Page 124 of Promise Me Sunshine

We all laugh, but then I suddenly feel bad. “I didn’t mean to crash. I’ll let you two catch up.”

“Well, wait a second. What were you gonna make?” Miles asks. He’s back from dropping one of my grocery bags on the kitchen counter and now he’s divesting Ethan of the other one.

“Oh. Well, I thought I’d make guac.”

Ethan glances between us. “I’d eat some guac.”

“Oh! Great. Okay!”

“Do you want some help?” Miles asks.

“No, no! That defeats the point of me making you food. You sit. Visit. I’ll be done soon.”

I go to the kitchen and quickly unload my perishables to bring home later. Then I set about washing and dicing and mixing.

Miles and Ethan are looking at some photos on Ethan’s phone, and there’s such affection in Ethan’s voice that I think for sure they’re still talking about Miriam, but then Miles says something about the brickwork and I realize they must be talking about Ethan’s bar.

I mostly tune them out, but every time I hear Miles’s rich laughter, my stomach flips. Ethan’s phone rings with a video call and I have to stop everything and watch as his entire demeanor turns into banana pudding. “Hi, sweetie!”

I hear aDada!And then a long string of gurgle-babble that, shockingly, Ethan is able to answer cogently. “It’s in your bedroom, sweetie. That’s where we keep it.”

He disappears into Miles’s bedroom to take the rest of the phone call. I grab a chip and am just about to test the guac when there’s heat and pressure and Miles sliding up behind me. He bends down and rests his chin on my shoulder.

“You came over to make guac for me,” he rumbles in a low tone.

“Mm-hmm.” I can barely talk because he’s voluntarily pressing his body up against mine.

“You got hungry and went out and bought groceries and then came over to cook.”

“It’s notcooking.It’s a snack.”

“I want a bite.” He opens his mouth, chin still resting on my shoulder.

So I dip the chip and reach back to put it in his mouth. “Mmm,” he groans, chewing in my ear, and I hate that I think that’s cute.

“Is it good?”

“It’s the best guac I’ve ever had,” he says. And thenhe simultaneously slides one arm over my belly, resting his palm on my opposite hip, and lifts the other hand to the cabinet overhead. He grabs a salt shaker and adds some to the guac.

I can’t believe he’s got an arm wrapped firmly around my middle but also I’m laughing at this smooth operator. “The best guac you ever had needed salt?” I ask dryly.

“It’s the best I ever had because you made it for me.” Then he reaches over to the half-juiced lime and squeezes more into the bowl.

“Well, so much for wowing you with my culinary skills.”

“I’m so wowed.” He mixes and then dips a chip for me.

I crunch on it thoughtfully. “It’ll do.”

He dips another chip and this is getting absurd but I guess this one’s for me too. But before I can claim it, Ethan’s head pops out from behind Miles. “Save some for me.”

We both laugh and Miles hands him the chip. I expect him to step out of my space and back into friend distance, but to my surprise, he just curls us back from the chip bowl, to clear space for Ethan, and continues to standdirectlybehind me. He’s not hugging me anymore, though. His big hand is now resting on the counter next to my hip.

As the two of them talk, I study Miles’s hand. Strong, very still, dry skin at the knuckles and other signs of being a lifelong craftsman. There’s a bit of chip dust on his pointer finger so I brush it off. He moves in another quarter inch behind me and I feel dozy with the sheer heat of him. I get the impression that if I leaned into that hand even a millimeter, he’d place it on my hip, skate it over my belly, pull me back into him, and keep on talking to Ethan like nothing was happening at all.

“Well, the designer wants to paint it black,” Ethan says about something (to which I’ve barely listened).

“Jesus, no. Bad idea,” Miles says (and now he has my full attention).

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