As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he releases me and quickly steps around the partition as if he’s trying to escape from his own confession.

I like kissing you, Tate.

Despite the regret I think he feels for saying them, I’m pretty sure I’ll be silently repeating those words for the rest of the day.

I spend a good ten minutes mindlessly browsing, running his compliment through my head over and over while I wait for him to finish his transaction. He’s handing over his credit card when I reach the counter.

“We’ll have these delivered within the hour,” the saleswoman says. She hands him back his credit card and begins to take the bags off the counter to place them behind her. He takes one of the bags from her when she begins to lift it. “I’ll take this one,” he says.

He turns and faces me. “Ready?”

We make our way outside, and it somehow feels as if it dropped twenty degrees since we were last out here. That may just be because he made things seem a lot warmer inside.

We reach the corner, and I begin to head back in the direction of the apartment complex, but I notice he’s stopped walking. I turn around, and he’s pulling something out of the bag he’s holding. He tears away a tag, and a blanket unfolds.

No, he didn’t.

He holds the blanket out to the old man still there bundled up on the sidewalk. The man looks up at him and takes the blanket. Neither of them says a word.

Miles walks to a nearby trash can and tosses the empty bag into it, then heads back toward me while staring down at the ground. He doesn’t even make eye contact with me when we both begin walking in the direction of the apartment complex.

I want to tell him thank you, but I don’t. If I tell him thank you, it would seem like I assume he did that for me.

I know he didn’t do it for me.

He did it for the man who was cold.

Miles asked me to go home as soon as we returned. He said he didn’t want me to see his apartment until he had everything decorated, which was good, because I had a lot of homework to catch up on anyway. I didn’t really have time carved out of my schedule to hang up curtains, so I appreciated that he didn’t expect my help.

He seemed a little bit excited about hanging up new curtains. As excited as Miles can seem, anyway.

It’s been several hours now. I have to be at work in less than three hours, and as soon as I begin to wonder if he’s even going to ask me to come back over, I receive a text from him.

Miles: Have you eaten yet?

Me: Yes.

I’m suddenly disappointed that I already ate dinner. But I got tired of waiting for him, and he never said anything about dinner plans.

Me: Corbin made meat loaf last night before he left. You want me to bring you a plate?

Miles: I’d love that. Starving. Come look now.

I make him a plate and wrap it in foil before heading across the hall. He’s opening the door before I even knock. He takes the plate out of my hands. “Wait here,” he says. He steps inside his apartment and returns seconds later without the plate. “Ready?”

I have no idea how I know he’s excited, because he’s not smiling. I can hear it in his voice, though. There’s a subtle change, and it makes me smile, knowing something as simple as hanging up some curtains makes him feel good. I don’t know why, but it seems as if there isn’t a lot in his life that makes him feel good, so I like that this does.

He opens the door all the way, and I take a few steps into the apartment. The curtains are up, and even though it’s a small change, it feels huge. Knowing he’s lived here for four years and he’s just now putting up curtains gives the whole apartment a different feel.

“You made a good choice,” I tell him, admiring how well the curtains match what little I know about his personality.

I look down at the rug, and he can see the confusion as it crosses my face.

“I know it’s supposed to go under the table,” he says, looking down at it. “It will. Eventually.”

It’s positioned in an odd spot. It’s not in the center of the room or even in front of the couch. I’m confused about why he placed it where he did if he knows where it would look the best.

“I left it there because I was hoping we could christen it first.”

I look back up at him and see the adorably hopeful expression on his face. It makes me smile. “I like that idea,” I say, looking back down at the rug.

A long silence passes between us. I’m not sure if he wants to christen the rug right this minute or if he wants to eat first. I’m fine with either. As long as his plan fits within my three-hour time frame.

We’re both still staring at the rug when he speaks again. “I’ll eat later,” he says, answering the question that was silently running through my head.

He pulls off his shirt, and I kick off my shoes, and the rest of our clothes eventually end up together, next to the rug.

Chapter sixteen

MILES

Six years earlier

Everything is better now that I have Rachel.

Falling asleep is better, knowing Rachel is falling asleep right

across the hall.

Waking up every morning is so much better, knowing Rachel

is waking up right across the hall.

Going to school is better, now that we go together.

“Let’s skip today,” I tell Rachel when we pull into the parking

lot of the school.

I’m sure skipping school is even better with Rachel.

“What if we get caught?”

She doesn’t sound like she really cares if we get caught.

“I hope we get caught,” I tell her. “That means we’d be

grounded. Together. In the same house.”

My words make Rachel smile. She leans across the seat and

slides her hand around my neck. I love it when she does that.

“Being grounded with you sounds really fun. Let’s do it.” She

leans forward and gives me a simple, quick peck on the lips.

Simple kisses are better when they’re from Rachel.

“You make everything better,” I tell her. “My life. It’s better

with you in it.”

My words make Rachel smile again. Rachel doesn’t know this,

but every word I speak is voiced for that sole reason. To make

her smile.

I pull out of the parking lot and tell Rachel we’re going to the

beach. She says she wants her bathing suit, so we go to the

house first and get our bathing suits. We also pack a lunch and

a blanket.

We go to the beach.

Rachel wants to sunbathe while she reads.

I want to watch Rachel sunbathe while she reads.

She’s lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. I lay my

head on my arms and watch her.

My eyes follow the smooth curves of her shoulders … the

sway in her back … the way her knees are bent and her legs

are up in the air with her feet crossed at the ankles.

Rachel is happy.

I make Rachel happy.

I make Rachel’s life better.

Her life is better with me in it.

“Rachel,” I whisper.

She places her bookmark inside the book and closes it, but she

doesn’t look at me.

“I want you to know something.”

She nods, but she closes her eyes as though she wants to focus

on my voice and nothing else.

“When my mom died, I stopped believing in God.”

She lays her head on her arms and keeps her eyes shut.

“I didn’t think God would make someone go through that

much physical pain. I didn’t think God would make someone

suffer like she suffered. I didn’t think God was capable of

making someone go through something so ugly.”

A tear falls from Rachel’s closed eyes.

“But then I met you, and every single day since then, I’ve

wondered how someone could be so beautiful if there wasn’t

a God. I’ve wondered how someone could make me so

incredibly happy if God didn’t exist. And I realized … just

now … that God gives us the ugliness so we don’t take the

beautiful things in life for granted.”

My words don’t make Rachel smile.

My words make Rachel frown.

My words make Rachel cry.

“Miles,” she whispers.

She says my name so quietly it’s as if she doesn’t want me to

hear it.

She looks at me, and I can see that this moment isn’t one of the

beautiful moments for her. Not like it is for me.

“Miles … I’m late.”

Chapter seventeen

TATE

Corbin: Want to grab dinner? What time do you get off work?

Me: Ten minutes. Where at?

Corbin: We’re nearby. We’ll just meet you out front.

We?

I can’t ignore the excitement that just flooded me with that text. Surely the we means him and Miles. I can’t think of anyone else who would be coming with him, and I know Miles came home last night.

I finish up the last of my paperwork, then make a stop in the restroom to check my hair (I hate that I care) before heading outside to meet them.

The three of them are standing near the entrance when I walk outside. Ian and Miles are both with Corbin. Ian smiles when he sees me, since he’s the only one facing me. Corbin spins around when I reach them.

“Ready? We’re going to Jack’s.”

They’re quite the team. All good-looking in their own ways but even more so when they’re sporting their pilot jackets and walking in a group like this. I can’t deny I feel somewhat underdressed, walking next to them in my scrubs. “Let’s do it,” I say. “I’m starving.”

I glance at Miles, and he gives me the slightest nod but no smile. His hands are planted firmly in the pockets of his jacket, and he looks away as we all begin walking. He stays a step ahead of me the entire time, so I walk next to Corbin.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask as we head toward the restaurant. “Are we celebrating the fact that all three of you are off on the same night?”

A silent conversation passes around me. Ian looks at Miles. Corbin looks at Ian. Miles looks at no one. He keeps his eyes forward, focused on the sidewalk ahead of us.

“Remember when we were kids and Mom and Dad took us to La Caprese?” Corbin asks.

I remember that night. I’ve never seen my parents happier. I couldn’t have been older than five or six, but it’s one of the few memories I have from that young an age. It was the day my father made captain with his airline.

I stop in my tracks and immediately look at Corbin. “You made captain? You can’t get captain. You’re too young.” I know for a fact how hard it is to make captain and how many hours a pilot has to put in to be considered. Most pilots in their twenties are copilots.

Corbin shakes his head. “I didn’t get captain. I’ve changed airlines too much.” He cuts his eyes to Miles. “But Mr. Sign Me Up for More Hours over here got a nice little promotion today. Broke the company record.”

I look at Miles, and he’s shaking his head at Corbin. I can tell he’s embarrassed that Corbin just called him out, but his modesty is just one more thing I find appealing about him. I have a feeling that if their friend Dillon were ever to make captain, he’d be on top of a bar somewhere, announcing it to the entire world with a megaphone.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Miles says. “It’s a regional airline. Not many people to promote.”

Ian shakes his head. “I didn’t get promoted. Corbin didn’t get promoted. Dillon didn’t get promoted. You’ve been at this a year less than any of us, not to mention the fact that you’re only twenty-four.” He spins around and walks backward, facing all three of us. “Abandon the modesty for once, man. Rub it in our faces a little. We’d do it to you if the roles were reversed.”

I don’t know how long they’ve been friends, but I like Ian. I can tell he and Miles are close, because Ian is genuinely proud of him and not at all jealous. I like that these are Corbin’s friends. It makes me happy for Corbin that he has this support. I’ve always pictured him living here, working too much, spending all his time alone and away from home. I don’t know why, though. Our father was a pilot, and he was home a fair amount of time, so I shouldn’t have misconceptions when it comes to Corbin’s life as a pilot.

I guess Corbin isn’t the only one to worry unnecessarily about his sibling.

We reach the restaurant, and Corbin holds the door open for us. Ian walks in first, and Miles steps back, allowing me to walk in ahead of him.