Page 70 of Promise Me Sunshine

She salutes and we bustle past him, kicking our shoes off and hauling our groceries.

“Not complaining,” he says, drifting after us into his kitchen. “But there’s a kitchen downstairs.”

“Mom’s working down there and I really, really wanted to make her a birthday cake. As a surprise,” Ainsley says.

“Secret mission,” I add.

“Ah. Okay.” He’s hands in his pockets, watching us unload a bunch of stuff and open and close his cabinet doors looking for everything we need.

“We’re good,” I tell him over my shoulder. “Feel free to go back to brooding. Ainsley, reach that mixing bowl up there.” I lift her up to stand on the counter so she can grab the thing I can’t reach.

Miles strides over, lifts her off the counter in one hand, and reaches up to grab the bowl with the other. “I’ll stay and help,” he decides.

Half an hour later I open the oven door and Miles carefully slides three layers of sheet cake in there. One chocolate, one vanilla, and one Funfetti.

“I still don’t understand what Funfetti is,” Miles says as I close the door on the cakes.

“It can’t be explained,” I tell him. “Onlyintuited.”

Miles is already piling dishes in the sink. “I’m just amazed you two managed to make a baked good without adding cocktail onions.”

“That’s only for cupcakes,” Ainsley informs him. “And it doesn’t have to be onions. Sometimes it’s lunch meat.”

He turns around in horror, and Ainsley and I crack up laughing.

I steer her by the shoulders to the bathroom. “Wash hands, please. We can watch a movie or something while the cake bakes, but I don’t want you getting cake batter on Miles’s couch.”

While she washes up I go back to the kitchen and start wiping the counters down.

“You really know how to trash a place,” Miles says, picking up the bowl of chocolate cake batter and swiping his finger through the remains.

“It’s part of my charm.”

He waggles his batter-y finger in my direction. “Speaking of your charms, I really think you need a unibrow.”

He’s threatening to draw one on with cake mix, so I lunge forward and lick the batter clean off his finger. “Problem solved.”

His jaw drops open. He tries to say something and fails, his finger still extended. His eyes land on my mouth and thengo back to his finger. I watch while his system reboots. And then finally, “There was raw egg in that.”

“Are we gonna watchGhostbustersor what?” Ainsley asks, back from the bathroom and hands on her hips.

“I’m in! Miles?”

“If you can figure out how to pull it up on my TV, we can watch it.”

She scrambles to the couch and roughly twelve seconds later she’s shouting back to us, “It’s three ninety-nine to rent, can I do it?”

“Knock yourself out,” Miles calls.

She starts it and Miles and I finish cleaning up his kitchen. As he’s wiping down the last countertop, I raid his fridge and make a plate of veggies and cheese and crackers for Ainsley to snack on.

We go plop on the couch next to her right as the old lady screams in the library. Ainsley eats her snack for a bit and then leaves the rest.

I realize then that he’s got his eyes closed, one arm along the back of the couch behind me, his feet crossed at the ankles in front of him.

I’m not sure if he’s dozing or what. His glasses are off and with his eyes closed he’s not distracting. Actually, he looks sort of…soft. His hair is getting longer these days and as I study him I realize that it grows in a natural cowlick on the left side of his hairline.

So strange, when his eyes are open, he’s fierce andalmosthandsome. When his eyes are closed he’s not handsome at all and much more huggable. I find myself wanting very much to lean into the negative space created by his open arm along the back of the couch. It looks very warm there, next to his chest.

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