“Are you scared of change, Walter?”
“Nothing changes if nothing changes,” he says.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“The only people who like change are the people who use it as a way to escape. It’s not change they like; it’s novelty. Changing things can be a way for people who feel out of control to gain control in their lives. The rest of us know that change is terrifying and inevitable.”
“So you don’t like it?”
“I can’t say I like it, but I’ve learned to embrace it like an old friend. Or a cold beer,” he says with that mischievous smile. “Plus, change usually means there are good things around the corner. Because I changed, I got to meet you.”
And this time, when we smile at each other, we do so not as strangers, but friends.
14
ABBY
Whether it’s my own admission of enjoying Miles’s company or Walter’s speech about regrets, when I get back to my room, it’s not my door I face. It’s Miles’s—and I knock before I can think too hard about it.
Walter is right; the days are long and the years are short, and this week is even shorter. Why shouldn’t I hang out with Miles if I enjoy his company? My migraine hasn’t gotten worse, and it might be fun to have someone go on the sunset sail with me. It might be romantic, but it can’t be any worse than the dinner we had last night.
He still hasn’t answered the door, so I knock again, louder this time. It’s Sunday, and it’s possible that he won’t even be in his room. I assume he doesn’t work on Sundays, but he might. He might be out with friends or on another run.
The sunset sail isn’t for a few hours. I could slip a note under his door and hope for the best.
I try one more time—loud, firm knocks—count to sixty, and then turn back to my room to get my notebook.
“Abby?” His voice is raspy, and I whip back around only to wish I hadn’t. He’s wearing gray sweatpants so low that I can see the V of his hip bones, and although this is not the first time I’mseeing this much of Miles’s body, given how often he’s been in a swimsuit when we’ve seen each other, this look is particularly tempting because it’s paired with bedhead and sleepy eyes.
Fucking hell…
Does he realize how hot he is?
“Oh my gosh, I’m—I’m so sorry. I—did I—were you asleeping? Asleep?”
What the fuck is wrong with me?This isn’t migraine brain, and it certainly isn’t alcohol brain.
He squints one eye as he gives me a lopsided smile and leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “I was just—yeah, I was taking a nap.”
“Fuck, I’m really sorry. I’ll—please go finish your?—”
I start to back away toward my room, but a hand on my arm stops me. Miles has reached out, keeping his door ajar with one hand and holding my arm with the other.
“What’s up, Abby?”
“Um… I…was going to—later I had—have an excursion. I was going to see if…I was going to invite—if you wanted to come…could you put a shirt on?”
I press my fingers into my eyes, as if the image of his body and the outline of his dick in those sweats isn’t seared into my memory. Why am I acting like a fool right now? He was shirtless and in my bed two days ago; why can I not pull myself together right now?
“Is my body distracting you, Abby?” His smirk is thick in his words. I don’t have to be looking at him to know the smug smile on his face.
“No, no. Definitely not.”
As if to prove my point, I keep my eyes firmly planted on his; no more body scanning.
“My excursion tonight is a sunset sail and I was wondering if you had any interest in joining me,” I say, taking my time, as if to prove that his state of dress doesn’t affect me at all.
“Sounds romantic,” he says.
