A tiny, mischievous smile tips on his lips.
“How would I have done that?” I don’t buy his half-assed denial in the least.
“Oh, my god, you totally did. You totally had the ice cream truck come here just to make me happy, didn’t you?”
A laugh leaves his lips as he takes my hand and leads me up the sand.
“You mentioned wanting one. I just sent them a message on social media when we got here. It was no big deal; they were already coming this way.”
I stare at him in awe.
“Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” I ask with a laugh, shaking my head. “Because you’re the kindest, sweetest, most caring man alive? No, I’m not mad. Let’s go before they drive off.”
Then, Graham buys me a Powerpuff Girl ice pop, and I smile as I eat it. He gets a boring soft serve, but watches me in something close to horror.
“How are you eating that?” he asks eventually, and I just shrug.
“This is what I always get from the ice cream truck. You can get soft serve all over the island, but there are only a few places you can get a Bubbles ice pop.”
He shakes his head but smiles all the same.
“You’re a nut, you know that?”
“You like it though,” I say, and he pulls me in close.
“I really do. I must be out of my mind, but I really do.” Then he kisses me, long and deep, until a drip melts onto my hand. I pull back, licking the melted ice pop off. When I look up, he’s watching me with rapt attention, and I giggle, not because of his teenage boy look, but at the fact that his face has pink and blue smeared on his lips.
And somehow, my day is completely better.
“What’s the damage?” I ask as Miles meets me in the garage, a blue shop towel in his hands. He texted me while we were at the beach to tell me my car was ready, and Graham took me over to pick it up on the way back to his place. He gives me a wide, brotherly smile.
“A hundred,” he says, and I stare at him before looking at him, annoyed. Graham lets out a little snicker, thoroughly entertained by this.
“Okay, and what’s your not my brother’s best friend and my best friend’s boyfriendprice?”
“Hundred,” he repeats, and I fight the urge not to stomp my foot.
“Miles Miller,” I start. “Don’t make me call Claire. Or worse, your mom. She knows how important it is for a woman to pay for things herself.”
He lets out a laugh and shakes his head before lifting his hands in surrender.
“Serious, June. It wasn’t too bad, just two minutes of tinkering. Then I recharged the air conditioning. That was like, five bucks, and I knew you wouldn’t be down with that, so I changed your oil and refilled your windshield wiper fluid and changed the cabin air filter.” I narrow my eyes.
“You’re telling me the only thing wrong with that is that you needed totinker?” He nods. “What about the starter? You said that might be an issue.” He shakes his head.
“Something was loose.” I narrow my eyes.
“An oil change alone is a hundred bucks, Miles.”
“That’s just because shops upcharge. I only charged you for materials. Those aren’t that much, right Graham? Back me up on this,” Miles says. Graham nods.
“Stop giving him a hard time. He’s probably overcharging you for oil, too, if we’re being honest, since he’s afraid you’ll do exactly this.”
“I am! Thank you!” I look between the two of them, then roll my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh. “It just sounds…too good to be true. That car is older than me.”
