Page 62 of Chasing Stars
“Six o’clock.” My mother turns and grins. She puts her hand on my cheek, and I bend down to plant a peck on hers.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, Miles!” She singsongs over her shoulder.
There is no getting out of this one.
31
JENNA
I’m idly dancing around Miles’s tiny kitchen to Michael Bublé’s “Everything,” stirring my mother’s homemade pasta sauce when Miles comes in. I don’t hear him at first, until he dances up behind me and loops his arms around my waist, kissing my neck.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, swaying along with me, the closeness of his breath tickling my ear.
Then, like the hidden romantic he is, he grabs my hand and twirls me around to face him, swinging me into a ballroom dance. He swings me around, laughter bubbling out of me, then sings the song softly in my ear, pressing his cheek into mine. I can’t say I’ve ever slow danced in a kitchen before, but now I get the hype. Miles transports me somewhere else, makes me feel as if I am the only thing he sees, and somehow melts all of my troubles away.
When the song ends, he plants a soft kiss on my lips, and I can’t escape the sudden feeling that I’m finally home. I belong here with Miles, dancing in his kitchen, making him dinner, and curling up on the couch with him and Pete after a long day. I lean into his chest and wrap my arms around his torso. “You’rehome,” I say, inhaling his salty sea-air scent that seems to be embedded in his skin from living his life in the ocean.
“I’m home,” he says hoarsely, and the expression on his face turns my insides molten. He smooths my bangs back from my face, studying me carefully. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just pulls me close again, tucking my head under his chin.
This is new.Miles is extra affectionate tonight, but I don’t hate it.
“What are you making?” He interrupts my thoughts. He pulls away and walks over to a cabinet, getting two wine glasses down from the top shelf.
“My mom’s pasta and meatballs.” I smile proudly. “I was just in the mood to cook something comforting today.”
Miles walks out of the kitchen to a banquet-style cabinet in the dining area and retrieves a bottle of red wine. “Do you like Pinot?” he asks, showing me the bottle.
“I like whatever you like,” I tell him, dumping a box of rotini in the boiling pot of water.
“Good,” Miles says, grinning. “Well, Ilikethe sound of that.” He pours two glasses of red wine and passes one to me, clinking his to mine. “Cheers to us being here together,” he murmurs.
A lump rises in my throat and I force it down with a sip of wine. “Cheers,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “Dinner should be ready in a couple of minutes.”
Miles comes closer and leans on the counter, watching me. “Speaking of dinner,” he says awkwardly.
“Yes?” I ask, smirking and raising my eyebrows.
“My mom and dad want to meet you,” he blurts out. “If that’s not too weird for you. I mean…I told my mom it’s a little early in the relationship…if that’s whatthisis…” Miles rambles nervously as he gestures between the two of us. He’s awkward and adorable, and my heart swells. He hesitates,running his hands through the mop of waves on his head. “She is just anxious to meet you,” he grumbles, and I’m sure it’s in embarrassment and not for any other reason that would normally give me self-doubt.
I’m so sure of that, in fact, that I say, “Is that what this is? A relationship?”
Miles’s cheeks flush faintly as he meets my gaze. He licks his lips. “It is if you want it to be,” he rasps, pushing off the counter and stepping closer to me.I’m frozen in front of the hot stove as Miles stands beside me, hooking a finger through the belt loop of my jeans and pulling me in. “Is that something you might want with me?” he says into my hair, pressing his lips to my temple.
I turn to face him, draping my arms around his neck, and grin. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Miles?” I say playfully.
Miles rolls his head back grinning. “Well, I don’t know. Do forty-one-year-olds use the wordgirlfriendanymore?” he teases.
“I don’t know, I’m only thirty-five.” I grin, grabbing the collar of his T-shirt and yanking him closer.
“Oh, well, in that case. Yes,” Miles whispers. “Would you like to be my girlfriend, Jenna Rossi?”
I cannot contain the smile creeping across my face. I bite it back, but it’s no use. I give Miles’s chest a little shove, forcing him to step back. “Yes, Miles. I will be your girlfriend.”
Miles barks out a laugh and lifts me to my feet, spinning me around. “Woohoo! She said yes, Pete!” he calls to the dog who watches us from the couch. Pete barks excitedly. “We have a girlfriend! Woo!” Miles sets me down and cups my cheeks, planting an excited, wet kiss on them.
I laugh, pulling away. “And I’ll meet your parents. If it means that much to your mom, I would love to.”
