Page 69 of Ghosted

I shift my camera bag higher on my shoulder and keep walking. “Something like that.”

“Do I want to know?”

“No.”

“Cool. Love the mystery.”

“Great. Keep loving it quietly.”

He grins and falls into step beside me like I didn’t basically tell him to go away. That’s Milo. Sweet enough to tolerate, persistent enough to be annoying, and constantly acting like if he stands close long enough, I might suddenly realize he’s been an option this whole time.

I won’t.

He’s fine. Funny sometimes. Harmless in the way people are when they don’t make your pulse do anything stupid.

“You’re extra pleasant today,” he says.

“I’m always pleasant.”

“You once told me my haircut looked like a cry for help.”

“It did.”

He laughs, and for a second, things almost feel normal.

Almost.

Then his shoulder brushes mine, light and probably accidental, except Milo’s eyes flick down like he’s checking if I noticed.

I did, I just don’t do anything with it.

Because that’s the thing about Milo.

He keeps waiting for at a door I never plan to open.

Milo starts up another conversation about some Halloween party, while I pretend to be interested, while my gaze flicks past him. Toward the courtyard and the chapel path. Toward every place Jagger should not be but part of me hopes to find him.

Milo notices because apparently everyone has decided to become observant at the worst possible time.

“You waiting for someone?”

“No.”

“You said that too fast.”

“And you’re standing too close.”

He lifts both hands, amused but a little wounded. “Damn. Okay.”

Guilt pokes at me.

Annoying.

“I’m just tired,” I say.

“Yeah, you look⁠—”

“Choose the next words carefully.”