Page 42

“So,” he says as we start walking down Main Street. “Word on the street is that you became this big-shot author.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, no?” He chuckles, eyeing the flush of my cheeks.

“No. It’s nothing. Just a job. Everyone has one.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I parrot.

“Dim your light. “You should never have to do that. Especially not with me.” My chest tightens at the warmth in his chestnut gaze. His golden flecks are caught by the streetlight as he looks at me in a way that leaves me tongue-tied all over again. “I always knew you’d make it, Max. I never doubted it for a second.”

I don’t know how to answer that. Milo was not only the first person to ever believe I could follow my passion and write for a living, but also the first person to make me believe it too.

“So tell me all about it.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “I want to know everything.”

“Everything?” I laugh nervously. “That might take a while.”

He stops in his tracks and unhooks his arm from mine, looking up and down the empty street. “Does it look like I’ve got somewhere better to be?” he asks, throwing his arms wide as if the deserted street proves his point.

I can’t help laughing at his playful antics. “Funny.”

My laugh dies in my throat when his fingers slip between mine without warning, successfully sending every coherent thought into a fucking nosedive.

“I’m serious. I want to know,” he pleads softly. “I want to know all of it. I want to know how you’ve spent these last years without—” He stops mid-sentence.

Though he doesn’t say the word, I feel it hanging there between us, pulsing in the silence.

“Let’s start small,” he says instead. “What’s a normal day look like for you?”

“You want that much detail?” I tug at my neck scarf, wishing oxygen wasn’t such a scarce commodity right now.

“I told you.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than listening to you tell me how you made all your dreams come true.”

Not all of them. I shove the thought down before my traitorous face can give me away.

“Okay. Well, I guess the first thing I should tell you is that I’m living in New York now.”

“Fancy,” he teases.

“Hey, it was the natural choice after finishing college. I… um… ended up going to Columbia.”

“Ivy League, huh?” he retorts, impressed. “It’s not Brown, like you always had your heart set on, but still. Columbia’s nothing to sneeze at. Did you like it there?” I nod. “Did you make any friends there?”

“Some.”

“For a writer, you’re being awfully tight-lipped with your words.” He grins widely.

“Ask me something that requires less circumspection, and I might be more forthcoming with my answers.”

“There she is.” He chuckles. “Using those big, expensive Ivy League words on me.”

“Stop being an idiot.” I giggle.

He always did manage to get this reaction out of me whenever he acted like this.

So lightheartedly. So… Milo.