Mag-log inMia's POV"You liked me. The same way that girl just—"He stops."Didn't you?"The question hangs in the air between us.His thumb is still moving on my wrist. Those circles. Steady. Relentless. Grounding me to this moment even as my brain is trying to escape it.I can feel the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. Can feel the way my pulse is probably visible to him now. Can feel how my breathing has changed—shorter, shallower, like I can't quite get enough air into my lungs.The fluorescent light above us flickers again. On. Off. On. Casting his face in strange shadows for half a second before the light stabilizes.In that brief darkness, his eyes look almost black.Then the light returns and they're gray again. But different. Knowing.Like he can see right through me. Through all the years and distance and carefully constructed walls. See straight back to seventeen-year-old Mia sitting three rows behind him in European History. Drawing his hands in the margins of her notes. Memoriz
Mia's POVMia's POV"'I have a wife,'" I mimic his tone, straightening my spine the way he did, squaring my shoulders. "'We're working things out.' Very convincing."His mouth twitches. Just the corner. That almost-smile that's more dangerous than a real one. "It would have been convincing if you hadn't blown it."The laugh bubbles up again. I can't help it. "You're ridiculous.""You enjoyed that too much.""I enjoyed it exactly the right amount." I'm grinning up at him nowThe fluorescent lights above us flicker once. The kind of old restaurant lighting that makes everyone look slightly jaundiced, except somehow Kyle still looks—He's looking down at me now. His eyes moving over my face in a way that makes me aware of every feature. My nose. My cheekbones. My mouth. His gaze lingers there for a half-second too long before traveling back up to meet my eyes.The restaurant noise hasn't stopped—I can still hear the kitchen staff shouting orders in the back, the hiss of the fryer, someon
Mia's POVI stop walking.I lean against the hallway wall. Cross my arms. This should be good.The girl flips her ponytail. I remember doing that move. In high school. A thousand years ago when I thought hair-flipping was subtle.Kyle says something. I'm too far to hear but I can see his posture. Polite. Reserved. That particular stiffness he gets when someone is invading his personal space and he's trying not to be rude about it.The girl laughs again. Too loud for whatever he said. Her hand comes up. Touches his arm. Her fingers lingering on his forearm.I bite my lip to keep from smiling.He's going to hate this. Kyle hates unsolicited touching. Always has. In college once, a girl grabbed his arm at a party and he literally flinched away like she'd burned him.Sure enough, Kyle steps back. Just slightly. Enough to dislodge her hand without being obvious about it.The girl doesn't notice. Or doesn't care. She shifts closer. Closing the distance he just created."Single dad? That's l
Mia's POV"And for the grown-ups?" The waitress looks at me."Just a water.""You're not eating?" Kyle asks."I'm not hungry."He orders for himself. Then changes his mind. Adds a second order of chicken. "In case someone changes their mind about being hungry."The waitress writes it down. Walks away. Her sneakers squeak slightly on the linoleum floor. That sound old shoes make when the rubber sole is wearing thin.The children are coloring on the paper menus with the crayons the restaurant provides. The crayons are broken. Stubby. The red one is just a nub. Alexander uses it anyway. Drawing what he claims is our new house but looks more like a rectangle with windows."Does the house have a name?" Madison asks."A name?" I look at her. "Houses don't have names, sweetheart.""Some houses do. Big houses. Like on TV.""This isn't that kind of house.""But we could give it a name anyway." She's very serious about this. "We could call it something. Something special.""Like what?"She thin
Mia's POV"Three," Kyle says.His hand on my hip tightens. I can feel each finger through the denim. The pressure is specific. Deliberate.He lifts. I push. We move together in a way that feels practiced even though it's not. Has never been.I'm up. On my feet. Swaying slightly because the leaves under me shift and my socks are completely soaked through and my legs have that shaky feeling from adrenaline or cold or something else.Kyle stands too. Brushes leaves off his sweater. They cling to the cashmere. Static. He has to pick them off one by one.The children have stopped chanting. They're watching us with that focused attention kids get when adults do something interesting."That was close," Alexander announces. "You almost kissed.""We didn't almost kiss," I say. My voice comes out too sharp. "We fell. That's different.""You were really close though." He holds his hands up, making a tiny gap between his thumb and finger. "Like this close.""Alexander—""I could see it. Your face
Mia's POVMy heartbeat is too loud.The leaves keep hitting us. Small impacts on Kyle's back, his shoulders. The children's laughter is bright and sharp in the cold air. Alexander is shrieking something about "GET THEM BOTH!" and Madison's giggle has that breathless quality she gets when she's truly delighted.But all I can focus on is the rhythm under my ear.Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Too fast.His arm is around my back. Solid. Heavy. His hand cradling my head like I'm something fragile that might break if he lets go. His chin rests on top of my head—I can feel the slight pressure of it, the warmth of his breath disturbing my hair.This is too much.The realization hits suddenly. Too close. Too warm. Too many points of contact—my cheek against his chest, his arm around me, my hands that have somehow ended up fisted in the front of his sweater.When did I grab his sweater?I need to move. Need to put space between us. Need air that doesn't smell like cedar and cold leaves and him.I p







