Page 92 of Falling

“You turned it down?” I asked against Miles’s lips when he let me have enough space to do so.

“I turned it down,” he agreed.

“It was your dream job,” I said.

Miles shrugged. “It was my dream job, yeah,” he said. “But… that was when I couldn’t dream of a job where I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. Before I knew what it felt like to be part of a community. To be… loved,” he said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Besides, I’ve gotten attached to the books here.”

“Would’ve been more in Chicago,” I pointed out, even as my heart started to unfurl from the tight ball it’d been curled up in for longer than I cared to think about. The space under my ribs felt too small for it as I took in what Miles was saying.

This was his dream job now. Here in Otter Bay.

“But not the one Book I want,” he said, looking me in the eyes again.

The one Book I want.

Me? He was talking about me.

“I love you, Book. You’re… you’re part of the dream.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came to mind. I’d never been part of anyone’s dream before.

People loved me. I knew that, I felt it, I was lucky to have them. But none of them would ever have stayed for me. Not like Miles was. Not like this.

“So it’s just as well you said you loved me, because this would all have been very embarrassing if you’d just like, been kind of into me.”

I laughed. What else could I have done?

Dreams I’d been too afraid to have were coming true for me right now.

“Come around the bar,” I said. “So I can kiss you properly.”

33

MILES

“I think I’ve got one!” Seth called out in high-pitched excitement, jumping up and down on the river bank. His fishing rod bent dramatically toward the water as I looked over.

I dropped my own rod and went to him. Booker beat me to it, and Ryder and Ward flanked us a second later, the four of us surrounding Seth.

Mark watched from his folding chair, brow raised and lips quirked with interest.

“Take it easy,” Booker advised. “You’ve gotta be gentle.”

“It’s probably the trout’s first time,” Ward put in.

Seth poked his tongue out without taking his eyes off his fishing line or the way it was creating ripples in the water as something tugged on it. If it was a trout, it looked like a big one.

“Just don’t end up in the river,” Ryder added, nudging me with his elbow.

“I’ll have you know that I was school swimming champion like four years in a row,” Seth said. That was brand new information, but I’d stopped being surprised when I found out surprising things about Seth. Everything about him seemed to be surprising.

“I still don’t recommend it,” Booker warned. “Not in that outfit.”

I was wearing the first pair of jeans I’d ever owned, gifted to me by Booker when I’d asked if we could go trout fishing again, a pair of hiking boots Ward had ordered a size too small by mistake, and one of Booker’s old flannel shirts. The collar smelled of him, woody and musky and a tiny bit of stale beer. I’d trade it out for a different one when the smell faded.

Seth, on the other hand, was wearing booty shorts, a crop top that said Princess on it in diamantes that caught the sunlight, and a pair of sunglasses that covered half his face. I didn’t understand how he wasn’t freezing. Or worried about being bitten by every bug in a three-mile radius.

“Do we need a net?” Ward asked, also watching the water.