Milo glances up from the pan, and that almost-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the one that’s quickly becoming my secret weakness. His eyes give me a quick, polite sweep. He doesn’t linger, but I catch the subtle bob of his throat and the way his fingers tighten around the spatula for half a second.
“Figured a decent breakfast might earn me a few forgiveness points,” he replies, his voice low and a little rough. “After I apparently scared you off.”
I drop into the chair across from him. “Scared me off?Please. I don’t get scared. I strategically retreat when conversations get a little too… existential.”
He plates the scrambled eggs, then slides them across the table toward me with a soft chuckle, along with a bowl. I stare down at the neatly arranged pineapple chunks, my stomach doing another unwelcome flip.
“Existential,” he repeats, amused. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
I spear a piece of pineapple and twirl the fork between my fingers. “Glad you agree with me. Also, you remembered the pineapple?”
He shrugs, but a faint flush creeps up his neck. “You’ve had it every morning.”
The simple observation hits harder than it should. He actually noticed what I eat?
Heat prickles my cheeks. I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet, popping a piece of pineapple into my mouth instead. Milo closes his laptop with a soft click, pours himself a cup of coffee, and leans back against the counter.
Our eyes meet over the rim of his mug. Neither of us looks away fast enough. The air between us thickens until the silence feels dangerously comfortable.
He’s the first to break the silence. “You sleep okay?” he asks, cradling the mug in both hands like it’s a shield between us.
I shrug and shove another chunk of pineapple into my mouth, buying myself a second. “Mostly. Weird dreams. Falling off cliffs, chasing something I couldn’t quite catch.” I don’t tell him the something had his shoulders, or that I woke tangled in warm sheets, reaching for a hand that wasn’t there. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mostly,” he replies, taking a slow sip of coffee. “No dreams. Just… thinking.”
My mouth opens to respond when both our phones buzz against the table at the same time. I reach for mine first and see a new group chat notification. Aria has created the chat and added the wedding party members who are already here.
The Cole’s Tropical Wedding
Aria:
Good morning, everyone! Wedding week activities kick off at 10 a.m. sharp in the main beach pavilion.
Aria:
Bring your game faces, your sense of humor, and zero expectations of normalcy. Big reveal today—don’t be late!
I groan loudly. “Is she serious right now?”
Milo chuckles. “Were you expecting anything less from her?”
I slump back in my chair and stab my fork into a fluffy pile of eggs. “No, but I was really hoping this vacation would be drama-free. She never mentioned anything about wedding activities. And she tells meeverything.”
“Clearly noteverything,” Milo responds with amusement threading through his voice.
“Yeah,” I mumble around a mouthful of eggs. “Clearly not.”
Milo presses his lips together, visibly fighting back a laugh. I can see how badly he wants to let it out.
“Silence. Eat your breakfast, Milo, before it gets cold, and I have to pretend you’re not trying to win me over with your domestic skills.”
He lets out a soft laugh, but his eyes remain warm, almost fond. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence, broken only by light jabs and subtle flirting. Every time our fingers brush as we reach for the fruit bowl, a spark shoots up my arm. By the time we finish eating, the earlier awkwardness has melted into something warmer. Something far more dangerous.
When we finally head off to shower and get changed, I close the bathroom door behind me and lean back against it, heart racing. It takes every ounce of willpower not to let my hand drift south at the memory of him—his voice, his almost-smile, the way he looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug.
God help me. It’s only been four days. This is ridiculous.
