Page 40 of Run to Me

“I don’t want to speculate,” Lucy replies. “We’ll wait for the official diagnosis and hope Vera fills us in. Like my dad said…patience.”

With a sigh, I rush ahead to hold the door open for the ladies. The day has dragged by. The appointment took longer than expected, and now we face a two-hour drive back to Walford. Looks like I’ll need Javi’s help at the bar once again.

14

MAISY

The baby-faced man sashaying my way grins like he’s about to stir up a heap of trouble. He already tricked me into taking a picture with him last night, then he had the gall to share the photo on my Instagram account with the caption “Miggy + Angel 4Ever.”

Miguel plops down beside me with a bag of gummy worms in hand and drapes a leg across my lap. “What do you think?” he asks, twirling his foot in circles.

With close-cropped dark hair and deep dimples in his round cheeks, he could pass as a giant toddler. Despite being thirty-four years old, his youthful porcelain face reminds me of a cherub, and he calls me his angel. But make no mistake, there’s nothing cherubic about Miguel Espinoza. Mischievous should be his first name and Egomaniac his last.

I press my lips into a flat line and squint at the green moccasin he’s showing off. It has gold threading and matches the bow tie he’s wearing today. “I promised not to lie to you after your kilt era.”

With narrowed eyes, he says, “You swore a blood oath to never bring that up again.”

Miguel found himself trapped inside the last kilt he designed. When he modeled it for me, he employed an army of safety pins to secure the yellow and brown monstrosity around his waist. I pricked my finger while freeing him, at which point he made me swear to forget his kilt phase ever happened. Hardly a “blood oath.”

“This situation calls for the reminder,” I say. “You’re a repeat fashion offender.”

“And you’re a sourpuss with an angelic face. Like Lucifer’s sister.” He hisses while yanking his foot away like I burned him with hellfire. Dramatic little prince.

Miguel’s an architect—a brilliant one—but he’s determined to become a fashion trendsetter. I admire his tenacity, but his execution leaves much to be desired. Over the years, he championed kilts, suspenders, and those old-school thermal underwear with the butt flaps, which he called “free-jamas.” Now he hopes coordinating moccasins with bow ties will become the hot new trend.

Disregarding his comparison of me to the devil’s sibling, I change the subject. “Where’s Graham?”

“He’s in the shower, where I would much rather be than here with you.” The droopy gummy worm he stabs in my direction isn’t the least bit threatening.

I steal the candy from his fingers and stuff it into my mouth. “No one’s keeping you here.”

Miguel’s responding smile lacks humor, and I wish I could take back my snarky comment. He spent a year apart from our group, and I can imagine how lonesome that time was for him. Studying him a little closer, I notice the stress lines around his eyes. Being separated from Graham was hard on him. He presents a lighthearted disposition to the world, but he internalizes his pain, allowing it to fester until he shuts down. A method of coping I’m more than familiar with.

“How are you feeling, Miggy? Be honest.” I squeeze his thigh in encouragement.

He lets out a long sigh, the playful mask slipping from his face altogether. “I’m surprised. Wary. I was starting to believe this day would never come and thought about moving on.”

The melancholy in his voice tugs at my rigid heartstrings. Like me, Miguel hides his vulnerability. Beneath the sarcasm and dramatic antics lies a sensitive man who loves deeply and longs for fathomless love in return.

His decision to end the relationship with Graham a year ago didn’t come with an ultimatum. Miguel chose to put himself first because he felt Graham wouldn’t. Not that anyone faults Graham for his reluctance to make their relationship public. The movie industry and, more specifically, his former agent were the culprits pressuring him to hide his true self. People surrounding Graham—the ones who were supposed to protect him—convinced him his career would end otherwise. His indecision cost him Miguel instead. Tragic.

“Being apart has been as hard on him as it was on you. But I knew he would come around because he loves you too much to let you go.” I grab his hand and lace our fingers together. “And I’m glad he did, because y’all belong together, and you both belong with me.”

“Thank you, angel. I’ll admit I’m worried he might change his mind, but I hope not. My heart won’t survive another break.”

“I’m confident he won’t.”

“I won’t,” Graham says from behind us.

Startled, our heads snap toward the kitchen where he leans against the wall with tousled wet hair, wearing nothing but a pair of burgundy boxers. He clearly has an aversion to clothes. Miguel and I sigh in appreciation as he prowls toward us with a smirk and a wink. His lithe, toned body is a true work of art.

His flirty expression falls away when he takes the bag of candy from Miguel and tosses it aside. Sitting on the coffee table with Miguel’s knees caged between his long legs, he links their fingers together and kisses each of Miguel’s knuckles while gazing into his eyes with pure adoration.

“You’re stuck with me, darling, until the end of time. And the whole world will know I’m proud to be yours.”

A small sob escapes Miguel before they meet halfway for a kiss, their hands cupping each other’s cheeks in mutual possession. My eyes and nose sting as I witness the loving exchange between my friends. The hopeless romantic buried deep within me fights against my jaded, hardened surface. I’m certain I’ve won the battle until the men break their kiss, and a grin overtakes Graham’s face when our eyes meet.

“Does something smell bad?” he asks, referring to my pinched facial expression.