“Maybe he isn’t actually in the military at all,” I counter. “Maybe he says he is to get girls to fall for him, spends a few nights with them, promises he’ll stay in touch, then never talks to them again. He’s used a fake identity so she can’t track him down, and he’s already moved on to his next victim.”
Miles looks at me, eyes wide. “Now who’s the dark one?”
Our drinks appear on the counter, and I grab them both, handing Miles his cup of coffee and turning to walk back outside.
He starts off in the opposite direction of our apartments, but I don’t ask why. I get the sense that we’re out for a morning stroll and that maybe he’s going to share a little information about my date. But minutes go by, and Miles hasn’t said a word, seemingly content to soak up the sunshine and the scenes of the city where we both live.
Up ahead, I can see Lake Michigan, and a few minutes later we’re walking toward the water.
“Have you been down here yet?” he asks. “By the lake?”
I shake my head, drinking in the view. I understand why they call Chicago the “Third Coast.” If I didn’t know I was looking at a lake, I could easily confuse this with the ocean.
The skyline stretches all the way up the shoreline as traffic weaves through the city streets, creating an energetic backdrop of noise. Miles leads the way over to a wide sidewalk that’s situated next to the lake, and I see a giant shoal of huge boulders stretching out into the water like a dock or a natural sidewalk. There are two boys way out on the end, one looking like he’s trying to poseKarate Kid–style while the other takes his picture.
“I want to walk out there,” I say absently.
“On the groyne?”
I stop. “The what?”
He laughs through a wince. “In landscaping, you learn a lot of weird names for things. It’s called a groyne—it breaks waves and blocks sediment, extends the life of the beach actually.”
I pretend to push up fake glasses on my nose, then hold up one finger. “Um,actually, it’s called agroyne...”
“You know what they say about nerds,” he says. “We’ll rule the world.”
“I’ve never heard anyone say that.” I toss him a smile.
Am I flirting? What am I doing?
“So? You want to?” He nods toward the groyne.
I look out at the rocks. “Let’s do it.”
We walk out over the sand, and when we reach the boulders, Miles steps up first, then reaches a hand out to help me up. I accept his help, aware of how his strong hand wraps around mine, his other on my arm just above the elbow, steadying me as I take a step.
I take a second to get my footing, and when Miles doesn’t let go of my hand right away, my skin prickles.
I take a step onto another large flat boulder, and he holds up his other hand as if to say,You got it?then lets go of me.
He steps, one stone at a time, alongside me as I slowly start out on the misshapen, unsteady boulders, heading a bit farther toward the lake. I smile as an older couple holding hands passes by, headed back to the shore.
“See?” I say, a bit of bite in my voice. “They made it. What’s their secret?”
Miles tosses me a look, but his tone is light. “You have no idea what their story is. They could’ve met yesterday.”
“True.” I shrug. “I guess I just wish my story were different.”
“I don’t,” he says without hesitation.
“What? Why?”
He looks at me, right in the eyes. “Because if your story were different, you and I wouldn’t be on these rocks.”
My breath hitches, but I—hopefully—catch myself before giving away that my stomach just did a cartwheel.
“And who knows?” He laughs. “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and Roger will turn out to be the real thing.”
