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“Wow.” My brows shoot up, a little offended. “Nice to see you too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he defends, his frown doing absolutely nothing to make him any less devastating to look at, which feels wildly unfair given the circumstances. “I’m glad you’re here,” he adds. “Truly, I am. I’m just worried that this place—” He looks past me toward the now-empty street. “This town isn’t good for you, Max. You shouldn’t have come.”
The words slice straight through me. Whatever warm, fuzzy feeling had taken hold at the sight of Milo’s beautiful face disappears in an instant, replaced by the realization that he’d rather I hadn’t come at all. He would have been just fine going another decade without seeing me. Guess I’m the only one handing out ego boosts tonight.
“Good to know that’s how you feel.” I force a tight smile. “Don’t worry, Fletcher. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way.”
I reach for the car door, but before I can unlock it, his hand closes around my wrist. He gently spins me back around until my palm rests against his chest—warm, solid, familiar. Everything.
“That’s not what I want,” he says softly. “Can we start over? Please? We haven’t seen each other in so long, Max. Please don’t let this be how we reconnect.”
“Is that really what you want? To…um…reconnect?” I ask quietly, suddenly very aware of every place his fingers are touching my skin.
Milo doesn’t answer. He simply smiles.
God almighty, that smile has always been my Achilles’ heel. It makes me stupid. Really fucking stupid.
“Hi,” he says, lifting my hands to his lips and placing the gentlest kiss against the inside of my wrist.
“Hi,” I whisper back, the word coming out far more breathless than I intended.
Not wanting to make an even bigger fool of myself, I gently pull my hand free, noticing a brief flicker of disappointment crossing his face. To buy myself some time, I glance down at my shoes, desperately searching for something remotely intelligent to say. “Are you back for the reunion too?” His smile fades yet again. “I mean—” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here? In Fairhope.”
“Where else would I be?” His frown deepens. “I never left, Max.” He studies me for a long moment. “You’re the one who got out, remember?”
“Oh,” I mutter under my breath. “I just assumed… what I meant to say was… I thought maybe once you went off to Atlanta for college, you wouldn’t come back.”
“Atlanta?” he asks, his forehead creasing in confusion.
“Yeah, you know? The football scholarship Georgia State offered you. You always said you couldn’t wait to trade the Maine fog for the Atlanta heat. I just assumed you’d build a life there after graduating.”
“That life didn’t pan out.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Oh.” I frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Milo takes a slow breath, turning his attention to the neon lights across the street as though they might somehow hold all the answers.
Whenever I allowed myself to think of Milo over the years, I always envisioned him thriving as a Georgia State Panther, meeting a nice girl in college, marrying her, and having little mini-Milos running around the yard of his white-picket-fence life. In my mind, Milo got everything he deserved the second he got out of this place. But he never got out. Not like I did. No wonder it’s a sore subject for him.
“This feels awkward, doesn’t it?” I ask, breaking the silence before it swallows us whole. “Why does it feel so weird?”
“It doesn’t have to.” His smile returns, small but unmistakably Milo—boyish and heartfelt. Reassuring enough to finally loosen some of the tension lodged in my chest. “I might know how we can fix it, though.”
“How?”
“How about a midnight walk?” He nods toward the sign glowing above Cushman’s Diner. “Like we used to.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks at the memory of Milo waiting outside after every one of my weekend shifts because he refused to let me walk home alone that late at night. I’d spent so many nights walking beside him that Main Street almost felt like ours after midnight.
“I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He offers his arm, waiting.
I bite the inside of my cheek before hooking my arm with his. The fit is so natural it’s almost unsettling, as though no time has passed at all. As if it were as easy as simply picking up where we left off.
