Chapter 20 Hazel
Hazel
My heart raced as I watched him leave down the driveway through the window, my hand hovering over the door handle.
Milton’s head hung low, his shoulders not square and tall, like they usually were. I waited for him to glance back, as if that would be the signal I needed to go for it—whatever it was—but he kept getting farther away and closer to disappearing on me.
The ache in my chest grew bigger.
To hell with this overthinking bullshit!
It was exhausting, trying to sort through what I should and shouldn’t be doing. What I should and shouldn’t be feeling.
I hadn’t decided if this was the worst idea ever or the best, but not doing it wasn’t going to answer that question, and not knowing the answer for the next six weeks was going to kill me.
Swinging the door open, I bolted after him, pumping my arms and pushing my bare feet into the pavement, willing myself into his arms faster.
Milton glanced over his shoulder at the end of the driveway, probably hearing my approach, and turned fully, dropping his bags as he braced for me.
I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him tightly, and he lifted me up a foot or so in the air, squeezing me back. His chin dipped, and he buried his head into the crook of my neck, breathing me in.
My legs wrapped around his middle to deepen the embrace, to get closer to him. I’d fought the desire to be near him, touch him, and now that I was finally leaning into that urge, it was overwhelming me in all the unfamiliar and wonderful ways.
The large spread of his hands held on to me at the waist like he never wanted to let go, but he gently guided me back to my feet while keeping me firmly pressed against him.
A hug goodbye. A warm farewell. A promising embrace that maybe this could be something more. That was what I had run out the door for.
But that wasn’t all I gave him.
Milton was leaning over far enough for me to thread my hand behind his neck and pull him the rest of the way down to me. Pushing up on my toes, I crashed my mouth to his, ending the turmoil I’d been at war with since the first time I’d felt his lips.
It wasn’t as soft as our first kiss; it was hungry and desperate. Milton kissed me back like he was starved for me. Like he needed me.
I thought I needed him too. But I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet. I wanted him. Oh my God, did I want Milton. More than I could ever remember wanting anything else in my entire life.
My body relaxed into his, and my knees wobbled, but his arms were steady, holding me in place as he worked his lips against mine.
He leaned in, sucking in my bottom lip, and my breath hitched. I fisted his hair, parting my mouth open and stroking his tongue with mine.
Milton’s grip on me tightened, and I could feel the effect that the kiss was having on him pressing against my front.
I felt a whimper leave my throat, and his mouth pulled up, continuing to pepper my lips with a grin.
My chest heaved, and my pulse raced when we finally pulled apart. He slid his thumb over my swollen bottom lip, and his attention stayed there for a moment before he gripped my chin and kissed me one last time.
Every inch of my body buzzed as he inched away, smiling.
We didn’t say anything. We didn’t need to. That kiss had said it all.
It wasn’t a goodbye or a farewell. It was the beginning of something more.
The first week was the longest week of my life. They were just like all my other days, except I had a different drive to and from work and I got to spend my time off with a large wall canvas and a cute dog. But Milton was gone, and there were far too many days before I’d see him again.
I kept thinking about that kiss, wondering what it’d meant and if those feelings could withstand the time he was away. Each morning, when I left the house and saw that corner of the driveway, the memory of Milton dropping his bags and me leaping into his arms replayed.
It was scary, chasing after things your heart wanted when your brain was so used to looking for signs of danger. My heart knew it was safe with him, and day by day, my head was slowly coming around to the idea.
Milton texted me updates on his travel, letting me know when he landed and what city he was staying in for the night.
The band’s first show had been just two nights after they arrived in Manchester.
Then the next night in London. I knew his schedule was busy, so I didn’t expect him to have a lot of spare time to talk, but he still managed to send a message at least once a day.
Milton: Headed to Paris in the morning. Wishing you were here. Kiss Sweets for me.
Leaning over from my spot on the couch, I smooched Sweets on the nose. “That’s from your dad,” I told him, pushing out my lip when he sighed. “I know. I miss him too.”
I snapped a picture of him and sent it off to Milton, along with a text, saying good night and wishing him luck on his next gig.
When I went on lunch the next day at work, he replied with pictures of the Eiffel Tower from his hotel room and a few from sound check behind his drum set.
Sometimes, I forgot the magnitude of what he did for a living, and then I’d get these little nonchalant reminders from him that made my thoughts scatter.
I wasn’t sure where the disconnect was for me.
I was fully aware he was playing music for thousands of fans in other countries nearly every night of the week while I house-sat, but Milton was still just Milton to me.
He wasn’t Tic, a famous drummer.
He was the man who had generously offered his shirt to me so I could finish my night out with my friends comfortably and without an entire festival seeing my naked breast.
He was the man who drove motorcycles, had taught himself how to cook, loved his band and their children deeply, and adopted unlovable dogs from shelters.
He was the man who had taken my hell and handed me keys to his sanctuary.
And he happened to play drums for A Quiet Peril.
But all those other things seemed so much bigger. They told you who he was, not what he did. I was a firm believer that a person’s character far outweighed what their accomplishments were.
The start of the week-two countdown showed promise; the first couple of days flew by. This time of year, for whatever reason, got busier at the tattoo shop, so my schedule was filling up, and I was taking fewer walk-ins.
Caring for Sweets meant I couldn’t work overtime hours because I had to get home to him, so my routine became pretty predictable, which I liked.
There was comfort in knowing when and where I needed to be, following the pattern without much thought.
Like a checklist that, when I completed it each day, I was rewarded with being one step closer to seeing Milton again.
Skylar and Genesis made sure to break some of that repetition by planning a girls’ day together now and then.
Today, we went out shopping so I could find a dress to wear to Genesis’s wedding.
I had bought one back when she broke her engagement news to me, but that was eight months ago, when I was still with Devan, and I hadn’t taken it with me when I left.
I ended up picking one out I liked better anyway.
It was a satin green color with a low back and fell perfectly to my ankles with a pair of heels.
Afterward, the three of us picked up some tacos from my favorite food truck, and then they invited themselves over to Milton’s. I’d expected nothing less. They were nosy and wanted to see his place, but they also wanted to meet Sweets.
He was on the couch, lapping up the attention from the two of them like the little prince he was, while I transferred my new dress to a new hanger and garment bag to keep it pristine until the wedding.
“You just got a text from Milton!” Skylar wiggled her brows at me. “Want me to read it for you?”
I scurried to grab my phone out of her hands. “You’re not allowed to go through my texts after what happened last time,” I said, giving her a look.
Genesis tilted her head. “What about me?”
“I’m not sure I’d trust you either.” I giggled.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She shrugged in agreement and laughed. “Well, don’t leave us hanging! What did he say?”
I couldn’t hold back a smile as I opened his text.
Milton: That’s my new favorite color, Sunshine. It matches your eyes.
My brow furrowed as I read it again, narrowing my eyes.
“What?” Genesis peered up at me, eagerly.
“Yeah, why are you making that face?” Skylar added.
I flipped my phone around so they could read it for themselves.
They both mirrored my reaction, cocking their head.
Then Genesis smacked my arm, popping her mouth open. “The dress!” she said.
I looked over at where I’d hung it on the doorframe in bewilderment.
“It’s green, and it does match your eyes …” Skylar nodded, her smile growing.
“Okay, but how would he know that?” I asked.
Skylar looked around. “Does he have cameras? A lot of people do, and he is famous.”
“If he does, he didn’t mention them,” I replied.
“Oh my God!” Genesis bounced. “He’s totally been watching you.”
“No,” I immediately denied, but glanced around the room for potential cameras. “No way.”
Genesis raised her brow in enjoyment.
“Text him. Ask!” Skylar suggested. She’d always been the more reasonable one.
“Or”—Genesis held up a finger—“you could coax out the answer to that by playing with him a little bit.”
I quirked a brow.
“Wear something sexy or, better yet, strip down naked and give him a show,” she said. “See if he says anything.”
“Genesis!” I leveled her with a stare.
She raised her hands. “I’m just saying, it’s an option! Nothing wrong with adding a little spice.”
I exhaled and shook my head at her, then spun on my heel and looked back down at his text.
When I raised my gaze again, I spotted the little white camera perched in the corner above the door. I stared at it for a minute, feeling Milton’s eyes on me. Watching me.
And then I smiled.