Chapter 12
January 30, 2025
“Are you excited?” Milo glances at me from over the rim of his tea mug.
“For what?” I glance out the kitchen window, mystified by the fluffy snowflakes falling from the sky. It’s wild to see snow when my body and brain think it’s March. I’m expecting rain every time I step outside. But since time is moving backward, it’s now January, so a little bit of snow is to be expected. I still can’t wrap my head around it, though.
“Date night with Poppy and Desmond.”
I thumb through the stack of mail on the kitchen island and down the rest of the tea in my cup.
I smile up at him. “Yeah. I’m pumped.”
I think about yesterday (tomorrow, actually), how Poppy chatted at work about what a great time we all had. I only wish she’d given me specifics.
Milo grins back at me before turning to open the fridge door and peering at the contents inside. “I think I’ll make my famous homemade bolognese. Poppy’s favorite recipe of mine. You know she demands I make it every time we have them over.” I still for a moment, soaking in what he’s said. I can’t seem to wrap my head around the idea that my best friend, who used to despise Milo, likes him and sees him often enough that she has a favorite dish he cooks for her.
“I think I’ll make it with white wine this time.” He pulls a half-full bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge. “Think she’ll like that?”
“She’ll love it.”
He smiles, and that familiar warmth courses through me. The two weeks since I kissed Milo have been a blur. Work has been busy for the both of us. And he’s been out of town a handful of times for work trips. By the time Milo made it home at night, it was so late I was already in bed. And most of the mornings when I woke up, he was already gone for work.
It’s done the strangest thing ... it’s made me miss him.
“It’s good that we’re making time to get together with them,” Milo says as he gathers ingredients and sets them on the counter. “I’ll be swamped with work these next couple of weeks.”
I remind myself that he’s moving forward in time; he hasn’t already lived these days like I have.
“Yeah. You’re right,” I say as I stand in the kitchen and watch him. This is the first night we’ll go to bed together.
That feeling in my chest intensifies.
He rubs the back of his neck, his burnt-sienna stare flitting to the ground before meeting my gaze once more. “Sometimes I think about how she hated me. Before she got to know me.”
“She was kind of like me in that way,” I say.
The corner of his mouth yanks up in a half smile as a quiet chuckle falls from his lips. He steps over to me, pulling me close against him. I don’t freeze. I don’t tense. I sink into the sensation. I like this, the way he touches me. I like feeling his body against mine.
“I won you both over eventually,” he says before winking at me. His phone rings. He sighs. “Work again. I’ll cook when I get home later.”
He answers and chats while putting away the ingredients, then gathers his wallet and keys. He walks over to the coat closet, grabs his coat, and heads out to work.
I watch him, finally able to put a name to that feeling inside me.
Anticipation.
I’m eager and curious to see how things end up between us tonight.
“Swear to bloody fucking god, I’m done with red wine in bolognese. White wine is a thousand times better. Well done, Milo.” Poppy raises her wineglass, which makes Milo, who’s sitting across from her at the tall, pub-style wooden dining table in the kitchen, laugh.
“I mean it,” she says after taking another bite of pasta. “I never knew it was this much better with white wine than red wine.”
“My mom’s recipe,” Milo says. “She’ll be thrilled to know she’s converted another bolognese lover to the white wine side.”
Milo offers both Poppy and Desmond another helping of his pasta, which they both say yes to.
“Can you teach Desmond this recipe?”
“You don’t want to learn?” Milo asks her.
Desmond chuckles. “Mate, she doesn’t cook, remember? That’s my job in this marriage. Keep her well fed.”
“And well fucked,” Poppy murmurs before sipping her wine.
Milo and I burst out laughing the same moment Desmond turns beet red.
He lets out a huffy stammer. “Christ, Poppy. Must you be so crass?”
She rolls her eyes before bumping him affectionately with her shoulder. “Babe, we’re amongst friends. They know what I’m like.”
I pat Desmond’s hand. “It would be weird if she didn’t have a filthy mouth.”
His pinched expression eases slightly. “I suppose you’re right.”
Poppy leans closer to him. Her face is so close to his that if he turned to look at her, they’d bump noses. “Admit it. You love my filthy fucking mouth.”
Despite his cheeks being on fire, he starts to smile. “I love your filthy mouth,” he mumbles to his plate of pasta.
She tilts her head at him. “Say it.”
Desmond sighs and shakes his head. The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, indicating he’s secretly into all this teasing. “I love your filthy fucking mouth, Poppy.”
Milo claps. “Aww, man, you did it. You said something dirty. In front of other people. This is huge.”
I fall back in my chair, I’m laughing so hard.
“But the real question is ...” Milo takes a breath, suddenly serious. “Does Gus like the sauce?”
We all laugh as Poppy lowers a tiny spoonful of beef to Gus, who’s been napping at her feet. He sniffs it before devouring it.
“It’s a winner,” Poppy announces.
Just then Coco trots out from the bedroom. She takes one look at Gus and hisses at him.
“Coco, be nice,” Milo says.
She completely ignores him and hisses once more before darting back to the bedroom. Gus gives a weak yip before scurrying back to Poppy’s feet.
“Aww, so brave,” she teases.
“Someday they’ll get along,” Milo says.
“Fat chance,” Poppy says.
I almost tell Poppy that she’s right, but I catch myself. I already know that Gus and Coco won’t warm up to each other.
Milo stands up from his chair, heads to the fridge, opens it, and pulls out a chilled bottle of sparkling white wine. “I’d say Desmond’s dirty-talk moment calls for a toast.”
He fetches four champagne flutes from the cupboard. As he pops the bottle and pours, I take in the scene. Milo, Desmond, and Poppy chatting, getting along as though they’re old friends. Which I suppose they sort of are, given that it sounds like we’ve all been friends for the better part of the past year. I suppose I’ll find out more as I go back in time. If I continue to go backward.
Still, though, I’m stunned as I sit quietly and take it all in. Never in a million years did I ever think things would turn out this way. But there’s something about this dynamic—it’s so easy and fun and natural. It feels different from when I was with Tristan and we’d hang out with Poppy and Desmond. Yeah, we had fun, but not like this—not bellyache-inducing laughs or hilarious inappropriate conversations. I’ve never seen buttoned-up Desmond so relaxed and jokey before.
Even as I observe them chat and laugh, something about this feels so surreal, like it’s a dream.
And then I think about what will happen if I keep going backward in time ... eventually I’ll hit the moment when Tristan and I were still together, still married ...
What will I do then? Will I have to live that nightmare over and over, waking up every day to a husband who I know is cheating on me? Will we fight and argue every morning when I wake up and confront him? That sounds like hell ... I don’t want to live like that ...
My stomach folds into itself, threatening all the yummy food I just ate. I take a slow, quiet breath and try my best to shove the thought from my mind. I can’t worry about that. I need to just focus on the moment and enjoy the time now.
Milo hands me a glass of sparkling wine and sits back down next to me at the table. “A toast to my boy Desmond for waving his freak flag.” He tilts his glass to Desmond. “Congrats, man. I always knew you had it in you.”
“Hear, hear!” Poppy cheers.
The four of us clink glasses and down our drinks. We finish up, and Desmond offers to clear the table.
When Milo starts to work on the dishes, Poppy makes a face. “Oi, leave it. That can wait till later.”
Milo chuckles and joins the rest of us on the sectional in the living room.
“You know, you two are the only people I know in all of London—no, England—that have a couch this massive,” Poppy says, topping off her glass.
“It’s a sectional,” Milo says.
Poppy frowns. “A what?”
Milo explains what a sectional is.
Poppy shakes her head. “So bloody American.”
“I guess it makes sense seeing as we’re both American.” I gently elbow Poppy.
Milo flips on the TV so he and Desmond can catch the end of some football game. Milo offers Desmond the last of the champagne.
“No more?” Poppy asks.
Milo shakes his head. “All we’ve got left is hard alcohol.”
“Oh!” Poppy claps her hands. “How about a drinking game?”
Desmond groans. “What are we, sixteen?”
“Oh, don’t be a killjoy, Des. It’s been ages since we’ve done a proper drinking game.”
“And for good reason. We’re not teenagers.”
Poppy gives Desmond a playful kick with her bare foot. She turns to me. “Please, Ri? One drinking game?”
I release a dramatic sigh. “Okay.”
She lets out a squeal. Milo stands up and grabs a bottle of bourbon from the drink cart that rests along the kitchen wall. Coco saunters out from the bedroom and hops on the arm of the couch next to me, all the while eyeing Gus, who’s snoozing next to Poppy’s purse across the room.
“What should we play?” Milo asks as he pours shots in our empty flutes.
“Truth or dare.”
Desmond groans at Poppy’s suggestion. “I’m not doing dares. That’s childish.”
“Fine. How about we just play the truth part; then if you don’t want to answer the question, you drink a shot?”
A light bulb in my head goes off. This game could be a way to get more info on the year that I missed.
I flash a thumbs-up at Poppy’s modification. Milo and Desmond say yes.
“Okay! Desmond, you’re first: If you could shag anyone in the world other than me, who would it be?”
Desmond’s cheeks go crimson for the tenth time this evening. He stammers, then pulls off his glasses, opens his mouth, and immediately shuts it. He downs the whiskey in his glass.
“Aww, Des. Come on,” Poppy coos.
Milo chuckles. “You’re gonna give the poor guy a stroke.”
She stands up to switch places with Milo and snuggles into Desmond after she sits back down. “Come on.” She slinks her arms around his neck. “I’m dying to know.”
“Well, if you must ...” Desmond huffs out a breath. “Priyanka Chopra.”
Poppy beams and pats his back. “Good choice. She’s stunning. I’d shag her too.”
Desmond shakes his head. “Okay, I suppose I get to go next?”
We all say yes.
“Milo, what is your death row meal?”
Poppy rolls her eyes. “Christ. That’s not a fun question at all.”
“Yeah, come on, Desmond,” Milo says good-naturedly. “Gimme a tough one.”
“Oh. Well.” I smile at how Desmond rolls his shoulders back and frowns slightly in concentration. He pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?” Poppy asks.
“Looking up the most common truth-or-dare questions.”
“Of course you are,” she says before downing a shot.
“Oh, I’ve got a good one! If you could run over anyone with your car without consequence, who would it be?”
Poppy gives Desmond a nod of approval.
Milo chuckles. “Easy. Kim Jong Un. Or Vladimir Putin. Or Craig at the office, who always shirks out of buying a round during office get-togethers.”
“You can only pick one.”
“Vladimir Putin.”
Milo turns to Poppy. “Okay, you. What’s your favorite sex position?”
Poppy raises an eyebrow as she takes Desmond’s bearded chin in her hand. “Doggy.”
She plants a kiss on him, and he makes a muffled noise. I burst out laughing. Desmond shakes his head, looking both amused and flustered.
“Okay, Ri! Your turn. What do you prefer: cut or uncut?”
It takes me a second to understand what she means. When I do, I nearly spit out my shot. It’s been so long since we’ve played a drinking game, I forgot just how wild my best friend gets.
“Um, well . . .”
My gaze flits to Milo, who sports an amused smirk. Here’s the problem: I haven’t the slightest clue what Milo’s dick looks like, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings based on the answer I give.
“I like both,” I say quickly.
Poppy rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious,” I say, my tone strong with the conviction I feel. “I honestly like the way both look. Because, well, you know, when a dick gets hard, cut or uncut, they look pretty similar.”
Milo laughs. Desmond makes a choking noise before staring at the TV screen.
“That’s an epic nonanswer,” Poppy mutters.
I shrug. “It’s the truth. Ugh, fine.” I down a shot of bourbon. “Okay, my turn to ask a question: Poppy, when did you start to like Milo?”
The slight rise of her brow indicates that she’s surprised at what I’ve asked.
“Hmm. Bold question there, Ri. You should already know the answer to that.” She frowns at me, but I can tell she’s more amused than annoyed. She turns to look at Milo. “The night of the pub fire.”
I think about when I saw Nesta at Luscious, how she mentioned that night and what Milo did, how he stood up for me. That must be what Poppy is talking about.
“Same,” Desmond adds.
I’m about to ask another question, eager to find out more, but then I look at Poppy. I go quiet at her expression, how it borders on tender as she focuses on Milo. Desmond has a similar look on his face. Less tender, though, more like he respects the hell out of Milo for what he did that night.
Milo looks between them, a soft, shy smile on his face. “Glad I could finally change your minds about me.” He lets out a weak laugh. I can tell he’s half joking, but there’s a rawness in his tone and his expression. It means a lot to him to hear Desmond and Poppy say that.
Poppy reaches over and pats Milo’s arm. Desmond nods once at him. I suddenly feel like an outsider intruding on this moment between the three of them as they quietly acknowledge a significant moment in their friendship.
In their timeline, I know what happened. But in mine, I don’t. If I keep moving backward in time, though, I’ll find out eventually.
The air in the room has shifted now. Like an emotional quiet has fallen over us. And now I feel like a jerk for trying to turn what should be a lighthearted game into a fact-finding mission.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so focused on digging up information. Maybe I need to just accept the timeline I’m currently in, no matter how strange and disorienting it is. Things will unfold the way they’re supposed to.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw off the vibe like that.”
Poppy knocks back a shot. “It’s all right. Next question!”
We play two more rounds, with Poppy sticking to sex-themed questions and Desmond getting huffy each time.
“Looks like it’s up to me to restore some degree of sensibility to this game,” he says before consulting his phone once more. “Ah! This is a good one: Milo, what was the last lie you told?”
It’s not till I’m downing the last of my drink that I notice that Milo has gone quiet. His stubbled cheeks turn rosy, and he can’t seem to meet the eyes of anyone in the room.
His jaw muscle bulges as he bites down. I think he’s going to say something, but his lips stay pursed until he knocks back his entire glass of whiskey.
I exchange a look with Poppy, who presses on with the game, offering another ridiculous question that lightens the mood. The rest of the night, though, I wonder what in the world that look on Milo’s face was about.