I look down at my crumpled clothes and glance back at Milo’s old truck. “It is.”
“Well, I hope you love New York City,” he says before Milo is suddenly beside me with my suitcase and his backpack.
He gives Brady the keys with some money. “Milo Carter.”
Brady nods once and gets in the truck.
“They do things differently around here,” I mutter.
Milo grins. “Just a bit, but you’ll figure it out.”
I’ll figure it out.I think back on the lady hailing the cab. I could be like her if I wanted to. I smile at the thought, then I follow Milo into the hotel.
37
SADIE
I wake before Milo does,my eyes soaking in the way the light warms his bare back in the bed next to mine. He’s lying on his side, the covers pooled around his waist, head cradled in his left arm. I want to reach out and trace his ridges and freckles, drawing constellations on his flesh.
His body suddenly stretches into the sunlight, like he can feel me watching him, and when he turns over, the blue in his gaze is bright, and a sleepy grin grazes up against his cheeks.
“Good morning,” he mumbles.
“Morning,” I say, my head cradled in my bent elbow.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
I give a faint nod.
We stare at each other for a few moments, lingering in this moment, and while there are at least three feet between the beds, I feel as if his breath is on my skin.
Milo finally rolls to his back, stretching his arms above his head. I watch his movements as he slides out of bed and walks toward the coffee pot. “Want a cup?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say as I sit up, combing my fingers through my frizzyhair.
I hear him open a bag of coffee and pour water into the machine, and soon the room smells bold and warm.
“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask as I pull my legs up under me.
He turns and smiles. “You’ll see. We aren’t too far. An easy walk.”
I continue to study him as he eventually pours two cups of coffee and hands me one before sitting next to me on my bed. He gently blows and steam rolls away from his breath.
“You seemed kind of confident driving last night,” I muse. “Like you’ve done it often.”
He chuckles. “It’s a little different than back-roads driving.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting the velvet bitterness settle on my tongue before I swallow. “Did you live in New York City?”
He shakes his head. “No, I lived out in Jersey. Cedar Grove.”
I nod. “Did you like it?”
He shrugs. “It was nice. Lots of trees, great parks and restaurants.”
“But did you like it?” I repeat.
He smiles. “I didn’t hate it. Winter is a beast, though. My Texas blood froze.”
