But only if I have to.
We hit the first red light just outside her neighborhood.
The SUV idles.
I glance over.
She’s pushed her sunglasses up—forgotten, like she always forgets them when something has her full attention—and she’s looking at me.
Really looking.
And I see it.
All of it.
The same questions I have. The same fear sitting just underneath the surface. The same calculation running behind her eyes—what do we stand to lose, what do we stand to gain, is this worth the risk.
It is,I want to tell her.It’s worth every risk.
But I don’t.
Because for once, she’s the cautious one. And maybe that’s the right call. Maybe that’s thesmartest thing either of us has done all weekend. We’re ten minutes from her apartment and I have been holding myself together with increasingly fraying rope since approximately the moment she opened her barndominium door in that dress last night, and the last thing I need is to have a conversation of this magnitude in a vehicle.
Partly because I don’t trust myself to say everything that needs saying without being able to look at her properly.
And partly because when she finally says yes—when, not if, I am done entertainingif—I am going to want to be considerably closer to a horizontal surface than I currently am.
Her eyes hold mine.
Neither of us looks away.
Something shifts in the space between us.
Not resolved.
But closer.
The light turns green.
I put my aviators back on.
Drive on.
When,I think again.
Not if.
When.
eighteen
“RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP” — TAYLOR SWIFT
Tavey
Somewhere outside of Austin, I realized how badly I’d miscalculated.
I started this weekend nursing a pretty serious crush on Miller. It grew over time, out of years of spending five days a week with the man. It grew slowly, because, let’s face it, socially speaking, Miller has been a tough nut to crack. He’s quiet, observant, and thoughtful. So freaking serious. So freaking smart.
