Chapter 28
“Fucking hell, why did I let you talk me into Scotch?” Poppy groans as she twists around to look at Milo, who’s walking behind her.
We just spent the last hour and a half at a gastropub drinking to decompress from the events of earlier this evening. We’re all definitely tipsy, but Poppy had the most to drink out of all of us. The morning I witnessed makes a lot more sense now.
Desmond slinks his arm through hers. “It’s all right, Pops. We’ll get you some water, tuck you into bed, and you’ll feel better. Promise.”
She spins back around and snuggles into Desmond’s embrace. “Thank you, my love.”
I smile at the sound of Poppy going soft for her husband. She normally doesn’t use that gentle, pleading tone unless she’s sick or had too much to drink. And even though I feel bad that she drank too much, it’s sweet to hear her go all gooey. It doesn’t happen often.
Milo winces. “Sorry, Poppy.”
She waves a hand in the air. “Eh, it’s all right. You’re forgiven for the way you told off fuckface and stood up for my best friend.”
I peer over at Milo, who’s grinning at the ground, hands tucked in his pockets as he walks. “That means a lot, Poppy. Thanks.”
He looks up, and his eyes turn shy when he realizes I’m watching him. My chest squeezes at the sight of him so happy at winning my best friend’s approval.
“Oh! What’s that I smell?” Poppy straightens up, her blonde bob moving in a perfect swoosh as she pivots her head from side to side. “Kebabs! Fuck yes!”
She darts over to the food cart, Desmond trailing behind her. The line is three people deep, so while Poppy and Desmond wait to order, Milo and I stand off to the side.
“I owe you an explanation,” Milo says out of the blue.
I glance over at him. “For what?”
He huffs out a breath, his shoulders sagging. “For that trophy wife comment I made all those years ago.”
“Oh.”
I let myself think about that moment, that night when Milo and I first met and I overheard him talking about me near the bathrooms. It doesn’t cut like it did before. But I’m still curious as to why he said it, especially after he has admitted to liking me and having feelings for me.
For a long second he holds eye contact with me. “This is gonna sound like such a cop-out, but I swear it’s the truth. It was more an insult to Tristan than to you.” He pauses and glances off to the side for a moment. “Tristan used to joke about nabbing a trophy wife. Like that was his major goal in life. That always bothered me. It was shallow and sexist as fuck. Not to mention entitled, thinking he deserved some beautiful wife just so he could cheat on her ...”
I hold up a hand. “Milo, wait. The trophy wife part didn’t bother me as much as the rest of what you said.”
He frowns.
“I mean, yeah, no one wants to be called a trophy wife. But when you said, ‘What the hell is Tristan thinking? A guy like him and a girl like her?’”
My face heats as I say it. It catches me off guard just how much repeating those words bothers me.
“It really sucked to hear you say that. It felt like you were saying I wasn’t good enough for your cousin.”
Milo’s jaw muscle bulges through his stubbled skin. A hard swallow moves through his throat.
He shakes his head. “That’s not at all what I meant, Riley. I swear. That was a dig on Tristan. I couldn’t believe a sack of shit like him was able to land a woman like you. Beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, kind ...”
He trails off before pulling his hand from his coat pocket and cupping my face. He steps closer to me. “I’m sorry, Riley. It was a shitty thing to say. If I could take it back, I would. But I swear it was never meant as an insult to you. You are the last person I ever wanted to hurt.”
Milo’s softly spoken words hang like a damp fog in the cold air. I stand there, quiet as I stare into his mahogany-brown eyes. My skin feels icy and on fire all at once.
“I’m sorry for hurting you, Riley.”
My chest aches at the pained look on his face, the sincerity in his words. Yeah, he hurt my feelings. But everything he’s said, everything he’s done, more than makes up for it.
I pull him into a hug. “It’s okay,” I whisper into his chest. “We’re good now. I forgive you.”
He pulls back to look at me. “You mean that?”
And that’s when I realize: this is what Milo was so concerned about. This is what he was talking about when he asked me if I meant what I said.
“Of course I mean it,” I say, looking him straight in the eye.
He pulls me back into his chest. When I feel him relax against my embrace before squeezing me tight, I close my eyes and smile. So this is what it feels like to be with someone who’s honest and owns their mistakes, who apologizes, who goes out of their way to make things right.
“Let’s get a move on, lovebirds!”
We break apart at Poppy’s slurred holler. When I look over at her, she’s chowing down on a lamb kebab while walking arm in arm with Desmond.
“God, I’m fucking exhausted,” Poppy says around a mouthful of kebab. “Don’t think I’ll be able to make it home in this state.”
“You can crash at our place,” Milo tells her.
“But the mattress in the guest room is too firm,” she whines.
Desmond shushes her and apologizes to Milo, but he just laughs.
“It’s either the bed or the sectional,” he tells Poppy.
Poppy groans. “Bloody fucking sectionals.” She takes another massive bite of kebab before reaching over and giving Milo an appreciative pat on the shoulder. “Fine. Thanks, big boy.”
Milo and I chuckle and walk the rest of the way to the flat.