It’s still dark at six forty, the crowd having majorly thinned. Mulder is fast asleep atop a table, next to a friend who’s reading a manga with a flashlight, eyelids sagging every several seconds.
We’ve stayed busy enough that Miles and I haven’t had a chance to exchange more than a cursory How are you and Good, how are you and Thank you for being here. I’ve been putting out small fires and, in one tragic situation, unclogging toilets, for long enough to become famished.
When I pop my head into the refreshment room, it looks like a powerful clan of Vikings with nut allergies has rolled through.
Elda the cheesemonger and Harvey don’t even seem to notice me, just keep chatting in the far corner of the room, their uncomfortable wooden seats angled together.
I grab a brownie and cram it into my mouth as I leave the community room.
“Keep it PG, Vincent,” Ashleigh teases. “Some of the kids are still awake.” At my baffled look, she says, “You were doing your good-food moan.”
“Sorry,” I say, mouth full.
She and the rest of the cleanup crew have started gathering the final wave of flotsam and jetsam from the night. Over by the front doors, Miles is sorting the recycling, trash, and compost into bags.
“They’re divine, aren’t they?” she says, jutting her chin toward the brownie.
“Really, really good.”
Ashleigh smiles. “Miles brought them. Did you know he bakes?”
I sneak another glance at him. He’s turned away, stretching his arms over his head sleepily, a band of skin visible along his waist until his arms fall back to his sides.
Ashleigh cackles. “Now, that sound was definitely not PG.”
I face her, cheeks burning. “I didn’t make a sound.”
From her smirk, I realize she’s joking with me. She bumps her elbow against mine and jerks her chin toward Miles. “Go on.”
“It’s not over yet,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Daphne. Look around. You’re welcome to stick around for ten more minutes if you’re dying to, but when the timer’s up, I’m going to sweep you off the stage like an amateur-night executioner, while the three remaining kids here boo and hurl chocolate cherries at your head.”
I’m still hesitant. “Shouldn’t I see this through to the end?”
She drops her trash bag at my feet and grabs my hands in hers. “You did. You made it through the summer. We pulled off the event of the year. The hard part’s over.”
A huge weight lifts from my chest. The knot beneath it loosens and unwinds. “We did it.”
I made it through.
We both laugh, slaphappy from lack of sleep.
She pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze her back, the trash bag now sitting at our feet like a puppy. “Not sure what the rules are about saying this at work,” I say, “but I love you.”
“I fucking love you too,” she says. “Now, go get your man.”
OceanofPDF.com
37
SUNDAY, AUGUST 18TH
FINALLY
“Hi,” I say, when I’m finally right in front of him, that last yard of silent eye contact having taken somewhere between eleven seconds and fourteen years.
He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”
Neither of us rushes to fill the pause.
My heart feels like a flame, burning higher, higher, higher.
I clear my throat. “Are you up for a walk?”
He seems surprised. “Are you?”
“Unless you just want to go collapse into bed, yeah.” Ears suddenly fiery hot, I add, “If you need to sleep, I mean.”
“I drank so much Red Bull I could sprint right now,” he says. “But I also might have a heart attack.”
“You’re in luck,” I tell him. “The library paid for me to get CPR certified.”
He smiles. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Nothing, I guess.
The air is misty, the streets and sidewalks empty apart from the occasional spandex-clad jogger or bicyclist.
Out on the water, a couple of boats drift, but still, it feels like just the two of us in a world that’s fast asleep.
We wander along the lake’s edge, and the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It’s its own kind of conversation, a reintroduction after our time apart.
“Thank you for being there last night,” I finally say.
“I was always going to be,” he says. “Just so you know. No matter what, I would’ve been there.”
I blink back the rising tears. “I know.”
“Elda, Katya, and Banks, on the other hand,” he says, “getting them to help took bartering.”
“Well, Elda at least will probably let you off the hook,” I say. “She and my boss were really hitting it off.”
“They were cute,” Miles agrees.
Another few minutes pass. We turn up a side street. My heart is vibrating. I take a deep breath, slowly release it. “I know you went to see my dad.”
Miles’s gaze slices toward me. He stops. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I did that. It was stupid.”
“I understand why you didn’t,” I say. “Really.”
The grooves at the inside corners of his brows soften. “The other night . . . I think you misunderstood me. I didn’t wake up and panic. I woke up . . . happy. Happier than I can remember being.”
He rubs the back of his head. “And then Petra called, and she was sobbing. So hard I couldn’t understand her. I’d never seen her cry before. I honestly thought someone had died. She asked if I could come see her, and I said yes. Because I was worried. I still care about her.”
“I know you do,” I say thickly.
“I got to Peter’s place and she was sitting out front . . .” He lets out an exasperated breath. His eyes cut up to me, watching for a reaction. “She told me they broke up.”
I don’t say anything.
“You don’t seem surprised,” he says.
“I’m not,” I say. “Peter told me.”
Something flashes across his face, too quick for me to read. “Right,” he says softly. He rubs the back of his head, nodding a few more times. He clears his throat, but it stays hoarse: “So you’ve talked.”
“He came by,” I say.
His gaze sweeps to our feet, and he nods again.
“Miles?”
His dark eyes lift to mine, faintly glossed.
“Shit, what’s wrong?” I can’t help it; I reach for him, slide my hands up to his shoulders.
“Nothing.” He forces a smile. “I’m happy for you.”
“Happy for me?” I say.
He flushes. “I mean, if you guys are . . .”
“If we’re what?”
His teeth scrape over his bottom lip.
“Oh my god!” Understanding clatters through me. “Miles, no. You don’t think that Peter and I are . . . Absolutely not.” I actually laugh. And then a horrible thought causes me a full-body twitch. “Wait—you and Petra aren’t—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “When I got over there, she was trying to tell me how the whole thing was a mistake. So I told her about you.”
“That we slept together?” I say, bewildered.
He gives a surprised laugh. “No, Daphne. That I love you.”
Hearing it again feels like swallowing a lit lightbulb. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to tell her first.” The tops of his cheeks redden. “That I’m in love with you.”
My eyes sting. My limbs go shivery and a heaviness presses in on my chest.
He loves me. Present tense.
