Chapter 20
twenty
“AT LAST” — ETTA JAMES
Tavey
Monday morning feels deeply unnecessary.
Not because I’m tired.
Okay, partly because I’m tired.
But mostly because I am now expected to put on real clothes, leave my apartment, and go sit in a corporate environment with a man whose mouth has recently been in some very intimate places.
And not in an abstract, hypothetical, someday maybe this will happen sort of way.
In a very real, very recent, less than twelve hours ago sort of way.
This feels like something HR should provide a pamphlet for.
I stand in front of my closet for too long before choosing a soft green sweater and dark jeans. Something normal. Something that says, I am a competent adult professional and not at all distracted by the memory of Miller doing … things.
Which is a lie.
But at least it’s a tidy one.
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter while I’m halfway through mascara.
I glance at the screen.
Family Chaos
Rosa
Did you survive the wedding or are you dead in a ditch somewhere with glitter on your face
Excellent. Good morning to you too.
I pick up my phone and prop it beside the sink.
Define survive
The typing bubbles appear almost instantly.
Rosa
OH MY GOD YOU DID NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION
Holly
Good morning, sweetheart. How was the wedding?
Max
Please tell me you are home safe.
Rosa
Boring question dad. Ask the real one.
Max
No.
Rosa
COWARD
I snort. Then regret it because a mascara wand + laughter is an unstable combination.
Yes, i am home safe
Max
Good.
Holly
And?
And what?
Rosa
DID YOU HOOK UP WITH HOT COWORKER
Max
ROSA
Holly
Max, honestly, that seems to be the relevant question.
Max
It absolutely is not. My disinterest in hearing the details of my sister’s sex life is not anti-feminist. I fully support her right to have an active and hopefully responsible sex life. I simply do not want to know any details of said sex life unless strictly necessary.
i hate all of you
Rosa
So that’s a yes. I knew it!
I stare at the screen. Because apparently there are only two modes available to my family: wildly invasive and correct.
Another buzz. But this time it isn’t the family chat.
It’s Miller.
Just his name lighting up my screen with one simple message.
Miller
You up?
My stomach does a weird little swoop. Absurd. I am too old to have this strong a physiological response to two words and proper punctuation.
No. I have become one with the floor
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
You’ll need to reverse that before work.
I smile before I can stop myself. Which, I guess, is my life now. Smiling at texts from Miller Evans while my niece tries to interrogate me about my sex life.
Balance. This feels like an unreasonable expectation.
I can pick you up coffee.
Oh. Oh, that’s dangerous. Not because of the coffee. Because of the I can. Like he’s already factoring me into his morning. Like this is a thing he gets to do now.
I sit on the edge of my bed to answer because suddenly standing feels too exposed.
I already have coffee
Is it good coffee?
I glance toward my kitchen, where my sad little single-serve machine is probably still cooling from its most recent act of mediocrity.
Define good
I’ll take that as a no.
Before I can answer, the family chat detonates again.
Holly
Sweetheart?
Rosa
If you don’t answer i’m assuming you climbed him like a tree
Max
ROSA
Rosa
WHAT? She is a grown woman and i support her choices.
Holly
I also support her choices.
Max
As stated above, I can support choices without needing updates about anyone’s choices. Or visuals.
Rosa
Coward, part two.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. There is not enough coffee in the world for this.
I am going to work now, where allegedly i am paid to do things other than fend off verbal assaults
Rosa
Did you though
Goodbye forever
I mute the chat. Then immediately unmute it because I’m weak and nosy. Then re-mute it because I have some self-respect.
My phone buzzes again.
Miller
I’m leaving for work
You want a ride?
My heart does that stupid, eager thing again.
I stare at the message for a long second. Because the answer is yes. Obviously yes. I want rides and coffee and all kinds of things that are suddenly beginning to feel dangerously domestic.
I pause my train of thought.
No. Not dangerously domestic.
Dangerously domestic implies I have doubts, either about my feelings or about his. And I don’t. Not after yesterday.
So, no. It doesn’t feel dangerously domestic at all. It feels deliciously domestic.
However, I am not entirely sure what the rules are now. What we do at work. How public this is. Whether getting into his SUV on a Monday morning will make me spontaneously combust.
But then I remember his voice in the afternoon light, low and certain.
We don’t go backwards. Forward only.
And underneath that one word I’ve been turning over since yesterday.
Someday.
That settles everything.
Yes please
His reply comes almost immediately.
Be downstairs in ten.
No emoji. No flourish. No softening. Which somehow makes it hotter.
But also… ten? I’m pretty sure he lives more than ten minutes away from me. Traffic in Austin being what it is, he could live in my apartment complex and still be ten minutes away.
So if he’s getting coffee and will be here in ten, that means he bought the coffee and headed in my direction before checking in with me.
Which is either presumptuous or horribly romantic. If the past weekend with Miller has taught me anything, it’s that he is never presumptuous.
I finish getting ready in a state of low-grade internal chaos, grab my bag, and head downstairs.
He’s already there when I reach the guest parking in front of my unit. Of course, he is. Leaning against the side of his SUV with a coffee tray in one hand like this is the most normal thing in the world.
He straightens when he sees me, gaze moving over me once — brief, thorough, impossible to ignore.
“You’re wearing sunglasses again,” he says.
“It’s a medical condition.”
“At eight-thirty in the morning?”
“The condition is called being perceived.”
That gets the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He holds out one of the coffees. “This one has oat milk.”
I stare at it. Then at him.
“You remembered my order.”
He shrugs one shoulder like this is nothing. “It’s coffee.”
No. It’s attention. But apparently I’m not going to survive if I point that out every time he notices something devastatingly thoughtful, so I take the cup and say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s a beat where we’re just standing there in the morning light, coffee between us, and all I can think is:
Yesterday morning, I was convinced I had ruined my life.
This morning Miller is buying me coffee.
Wild.
He opens the passenger door for me, because of course he does, and I climb in before I can say anything more embarrassing than thank you.
The drive to work is easier than the drive back from the wedding. Not easy. Not normal. But easier. We aren’t hiding behind silence this time. We aren’t trapped in it either. It feels… new. Fragile, but in a good way. Like something just beginning to take shape.
My phone buzzes again halfway to the office.
Holly
Have a good day, sweetheart. And text me later. Privately.
Oh, she is absolutely going to demand details.
Before I can decide how afraid to be, another buzz. This time from Miller, even though he is literally sitting beside me.
I turn to stare at him. His hands stay on the wheel. His face is calm. Completely unreadable. He gives no indication whatsoever that he has just texted me while stopped at a light.
I open the message.
Miller
You’re smiling at your phone. Should I be jealous?
A laugh bursts out of me so suddenly I have to clamp my mouth shut around it. He glances over, very slightly, clearly pleased with himself.
Oh, so that’s what we’re doing now. Fine. I can work with that.
It’s my family group chat
so yes, probably
His phone buzzes in the cupholder. He doesn’t check until the next light, because he’s annoyingly responsible. But I see the corner of his mouth shift. A second later, mine buzzes again.
Miller
Fair.
Rosa wants to know if i climbed you like a tree
This time the laugh he lets out is low and immediate. “Jesus,” he mutters.
“Right?” I say.
He shakes his head. “How old did you say she was?”
“Technically nineteen. Spiritually, an internet goblin.”
“That tracks.”
My phone buzzes again.
Rosa
i know you’re reading this. psychic connection. also if he’s driving you to work now i need to know EVERYTHING
I freeze. Then slowly turn my phone face-down in my lap.
Miller glances over. “Problem?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe a small one.” I take a sip of coffee. “Rosa appears to have developed clairvoyance.”
“Unfortunate.”
“Very.”
We pull into the parking garage a few minutes later, and suddenly I am acutely aware of the fact that the outside world exists. Coworkers. Desks. The very real possibility that Devon is alive and employed and will say something unbearable before lunch.
We park. Neither of us gets out immediately. It’s not dramatic. Just a pause. A breath. A moment suspended between private and public.
Miller turns slightly in his seat. “You good?”
There it is again. The question that somehow means more every time he asks it.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Then, because honesty has apparently become a thing I occasionally attempt now, I add, “Slightly terrified, but yeah.”
His gaze stays on mine. “About work?”
“About existing in fluorescent lighting after this weekend.”
“That’s fair.”
I study him for a second. “Are we… acting normal?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Define normal.”
“Not making out in the break room.”
“That seems like a reasonable starting point.”
I laugh. Relief, mostly. And maybe a little desire because apparently even discussing not making out with him is enough to short-circuit my better judgment.
“Just so you know,” I blurt suddenly. “I think I might be in love with you.”
He does that slow blink thing he does when I’ve said something that surprises him. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Good. If you weren’t it would make that someday we were talking about pretty awkward.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little stupid, as I turn and start for the building.
As if he can read my mind, he snags my hand and pulls me back to him. When I land in his arms he threads his fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear yesterday. I’m not used to …” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine. “… having emotions. Forget talking about them.”
“Oh.”
He raises his head and looks down at me.
“Just to be clear. I love you. I’m in love with you.
I want to marry you. I want to adopt your lazy cat.
I want to give you babies if you want them.
” He brushes his thumb across my cheek. Maybe brushing away a tear, but I’m not sure. “That’s what someday meant to me.”
And then he leans down and kisses me. Right there in the parking lot of FMJ for God and all of the company to see.
Somewhere from across the asphalt, someone issues a wolf whistle. Someone yells that we should get a room.
Several delicious beats pass before Miller lifts his head, seemingly deeply unconcerned about our level of visibility.
Blushing, I duck my head. “Well, I think the cat’s out of the bag.”
Miller laughs, tucking me beneath his arm and as we walk toward the building.
“For me, there never was a bag.”
My steps falter as I shoot him a look.
He just laughs. “Come on, Khaleesi. Let’s go be professionals.”