"Hey, rule number three still stands. Cut out the 'baby' stuff," I warn and he nods. "There's a playlist called 'Songs for Wrenny.'"
He laughs a little, glancing to me and then back to the road. "You weren't supposed to see that yet."
"I mean, it says the songs areforme. Why can't I look at it?"
"They weren't meant toforyou. More like, songs that you like and songs that remind me of you," he says and my cheeks inflame with happiness.
"No one has ever made me a playlist before," I say.
He snorts. "What did I just say? I didn't make itforyou. It's more of a present for myself."
"Whatever makes you sleep at night, Davis," I say, laughing as I scroll through it. "Can you tell me which one is your favourite that reminds you how amazing I am?"
"The Taylor Swift one.Christmas Tree Farm," he says immediately.
"That was quick."
He shrugs. "I add to it a lot," he replies. "Put it on. I wanna hear you sing it."
"I can't sing, Miles," I say, shaking my head. He snatches the phone from me and puts the song on with one hand.
"And neither can I."
When the first verse plays, he doesn't shock me when he starts to sing terribly. He nudges me when the chorus starts and I can't help but joining in on one of my favourite songs. We're both singing together awfully, laughing between lines as we drive to Miles' hometown. He makes me feel ridiculous in the best way and I love this side of myself.
I see Miles grow more skittish as we get closer to his house. Even when we’re pulled up outside, he doesn’t try to get out the car. Instead, he taps his hands on the steering wheel, staring at the other houses on the block. I put my hand on his.
“If you don’t want to go, we can drive away and never look back,” I suggest with a smile. He shakes his head with a weak laugh. “How about this? If you feel irritated, angry, or upset just squeeze my hand and I’ll squeeze back. That way you’ll know that I’m here. I’m going to be here, Miles.”
He nods and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. We keep our hands together as we walk up the gravel of his childhood home. It’s a small bungalow in a quiet suburb in Fruit Heights. It’s the kind of house you drive by, knowing a happy family lives here. The house is a gorgeous dark brown colour, and the lawn is covered in light snow. It feels cosy. Safe.
He knocks on the door twice before it opens. Miles’ dad is a tall, light skinned man with kind features. He looks a lot less intimidating than the pictures he showed me on the way over. He’s at least five heads taller than Miles’ mom, a breath-taking woman with dark brown locks flowing long past her shoulders.
“Merry Christmas, you two,” Miles’ dad says as if we met before, with a huge smile on his face. He pats Miles on the shoulder and nods at me with a smile. “I’m Ben.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Wren,” his mom exclaims, smiling at me. Miles’ hand tightens around me, and I squeeze back.
“Thank you for inviting me, Mr and Mrs Davis.”
“Oh, just call us Portia and Ben. We don’t mind. There’s no need for the formalities.” She turns to Miles who has been avoiding eye contact with her. “Miles, love. It’s good to see you.”
He grunts something in response not saying anything other than, "Wren got you a present."
I shoot him a look, knowing that he's trying to avoid talking to his mom while throwing me under the bus. I clear my throat as his mom smiles at me. "It's only something small," I say, handing her the gift bag.
She beams at me, her mouth forming the same dimples as Miles. "Oh, that's so thoughtful. Thank you, Wren."
Im about to respond but before I do, a tall, curly haired woman - I’m assuming is Clara - comes around the corner in a pink tracksuit. Maybe I am too dressed up. Her face lights up when she sees us. She pushes past her parents and pulls Miles into a hug.
“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says through a grin when she pulls apart from him. He shrugs and looks over at me, his faces a deep red. “Wren! I’ve heard a lot about you. I didn’t know you’d be as pretty as he said.”
I blush and I’m about to speak before Miles’s mom interjects, saving me for what would have been an awkward thank you. “Why don’t you take off your outdoor clothes and come into the kitchen with us girls?”
Everyone else slips away into whatever corners of the house they need to be in. I start to unzip my coat, but Miles stops me, zipping it down for me. I watch him work slowly at the zip at my front, his eyes focused on me. It’s the kind of intimacy we haven’t acknowledged since the kiss. He comes behind me and pulls on the sleeves.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, almost laughing at this gesture.
“I want to.”
