Chapter 15 #2
“I haven’t even walked in yet and this is already the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a while,” she says, glancing up at me.
I shrug, trying not to let the way she’s looking at me do stupid things to my heartbeat. “Just wanted to take your mind off things.”
Her eyes soften, lashes flicking down for a second as she smiles, slowly looking back at me, “You’re sweet, you know.”
That comment has me grinning now.
We walk inside together, and the blast of cool air hits first, then the smell, sweet and familiar, like cotton candy and popcorn and dust. The place is buzzing with lights and noise, kids racing around with tickets in hand, teenagers competing over claw machines and dance games.
But somehow, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels…good.
Vivian stops just past the entrance, her eyes scanning the place like she’s stepping back into a memory. “It’s different now. But it still feels the same somehow.”
“You’ve been here before?”
She nods. “When I was a kid. My dad brought me here a few times on weekends and for my twelfth birthday. I remember eating way too much candy and crying when I lost at Whack-a-Mole.”
I laugh. “You’ve got a chance to redeem yourself tonight, Bambi.”
She shoots me a look. “You’re not seriously calling me that again.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely calling you that,” I say, pulling two arcade cards from my wallet and handing one to her. “Winner gets to pick the next game. Loser carries the tickets.”
She raises a brow as she takes the card from my hand, our fingers brushing. Her skin is warm and soft and, yeah—I feel it. All the way down to my damn ribs.
“You sure you’re ready to lose?” she asks, her tone challenging and bright.
I grin. “I’ll try to look graceful when you beat me.”
Vivian turns toward the rows of games, ponytail bouncing slightly as she walks ahead, already scanning the floor like she’s strategizing. I love seeing her like this, unworried, uninhibited, full of color and light.
We start with Skee-ball, and she absolutely crushes me. Her form’s a little chaotic but somehow it works for her. Then we move on to the basketball hoops, where I finally redeem myself and she groans dramatically every time I sink a shot.
By the time we’re racing in twin driving simulators, she’s shouting at the screen like her life depends on winning, and I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. I grab her wheel and she tries to push my hand away but all she does is laugh hysterically.
There’s something about the way she lets go here, like maybe this is who she is when no one’s watching. Not the woman who carries the weight of grief and motherhood and expectations. Just Vivian. A little wild. A little sarcastic. A lot of heart.
When we stop to catch our breath at one of the high-top tables near the snack stand, she wipes her forehead dramatically and fans herself.
“I haven’t had this much fun in ages,” she admits, eyes shining.
And damn if that doesn’t hit me right in the chest.
“I’m glad,” I say quietly, looking at her across the small table. “You deserve it.”
She doesn’t say anything right away. Just studies me, her lips parting like she wants to say something else but decides against it. And then she smiles.
Soft. Real.
“You’re not the person people think you are, Miles,” she says softly, her voice almost lost in the buzz of the arcade lights above us.
We’re tucked into a corner booth, two beers in front of us, the low thump of pop music playing overhead. It’s loud enough to blur the world outside, quiet enough that I can still hear her say that and feel it hit me dead in the chest.
I take a long sip from my bottle and give her a knowing smirk. “What, the bad boy, playboy of Bluebell Hollows?” I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, that guy’s been locked up for a while, somewhere with all the other fucked-up versions of myself.”
She lifts her beer to her lips, takes a slow sip.
I watch her, because I can’t not watch her.
The curve of her mouth against the bottle, the way her eyes flick to mine like she knows I’m staring.
And for a second, I wonder what it’d be like to kiss her right then.
Just lean in and see if she tastes like beer and something sweeter.
“Is it true, though?” she asks, setting her bottle down, voice steady but curious.
I pause.
She deserves the truth. Not a deflection. Not some clever line I used to throw around when I didn’t want people to see past the surface.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It used to be true.”
She studies me then. Like she’s peeling back every layer I’ve tried to keep hidden for years. I hold her gaze, even though a part of me wants to look away.
“What changed?” she asks.
I lean back against the booth, letting the question hang there for a second.
Then I glance at her again, her messy ponytail, the faded denim jacket she draped over the seat, the way she’s got one leg tucked underneath her like she’s perfectly at home here with me, in a dingy arcade booth with warm beers and complicated history.
“You ever feel like you’re living a version of yourself just to survive the noise?” I ask. “I did. For a long time.”
She doesn’t say anything, just nods once, like she knows exactly what that feels like.
I pick at the label on my bottle. “Partying. Hookups. Keeping it light, surface-level. It was easy. No one expected anything from me besides a bull-rider playboy champion they loved so much, and that was the point. Because if they looked too closely, they’d see I didn’t really have it together. Not even close.”
Her eyes soften.
“I didn’t think I could be more than that guy. Then…something shifted. I got tired of pretending. Tired of being surrounded by people and still feeling alone.” I pause, then add, “And maybe I met someone who made me want to be different because they didn’t fall for the fame and fakeness.”
Her brows lift just slightly, but she doesn’t press. Instead, her lips curve into a soft smile. “Must have been a very smart person then.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, beautiful and sweet too.”
She giggles, and then there’s a pause. “I like this version of you.” The words barely above a whisper, light, teasing, but honest in a way that settles in my chest.
I don’t say anything right away. We just sit there, caught in that weird, magnetic silence. Her eyes hold mine, warm and curious, and then they drop, to my mouth. That look. That split-second flicker.
It damn near undoes me.
Because I want to kiss her.
God, I want to kiss her.
But I know better. Not yet. Not tonight. She has to want it just as much.
I clear my throat, desperate to break the tension before I do something reckless.
“Tell me about yourself, Viv,” I say, voice low and steady as I tilt my beer bottle back. “What you like, what you don’t. Guilty pleasures. All of it.”
Her head tilts slightly, lips curving with a teasing smile as she shifts to face me more fully. “What is this, twenty questions with Miles Sanchez?”
I smirk. “Hey, if there’s ever a time to get to know you, it’s now.”
She lets out a soft laugh, the kind that makes something in my chest loosen. “All right. But only if you answer my questions too. Fair’s fair.”
“Deal.”
“Good,” she says, raising one brow like she’s testing me already.
I ease into the seat, watching the way the dim light catches in the warm tones of her hair. “Okay, let’s start easy. Did you grow up here?”
She nods, her fingers brushing along the rim of her beer bottle. “Yes, on the other side of town. Trevor and I decided to move back to Bluebell Hollows not long after we finished college.” She flinches slightly at the sound of his name. “It was great growing up here but…”
There’s something about the way her voice changes—softens just a little—that makes me pay closer attention.
“When I was seventeen,” she continues, “my mom got sick. Breast cancer. It came fast, and it came hard. She passed within the first year, she fought as much as she could but it was slowly eating her away.”
“Viv…” My voice is quiet now. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head with a soft scoff. “It’s all right. It doesn’t break me anymore. I miss her every day, but I can talk about her now without falling apart. That feels like progress. She would have loved Riley, though.”
She goes quiet for a second, and I wait, not pushing.
Then her voice comes again, more tender this time. “I met Trevor a year after she passed. I was just…lost. Floating through the motions. He anchored me. Made me feel like I had someone to lean on when everything else fell apart.”
She smiles as she says his name, and I know it’s not the kind of smile she forces. It’s the kind that aches a little. But it’s real.
“You and Trevor,” I murmur. “It sounds like you had something special.”
She nods, eyes glossy but steady. “We did. I’m grateful to have a part of him still with me, Riley is my whole world.”
“You deserve that kind of love.” I reach for her hand and notice her slight jolt when I touch her. Caressing her as I look at her eyes. “A love like that can come twice in a lifetime, I have no doubt you’ll experience it again.”
She blinks slowly, like maybe she didn’t expect me to say that.
There’s a slight pause as we just sit there, looking at each other. My hand still caressing hers, my finger making a circle on a small beauty spot she has on her right hand.
“Do you not speak to his family anymore?” I ask, wondering where they’ve been while she’s been carrying all of this on her own with Riley.
Vivian exhales, the sound soft and tired.
“Unfortunately, they moved away… We still talk on the phone now and then. They’ll ask how Riley’s doing, but it’s…
hard.” She swallows. “Riley’s lucky she has my dad—at least she has one grandparent who’s been here.
Trevor’s parents didn’t get much time with her.
He has a sister who stayed behind, Cassidy, but we never really got along.
I never expected her to still want to be around either. ”