Page 116 of The Kiss of Deception

Like clockwork, I’m alerted it’s lunchtime by Miles’s Mercedes. Almost every day, he makes the effort to come home—though he repeatedly states it can’t be called an effort. On the days he has practice in the afternoons as well, he gets a start on dinner—which he religiously insists on cooking for us—as I do the dishes.

Occasionally, we meet downtown for a meal with our friends and family—or simply live life outside of work and outside of the two of us.

I push myself to get out of the house as often as possible, too. Alone or accompanied, I still look over my shoulder every two steps—I will, until my attacker is caught and imprisoned, which is starting to look more and more like an illusion as the months pass without developments.

Over the past days, we’ve been rereading and rewriting our story, erasing all the barriers and veils between us to relearn each other.

Or maybe it was just me.

Miles seems to know me by heart already—every little piece of me. And he loves each one.

It’s a tangible thing, his love; evident in his actions.

In the way his arm tightens around me every morning before he takes the first awake breath.

In the way his hand measures his cooking, because I don’t enjoy the extra spicy flavors he favors.

In the way his eyes search my horoscope before checking his own sign.

In every kiss given with absentminded lips.

Like he can’t stop himself from walking a mile in my direction to press his smile on my mouth. On my cheek, on my temple, on my neck, and every patch of skin he can find. Like the simple featherlight touch is enough because there will be featherlight touches for the rest of our life.

Those are my favorite kisses—wordless evidence that he wants this forever, that he believes in forever.

And it’s in the way he meets my need to know, to comprehend, to absorb every little thing. Without questions or judgments.

My rational mind is still making peace with the fact all of this is real, all of it mine.

“Tell me something.” I ache to know him inside out, back and forward—all the pieces, upside down.

“The first time I ever saw you,” Miles starts, adjusting the sheets on my back, “was not when I knocked on your door to introduce myself.”

The circles I trace on his bare torso stumble.

“It was a Tuesday afternoon, January 31st. I had a tour to see the apartment, and I was late because I couldn’t find a parking spot. Then, miraculously, there was one. The ignition wasn’t even off when I saw you.”

One arm behind his head and the other around me, he plays with the strands of my hair, and I lay on my stomach with my chin resting on his sternum. Watching him. Watching the way my boyfriend looked at me the first time he saw me.

“You sat on the swing, slowly swaying back and forth. head tipped back. At first, I thought you were looking at the sky. It was really cold, but it was a beautiful day. A clear sky, only a few white clouds here and there, now and then.” Fixed in the ceiling above us, his gaze watches the skies he describes, transported back in reminiscence. “But when I looked closer—because I couldn’t look away—your eyes were closed. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. You were swaying and smiling, and I was just staring like a blind man who just saw light.”

The messy tips of his hair rustle on the pillow as he shakes his head, self-deprecation mixed with sheepishness.

“Then a little girl appeared out of nowhere. I didn’t see her approaching until she was lecturing you.”

I never thought of that day again, but I remember the little girl. Two dark pigtails and hands on her waist.‘Ma’am, you are far too old to be stealing the swings. What if it were your child wanting to ride?’

‘My child will be taught to push their mother,’ I had taunted.

And she answered accordingly with the cutest frown. ‘Yeah, push their mother out.’

“Afterward, you pushed her until her squeals rose to scared shrieks.” Miles guides us through a memory we share from different perspectives. “You laughed like a villain and ran away.”

“She was begging me to push her again.” And it is as amusing now as it was then.

Miles chuckles like that’s exactly what he assumed. “You tripped, almost tumbled down, and the two of you only laughed harder. And right then, all I saw was a flash of all the things I wanted. A glimpse into my future.”

Pink traces of embarrassment tickle his cheekbones, but he forges ahead in his admissions not giving me a chance to interrupt. Not that I would.

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