Page 106 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

The tour winds through dim streets while rain makes the roads shine in the glow from the lamps. I move closer to Miles, and he holds open his jacket so I can snuggle into his warmth. When the cobblestones become slick, he places his hand at my waist.

The touch is practical. My reaction is not. I have leaned against Miles before. Fallen asleep on his shoulder during movies. Held his hand while pulling him through crowds. Thrown my legs across his lap because the couch was cold. Cried on his shoulder and fell asleep with his arms around me.

But now I know he loves me. Now every point of contact carries a second meaning. And somehow, it doesn’t lessen the first meaning. I can still whisper ridiculous histories into his ear. I can still laugh when Winston abandons his owners to sit beside Miles during every stop. I can still be me with him.

I can also tuck myself against his side because I’m cold and because I want to. That is new. I can also revel in how close his body is to mine. The way his chest feels against my shoulder. The fact that if I turned my head, his mouth would be right there.

By the time the tour ends, my feet may never forgive me, Miles’s jaw has turned an impressive shade of purple, and Cornelius has decided Miles is both deeply haunted and unwilling to confront it. And I’ve had the most memorable date of my life.

We thank Cornelius and head to Miles’s car.

By the time we get back to my townhouse, the rain has stopped. Charlie’s car is in the driveway, but the downstairs lights are dim. When Miles opens my door, I say, “So, what’s your guess—is Charlie asleep or staked out behind the curtains with binoculars?”

Miles considers the question. “We did work a lot of hours this week, so she’s probably tired.”

“And Owen isn’t here this weekend,” I add.

“But she also really wanted to be a spectator on this date… I’m going with forty-three percent chance she’s asleep, fifty-seven percent chance she’s watching us.”

Miles walks me up the stairs to my door, and we stop beneath the porch light. “Thank you,” I say.

“I’m sorry it didn’t⁠—”

“I had an amazing time.”

He pauses, like he doesn’t quite believe my words, so I say it again with a bit more conviction. “I did.”

His expression shifts, but before I can interpret it, his gaze drops to my mouth, and the air changes. There have been dozens of moments over the years when Miles has stood this close. None of them felt like this.

The porch light catches the little flecks of caramel in his brown eyes, and I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw—or, at least the uninjured half of it. I want to touch him. The realization hits me with surprising force.

His hand rises, fingertips brushing a damp strand of hair away from my cheek, and I stop breathing even as my heart rate kicks up. He leans in even closer, and my heart jumps into my throat. This is going to happen. Our first kiss. The thing I have wondered about without admitting I was wondering. The thing that now seems inevitable.

And as the distance between us disappears, another truth rises inside me. Cancer. Treatment. The doctor’s careful explanation. The future I may not be able to give him. Miles loves kids. I know how he looks at Heidi. How he talks about someday having a family. How he held Mackenzie’s tiny ultrasound picture like it was something miraculous. And I still haven’t told him.

Miles’s mouth is inches from mine. “I’ve waited years to kiss you,” he breathes. Instead of going in for the kiss, though, he rests his forehead lightly against mine. “But there have been a lot of firsts this week. I want this one to have room to be its own thing.”

Relief and disappointment collide inside me. I want the kiss badly enough that every inch between us feels unreasonable. But a small part of me is grateful for the pause. There’s still something important I need to tell him, and I’m rapidly running out of places to hide from it.

He brushes his thumb along my cheek, then steps back. “Goodnight, Reese.”

I smile. “Goodnight, Miles.”

I unlock the door and step inside, then lean against the door and sigh happily. The house is quiet, but Charlie is still up, not holding binoculars. She’s actually sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of cereal, very obviously waiting.

“Well?” she asks.

I go into the kitchen and lean against the island counter, and Charlie twists to see me better over the back of the couch. “It was amazing.”

Her face brightens. “You kissed?”

“No. But we nearly did.”

She seems way too giddy for a kiss that didn’t happen. “What did you do on the date?”

“Indoor skydiving, dinner at The Copper Heron, and a ghost tour. I kicked him in the face, the restaurant attacked us, we missed a sunset cruise, and a beagle decided Miles could communicate with the dead.”

Charlie stares at me. “Okay,” she says slowly. “When you said ‘amazing,’ I assumed you were using the standard definition of the word.”