Page 18 of The Loves We Lost
But for the first time ever, I’m distracted.
Because Miles is always there.
Halo is funny. Self-effacing. At one point I see him chatting with one of the young women from my line. He disappears, and when he returns an hour later, he holds out his hand to Miles, who promptly puts a hundred bucks in it. I don’t know why, butthat’s two hundred dollars Miles has spent since he arrived. I guess he has more money to throw around than I do.
Before I know it, the signing is over. Louise left midafternoon with a kiss on my cheek and a promise to follow up on the audio deal we’re working on. My unsold books are packed up, and Halo carries them over to the mailing station to send them home.
“You done hiding behind agents and readers now?” Miles asks.
“I was never hiding. You showed up at the absolute worst possible time and place. But yes, I’m ready to go.”
“Which hotel are you at?”
“I’d rather stay somewhere public.”
Miles steps into my space, bends forward, and places his lips right next to my ear. His presence makes me shiver. “Doubt you’re going to want everybody around us hearing what I have to say to you,” he says. His breath is warm as it tickles my neck, but the unexpected nip of his teeth on my earlobe sets my skin on fire.
When he stands straight, there’s a grim smile on his face.
And I have to decide what to do.
7
BATES
Magic.
Good or bad, I’m not sure. It’s all I can think of, the only reason the two of us are standing in this room with people milling around us.
Everything we were crashes up against everything we aren’t. Everything we could have become together but aren’t, because Viola Mills decided we shouldn’t be. Or thatshecouldn’t be.
She’s the reason I never intend to settle down—because no one can ever be as perfect for me as she was. She’s the reason I’ll never have kids—because when I think of them, I only ever imagined them with her.
“Hotel,” I say roughly, trying to ignore the dress that hugs her body and ties in a bow at her waist.
“I’m here,” she says. “Room 1402.”
I take hold of all the bags she’s carrying and reach for her hand. Her fingers are slender and warm and utterly familiar as she slides them between mine like she always used to. When she realizes what she’s done, she tries to yank them away. It only serves to make me grip harder.
We pass Halo on the way out. “You owe me another hundred,” he says.
“I’ll pay you tomorrow. Feel free to ride back to Jersey.”
Halo huffs a laugh. “Working on making it three hundred and getting a free night in a hotel. Meet you after breakfast?” He winks at Viola.
“Fine. Message me.”
“Is he sleeping with attendees?” Viola asks, her eyes wide.
“What he’s doing here has nothing to do with you.” I lead her to the elevator. There are literally hundreds of women here in line with books, but I turn on my charm and smile and weave us through to the front of the line.
It takes another minute before Viola, with shaking hands, opens the door to the hotel room and lets us in. After the raised voices of what felt like three thousand women, it’s blessed silence. Just the low rumble and hum of the air-conditioning.
I place her things down on the desk, then turn to face her.
“Why are you here?” Viola says.
“Why did you write our story?”
