Page 122 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“Miles,” he murmured, voice low, “you havenoidea what you’re getting into with me.”
“Try me.”
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was the kind of kiss you give when words just don’t do it anymore. The kind that pulls something loose inside your chest and leaves it exposed to the air.
His hands were in my hair, at my jaw, then wrapped around my back so tight I felt the breath leave my body. I melted into him, my arms locked around his neck, fingers gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline.
It was messy. Desperate. Real.
His mouth tasted like red wine and danger. Mine probably tasted like regret and toothpaste.
But it was perfect.
The kind of kiss that closes a book. Or starts a new one.
When he pulled away, we were both breathless, faces inches apart.
“I don’t know what the future looks like,” he said quietly, brushing my hair back. “I might be filming more than one role at a time again. Flying all over. I’ve got a role now… some stupid superhero thing. I’ll be shirtless and emotionally constipated and probably covered in fake blood five months straight.”
I laughed softly, still catching my breath.
“I don’t want to hold you down,” he said. “I can’t make promises I don’t know I can keep. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I want to be the guy you deserve, Miles. But I’m scared I won’t be.”
“You don’t have to be perfect,” I whispered. “You just have to be real.”
He kissed me again, slower this time. Sweeter.
And when he pulled back, he smiled.
“God, you ruin me.”
“I know.”
I didn’t watch him finish packing. I couldn’t.
I stayed on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, as he zipped up the suitcase and tossed one last look over his shoulder.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said.
“So are you,” I replied.
The door closed softly behind him.
And just like that… he was gone.
For now.
Epilogue…
One Year Later…
