Page 96 of Falling

“I bought your mom a necklace, and I couldn't find anything for Clara or your dad. I didn’t know what they’d like, and it was too late to ask you, but I'm sure?—”

“It's fine.” Miles cuts me off. He glances at me, flashing an annoyingly charming smile in my direction. “Thank you. You really didn't have to do any of that, but my mom will appreciate it.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, turning to him while he drives. “I didn't even ask if she prefers gold or silver. What if?—”

He stops the car abruptly, and he's lucky we're in the middle of an empty estate. He turns to me, his eyes narrow. “Amelia Wren Hackerly. Stop worrying for five minutes and just live in the moment. Can you do that for me?”

I stick my tongue in my cheek, trying not to laugh at his sudden seriousness. “I can try.”

“Good,” he replies sternly.

“Fine,” I say back.

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

He holds my stare for a few beats before he smiles, smoothing out the tension, and then he continues driving. I pick up Miles’s phone from the holder and look through his playlists, trying to put some decent music on. I find one called “Songs for Wrenny,” and I laugh.

“What's this?” I ask, looking through it. There’s a lot of Taylor Swift, Paramore, Gracie Abrams, and Florence + The Machine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say all this terrible music you’ve been playing is just a front.”

“What are you talking about?” he laughs.

“There's a playlist called 'Songs for Wrenny.’ The songs on here are actually good. What’s all this about?”

He laughs a little, glancing at me and then back to the road. “You weren't supposed to see that yet.”

“I mean, it says the songs areforme. Why can't I look at it?”

“It's not meantforyou. More like, songs that you like and songs that remind meofyou,” he says, and I can feel my cheeks getting hotter just at his words. No one has ever made a playlist for me before.

“Can you tell me which one is your favorite that reminds you how amazing I am?"

“Christmas Tree Farm,” he says.

“That was quick.”

He shrugs. “I add to it a lot.”

The comment is so simple and matter-of-fact that I try not to overthink it, and I’m left speechless. There’s always been this sweet, sensitive side to him, and I wish I got to see this more when we first met, and I wouldn’t have been so committed to pushing him away.

We don’t say anything else, and I press play while we sing along to the music. Everything about it is so stupid that I’m laughing more than I’m singing. I seriously don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell him he’s a terrible singer for him to stop.

When we get closer to his house, he stops singing, and I can tell something is wrong. When we’re pulled up outside his house, he doesn’t get out of the car, and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

I place my hand over his, linking our fingers together. “If you don’t want to go, we can drive away and never look back.” He shakes his head with a weak laugh, and his hand flexes on the wheel. “How about this? If you feel irritated, angry, or upset, just squeeze my hand, and I’ll squeeze back. That way, you’ll know that I’m here.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

We keep our hands linked together as we walk up the gravel path of his childhood home. It’s a small bungalow in a quiet suburb an hour away from campus. It’s the kind of house you drive by, knowing a happy family lives here. The house is a gorgeous dark brown, and the lawn is covered in freckles of snow. It already feels cozy and safe. It’s much nicer than my mom’s new house, and I haven’t even stepped inside yet.

He knocks on the door twice before it opens. Miles’s dad is a tall, light-skinned man with kind and almost boyish features. He’s at least five heads taller than Miles’s mom, a breath-taking woman with dark-brown locks flowing long past her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” Miles’s dad says as if we met before, with a huge smile on his face. He pats Miles on the shoulder and nods at me with a smile. “I’m Ben.”

“Hi, I’m Wren. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say, looking between the two of them. Considering their past, they don’t look like a couple who have been through a hard time and have a rocky relationship. They look exceptionally happy. Which is probably why it unsettles Miles so much.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Wren,” his mom exclaims, smiling at me. Miles’s hand tightens around mine, and I squeeze back.

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