He grabs three cookies and strides over to me with a giant smile on his face. As if it’s a normal day, and he takes breaks in the CCC all the time, he props himself on the stool across from the high top table I’m perched at and takes a big bite of his triple stack cookie sandwich.
I can’t help but smile at the serendipity of this moment.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks, smiling back at me.
Seriously, so much smiling.
“Because life is funny sometimes.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him, drinking in all his manly glory.
“How so?” Miles leans across the table toward me, his black hair in need of a trim and his blue eyes bright amongst the dirt on his face.
Without a word, I turn my computer to face him and stand so I’m positioned beside him. When I lean down to press my fingers on the keyboard, our arms graze and a tingle of electricity sparks between us.
Steeling myself to be cool, I type out The End.
“No way,” he exclaims loudly, clearly not giving a shit about the other customers in the waiting area. He turns wide, excited eyes to me. “You just finished?”
“I just finished.” I smile and yelp when he drops his cookies, stands, and lifts me into the air, twirling me in a circle. He freezes when he remembers we’re not alone and quickly sets me back down on my feet.
He leans in and whispers loudly, “Congratulations, Mercedes.”
And I thank him, because right now, I am Mercedes Lee Loveletter, and I’ve completed my fifth and final book in the series. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Miles,” I reply with a humorous bounce to my voice.
His chest vibrates with laughter. “We should celebrate. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, and his brow furrows when he sees the humor leave my face.
He said those same words to me the night I kissed him, and the coincidence isn’t lost on me. “Maybe another time.”
He nods and stuffs his hands into his pockets, a bemused look on his face that’s majorly killing my buzz.
“But hey, we’re having a party Friday night at my house. My two friends at the pub from the other night and some people we still hang out with from college…you…want to come by? You can bring Sam!”
His lopsided smile is genuine, and we quickly exchange numbers so I can text him my address. It surprises me that for as many times as I’ve seen Miles now, we still haven’t swapped numbers. I guess maybe that was his way of keeping me at a distance.
Miles stuffs his phone back into his pocket and asks, “So what are you going to do tonight then?”
My face heats with embarrassment, but I decide to own it anyway. “Well, I have this tradition that I used to do with my ex after every book I finished.”
“Your ex?” he snaps, clearly confused at my mention of him.
“Yeah, we would…wear these onesie pajamas, order pizza, and read only the five-star reviews from my last book all while consuming an entire box of wine.” I laugh awkwardly and marvel at the fact that it was the only truly original thing I ever did with Dryston. He probably only liked it because he had a dragon onesie, and the dude was kind of obsessed with dragons.
Miles nods, his brows still puzzling. “So you’re hanging with your ex?”
“Oh, God no!” I exclaim and swat his hard chest playfully. “No way, I’ll probably just do it with Lynsey. Or Dean, most likely.”
This doesn’t seem to relax his stiff posture in the slightest. With a gruff voice, he replies, “You should find a new tradition.”
My jaw drops. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it started with someone who didn’t support what you do.” Miles’s jaw muscle ticks angrily, and I swear he grows even taller before me. “Why would you want to perpetuate his memory like that?”
“It’s not his memory, it’s just something I started when I was with him. I’ve done it for every one of my books, and it feels like bad luck not to continue it.”
He shakes his head, disappointment all over his face.
“Miles!” I scold and look around the room to see a couple of people staring at us. “Chill out. What’s your problem? This is supposed to be a happy day.”
He takes a step back, and that mask I’ve seen on his face before returns with a vengeance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rain on your parade.” Miles moves to leave but pauses to press a swift kiss to my temple. “I’m really proud of you, Mercedes.”
I reach out and grab his hand, stopping his departure. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re acting weird. As if I’ve…disappointed you or something.”
His face softens at that. “You could never disappoint me, babe. I think you’re incredible.”
His use of the word ‘babe’ has my heart leaping up into my throat. Being the idiot I am, I laugh awkwardly and reply, “Yeah, I’m so incredible that I had to sneak into a tire shop day in and day out to finish a book I couldn’t find the courage to write because I was too wrapped up in my ex.”
Miles dips his head, bringing us eye to eye, and pins me with a serious look. “This isn’t about your ex. This is about you finding something that worked for you. You went after it, balls to the wall, and did what you had to do to get the job done. You don’t care what anyone thinks, and that’s really fucking cool, so don’t go doubting yourself now.”
His words stun me into a rare moment of silence. But he’s wrong about one thing.
I care what you think.
Instead of oversharing that fun little nugget, I decide to shoot Miles a winning smile. “I had to stick with the vibe, so thanks for waiting with me.”
He offers me a soft smile. “Anytime.”
I reach down to close my laptop and slip it into my bag. “Will I see you Friday then?”
He nods. “You’ll see me Friday.” He looks like he wants to say more but grips the back of his neck and steps back. “Have a good night, Mercedes.”
And without some gallant, final grand gesture, I let my book boyfriend walk away, keeping him safe right where he belongs, in fiction.
“We’re almost thirty years old. We’re too old for kegs!” I groan as Dean rolls the huge silver monstrosity across my fancy plank wood flooring.
Dean sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses. “This isn’t fucking domestic beer, Kate. This is IPA from my favorite local brewer. They don’t sell this shit to just anyone.”
“Yeah, cuz no one likes it,” I mumble and kick the floor because damn it, what’s wrong with Coors Light? It was good enough for us in college, and it should be good enough for us now.
But Dean didn’t go to college with Lynsey and me. He self-educated himself on all things fancy. And ostentatious. Like IPA beer apparently.
He shakes his head and rubs the side of my arm. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just give it a chance.”
Resuming his station, his polka-dot button-down stretches around his biceps when he lifts the keg and places it inside the garbage bag-lined wooden barrel he brought over earlier. He goes back to the front door and grabs the giant bags of ice he left on the front step and proceeds to pour them around the keg.