my locks—but they really don’t want to lay down.
“Miles?” Lucy calls, closer now.
“Ah, in here. We’re coming.”
I have one choice—I braid my hair into a quick knot, leaving it to hang over my shoulder. It’s the only way to keep it from flying away.
“You aren’t exactly neat and tidy,” I say, seeing Miles’ mussed curls and wrinkled shirt.
But before Lucy can open the curtain to our new private quarters, Miles snatches my hand and pulls me through the exit.
Levi stands not six feet away, Cooper at his side. With Miles’ grand appearance, their conversation halts and they turn, gawking at us.
“Geez, Miles.” Levi grunts. “In the bounce house?”
My hands automatically run over the length of my braid, making sure I have no flyaways.
Cooper chuckles, giving Miles a thumbs-up.
Miles runs a hand through his already mussed hair, doing it zero favors.
I smile enormously—and most likely obnoxiously—for Lucy. “We’ll be right there. I promise.”
“Sweetheart,” Lucy says, pointing to my button-up top. I peer down to see two buttons open wide and my lacy lavender bra showing through.
I gasp, horrified, and pull Miles behind our yellow-and-red, air-filled oasis.
“I did not do that,” he says, pointing to my shirt.
My fingers fumble over the buttons. “My hair you tell me about, but not the cleavage I’m suddenly sporting at a toddler’s birthday party! Miles!”
“I’m sorry,” he says—but the laugh that comes out with the words makes him difficult to believe. “They must have popped open in… our shuffle.”
I cram my eyes closed. I am a married lady—who didn’t do anything in that bounce house, by the way. I mean, almost nothing. I blow out a breath and gather my composure.
“You okay?” he says, and for all his quiet, shy attributes, he doesn’t seem fazed.
Pulling out my brush, I comb through Miles’ curls, straightening him out a bit. I tuck one curl behind his ear, my fingers lingering on his cheek.
”Do we need to break up? Like, get divorced now?” My eyes search his—I”m not sure what happens after you”re discovered making out in a bounce house at a Bailey family party, with everyone presuming more.
But more than that, I’ve broken every rule I set up when we started this. I told him a hundred times this would work because we didn’t love each other.
I can’t hurt Miles.
I can’t hurt the Baileys.
“Excuse me?” he says. His hands snatch mine by the wrist, pulling it down from his face. “Confused.”
“I like you, Miles. And you like me—” I swallow. “That kiss back there meant you like me, right?”
A curt laugh falls from his chest, and a crooked smile forms on his face. “Yes, Delaney. I like you.”
“But neither of us was looking. Neither of us was ready for this.”
“Ready or not, I like you.” His forehead wrinkles. “And I like that I like you.”
“So should we divorce? You know, so we can date.”
Miles blows out a tired breath. “I know this wasn’t the plan.” His thumb traces the edge of my bottom lip. “And full transparency—I don’t know what’s going to happen. But here’s what I do know: I don’t not want to be married to you.”
“So—”
“So,” he says, scooping a stray hair behind my ear and cupping my cheek. “I think we just keep doing what we’re doing.”
“Doing what we’re doing,” I repeat.
“Yeah.” He rests a hand on my shoulders, his finger tracing my skin there. “We’ll figure it out along the way.”
The next hour is filled with strange fireworks in my stomach, extra touches from my husband, and foreign thoughts from myself.
Lula sits in her high chair with Miles’ family and a few friends standing around watching her as she investigates her pink unicorn birthday cake. She pokes it once, then twice, without ever trying the icing.
All the while, visions of curly-haired brunette babies fill my head. They all have Miles’ eyes. I’ve never once dreamed of babies in my twenty-seven years.
I blame the Baileys.
“Just eat it, Lula!” Alice moans. She’s the only child at this party. There are a couple of infants—babies of Jude and Coco’s friends—but she’s the only child. Which makes me think Coco really did rent that bounce house for Miles and me. Can we take it home?
“Here,” Lucy says, scooping a small amount of the pink frosting onto Lula’s own finger. She helps the little girl find her mouth, and then she lets her be.
Lula’s eyes widen, and both of her hands reach for the unicorn, crushing it between her chubby little fists. Heidi stands next to Lucy and the two laugh, looking at one another as if they share some kind of grandmotherly secret. Maybe they do.
Coco watches with Alice and Jude, tears streaming down her cheeks.
This is motherhood—messy, exhausting, crying over birthday cake. Why would I want that?
But in this moment, with Miles beside me, I do.
And as Coco holds Alice’s hand and stares at her Lula, I see something I’ve never seen in my mother’s eyes. Coco will never judge her girls or force on them the heavy burden of disappointment—not the kind that has followed me around my entire life.
She will be like Lucy. And her girls will be loved.
I squeeze Miles’ fingers entwined with my own and he peers down at me. He will be like Lucy too—full of goodness and grace and love.
For whomever he loves.
I was wrong before—wondering why Miles would want a family. He has to have a family. There’s no other option. Anything else would be tragic.