Chapter 13
“You’re wondering what I lied about, aren’t you?”
Milo’s whispered question while we’re in bed together catches me off guard. It shouldn’t. It’s exactly what I was thinking about as I lay down, eyes closed, trying to force myself to go to sleep.
But I’m wide awake, and the reason why is exactly what he’s said.
I shift and roll over so I’m facing him. Even though it’s dark, I can still make out the shape of his body, the expression on his face. His eyebrows are knitted together, like he’s worried about what I’m thinking—about what I’ll say.
“Yeah, I am,” I say after a moment.
He nods and glances at some spot over my shoulder. “It was nothing bad.”
“I know.” I don’t know why I know this. I just do. Just like I know the sky is blue and grass is green. “You don’t have to tell me,” I say after a quiet moment. “I’m just curious. I don’t have a right to pry.”
“Riley, if I were you, I’d be curious too.” He pauses. “It was nothing, really. Just something so silly, so insignificant, I don’t even know why I ...” He tugs a hand through his hair. I can just barely make out the movement as my eyes adjust to the darkness.
I rest my hand on his arm. He relaxes immediately. I can feel his muscles under my palm loosening the longer I touch him.
“It was this evening on my way home from work,” he says. “I passed by a street vendor selling tulips. He said to me, ‘Why don’t you take some home and surprise the wife? Make her day with some lovely tulips.’ And I dropped a few bills into his jar and said, ‘My wife prefers peonies.’”
He sighs, his hot breath sheeting across my neck and chest. Goose bumps fly across my skin. For a long moment I’m quiet. I’m stunned. I wasn’t expecting him to say that.
Wife.
“It was strange,” he says. “The words just rolled off my tongue. I wasn’t even thinking about it in the moment as I said them. It wasn’t until I got a few steps down that I realized what I said.”
More silence. Another heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry, Riley. I ... I know I had no right to lie about you like that. I swear it was harmless, but I know that doesn’t take away from how wrong it was. Or how weird it was. I swear, I’m not engaging in some creepy fantasy about you as my wife.”
He laces his fingers with mine. His skin is warm and dry despite the flat’s chilly temperature. He gives my hand a squeeze, then another. Something about that double squeeze is so comforting. It’s playful but at the same time heartening.
I lie there and take in the significance of this moment, what all this means.
It means that at this point in our relationship, Milo has developed some serious feelings for me.
His admission should freak me out. I should be running for the hills.
But I don’t feel panicked or freaked out. I’m surprised, for sure, but also intrigued. I feel even more drawn to him, more comforted, more content. He starts to speak, but I press my fingers to his mouth, shushing him.
“Don’t say another word,” I whisper. I’ve scooted so close to him that I can see the gleam in his eyes, how he’s confused and intrigued all at once.
I take my hand away, replacing it with my lips. It’s a soft kiss I press on Milo’s mouth. It lasts only a few seconds before I pull away, but I don’t miss the dazed look in his eyes.
By now I can see Milo almost perfectly in the darkness. I can make out all the features on his face—that thick, dark stubble, those deep walnut-hued eyes, the hard angle of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the slight furrow of his brow, the wave of his black-brown hair.
I slide my palm to the front of his chest, the steady thrum of his heart a soft drumbeat against my hand. I close my eyes and savor his warmth, the firmness of his body, the even rhythm of his breath.
My muscles relax as my entire body sinks deeper into that comforted feeling.
I move even closer to him, pressing my body against his until all I can feel is heat.
He pulls away slightly. “Riley, wait.”
I open my eyes. His hands cup gently around my face. His gaze is cloudy and searching.
“What I said really didn’t bother you?” he asks, his chest rising and falling when he breathes.
“It didn’t bother me. I like that you called me your wife.”
He blinks, staring at me for a few seconds, like he’s thinking about what I’ve said. Like he’s trying to make sure he heard me right.
I can tell he’s still unsure. But instead of trying to think of more things to say to convince him, I stay quiet and cuddle back into him. I slide my arms around his chest and hold tight, hoping this is enough to show him exactly how I feel about him. A beat later, his body relaxes against mine. He strokes my hair, his hand so gentle as he threads it through the strands, emotion surges up my throat. I take a second to breathe, to swallow.
“So we’re good then? You’re not upset?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Not upset at all. We’re good.”
I feel his body relax around mine, like the stress and tension he carried in anticipation of this conversation are melting away.
I know there’s still so much I don’t understand; there’s still so much I don’t know.
But what I do know is that I like Milo. I like how much he cares about me. I like that his feelings for me have deepened.
And in this moment—in this world, in this timeline—he’s the only one I want.