Chapter 38
When I walk into the café, Milo is already there, sitting at a tiny table for two near the front. He grins at me and stands up. When I walk over to him, he starts to reach for me, like he’s going to pull me in for a hug. But then he pulls his arm back and brushes his palm against the front of his gray Henley, like he’s changed his mind. I’m instantly disappointed that I don’t get to touch him.
His smile turns shy as he gestures to the empty chair across from him. “Saved you a seat,” he teases.
I chuckle and tell him thanks. We sit down. For a long moment I stare at him, taking in how good he looks. His burnt-umber eyes are bright, like he’s thrilled to be looking at me. He’s got a healthy sheet of scruff on his cheeks.
“You look nice,” I say.
His brow lifts the slightest bit, like he’s shocked I’ve complimented him. “Thanks. So do you.”
The tenderness in his voice melts me. I look down at the halfway decent outfit I managed to put together before driving down here. A forest-green sweater, black skinny jeans, and brown leather ankle boots.
“I look like a soccer mom,” I mumble.
Milo chuckles. “You don’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with soccer moms. You just ...” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words. “You just look amazing, Riley. Like always.”
My cheeks burn at the compliment. I glance around the long, narrow space of the café with a half dozen two-person tables. We’re the only ones in the place, save the two hipster baristas with matching man buns.
“You think you’re required to have a man bun to work at this place?” Milo says in a soft voice.
I chuckle. “I don’t doubt that. So, um, no big Easter plans?”
He shakes his head. “If I were in Portugal with my parents, it’d be an all-day thing. Mass, then brunch, then dinner with all of my mom’s relatives.”
I think of the pool party Milo took me to, how his family was warm and welcoming, how they drowned me in hugs and food and made me feel like one of them after just one afternoon together.
“That sounds amazing, actually,” I say. “You didn’t want to go see them?”
“Not this year. I’m too busy with work. I took over my dad’s real estate business here in London when he retired. I can’t afford to be away even for a quick holiday. You didn’t want to go home for Easter yourself?”
I shake my head. “Home is too far away to justify the cost of the flight. I FaceTimed with my mom and brother, though, this morning. We always FaceTime when we’re apart during holidays and birthdays.”
“That’s really sweet. And where’s home?”
“California.”
He smiles. “I think you mentioned that before. NorCal, right?” He fiddles with a sugar packet on the table, like he’s nervous to be chatting with me. It’s cute and endearing.
“Yeah. Bay Area,” I say. “You lived in LA, right?”
“Yep. I was one of those SoCal brats that you Bay Area folks hate so much,” he jokes.
I chuckle. “You’re not so bad.” His stubbled cheeks turn rosy as he looks at me.
The barista drops off two teacups. Milo grins. “Are you ready to change your opinion of tea?”
“We’ll see.”
He chuckles at my defiance. “Give it a couple minutes to cool down. Then prepare for your life to change.”
I laugh softly as I pick up a spoon and stir my tea. I breathe in the aroma. Hazelnut and that earthy-citrus smell of Earl Grey.
“This is a special blend,” Milo says.
“I can tell. It doesn’t smell like a standard brew.”
“It’s my own concoction. When I asked the guy to make it, he glared at me.”
“What’s that?” I ask even though I already know the answer.
“Half–Earl Grey, half-hazelnut. I figured hazelnut tea would be a good bet because you always drink hazelnut coffee.”
I knew that was coming, but Milo’s words hit hard when he speaks them. Because I didn’t realize that he’d paid attention to my coffee order. All those times I was around Milo during family events, even though I hardly spoke to him, he had been paying attention to me.
“You know what kind of coffee I drink?” I say softly.
He nods, the look in his eyes sincere. “I do.”
I grab the teacup and slowly raise it to my lips. I blow on it before taking a careful sip. The minute the warm liquid hits my tongue, I’m humming. It tastes amazing, just like I knew it would. Light yet flavorful. The richness of the hazelnut balances out the dankness of the Earl Grey into something milder, something pleasantly floral and citrusy instead of dirt tasting.
I swallow and smile up at Milo. He’s gazing at me with the most expectant look, like he’s watching me open a gift he’s given me. It’s so sweet, so endearing, that my chest goes warm and gooey.
“Okay, you win.” I let out a satisfied sigh. “This is good. I like tea now.”
He pumps his fist in triumph, and my head falls back as I laugh. We close down the café that Easter Sunday, ordering more tea and devouring half the pastries in the display case. We talk about our families, our jobs, what brought us to London. Some of it we already know from conversations we’ve had at Chase family events; some of it is brand new. It’s all wonderful.
As the hours fly by, I know without a doubt that this is the moment I start to fall for Milo. This is where I get to know him—the real him. Not the cousin of my ex. But the guy who took over his family’s real estate business. The guy who spends one weekend a month in Portugal, visiting his parents, and one whole month with them in the summer, because he hates living so far away from them. The guy who was deathly scared of dark water as a kid. The guy who crashed his car in a roundabout the first time he tried to drive in London.
He’s not afraid to tell me embarrassing stories from his uni days, how he got blackout drunk with his cousins in London when he was sixteen because he spent his teenage years in the US and hadn’t drunk much at all. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my stomach aches from laughing.
He listens intently as I tell him what it was like growing up in the Bay Area; how I was obsessed with the Bridget Jones book and movie series as a teenager, and that’s what made me want to move to London; how I met Poppy at a sketchy modeling casting call when the casting director tried to coax the models into going topless, so Poppy spit in his face. We became instant best friends after that.
When the baristas tell us they’re closing, we apologize for staying so late, grab our jackets, and head out of the café; then Milo walks me to my car down the street.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” he says as he walks beside me.
“It was nice to get out. I probably would have just spent the day napping and stuffing my face with Peeps.”
Milo’s throaty chuckle makes my skin hot despite the wet chill in the air.
“So you’re a fan of sleeping in on the weekends then?” he asks.
“Always. Who isn’t?”
He shrugs. “I struggle to sleep more than six hours a night.”
“Really? Because my dream would be to get at least nine hours of sleep a night.”
“Jesus,” he says through a chuckle. “Guess I should start calling you ‘Sleeping Beauty’ then.”
My stomach flips. So this is when he gives me that nickname.
I bite back a smile. “If you want.”
We stop at my car and turn to face each other. He lets out a breath through that beautiful grin of his. “Drive safe, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Do you need a ride to your flat?”
He shakes his head. “It’s just down the street.” He gestures to the right.
For a second we’re quiet.
“So, um—”
“Thanks again for—”
We both laugh. Milo clears his throat, and his expression turns serious.
“I know you said it’s all okay, but I really am so, so sorry for the way things went down, Riley.”
I take in the worry that flashes in his mahogany-brown eyes. His gaze is pleading and nervous, and I’m not sure why.
He must mean my breakup with Tristan. He feels bad for what I went through—for what I’m about to go through in splitting up with his cousin. But it’s not like it was his fault. He shouldn’t feel this bad.
I reach out and touch his arm. “It’s okay, Milo. Really.”
He breathes out, his shoulders easing to a more relaxed position. I feel him ease under my palm.
Our gazes lock. As we inhale and exhale, the air between us changes. It feels thicker, like there’s an electrical current sparking between us.
Something inside me takes hold. I step forward, fully in Milo’s space. I’m close enough to feel the heat from his body skim mine. I lean up and press a kiss to his lips. It’s nothing wild, just my lips on his lips for a total of two seconds before I pull away. On a scale of passion, it’s on the chaste end.
But something about it feels heavy. The softness of Milo’s lips, how firmly he kisses me back, how he grips my waist like he has no intention of letting me go ... it all leaves me dizzy.
When we break apart, I’m wobbly. I have to replant my feet on the sidewalk to steady myself.
Milo keeps a hand on my waist. “You okay?”
When I glance at him, I take in how dazed he looks too. And something about that makes me so damn happy. That means this two-second, PG-looking kiss rocked his world too.
I nod, smiling. “I’m great. You?”
He grins. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
We don’t talk more about what we just did. But judging by the knowing look we exchange, we’re both aware we’ve crossed a line. And we’re both thrilled to be on the other side.
He opens my car door, making me promise to text him when I’m home. I tell him I will.
He closes my door, and I start the car. As I drive away, he stays in my rearview mirror, his eyes on me the whole time until I turn the corner and lose sight of him completely.
A wave of emotion hits; my chest aches. I think about how in this backward timeline, Milo won’t remember this moment between us. Only I will.
That ache in my chest deepens. I have to take an extra second to breathe through it. With each day that passes backward, his feelings, his affection for me, will fade. And someday we’ll be strangers.
A lump appears in my throat. I swallow through it. There’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t know how to stop this, how to turn this all around so that I can start living forward once again.
Dread simmers at the pit of my stomach. But I breathe through it. I refocus on the giddy feelings and joy from minutes earlier. That’s all I can do. So I savor them for the rest of the day until I fall asleep.