Booked

Chapter 26 | A Gold Star Every Time I Do Something Right

I did not plan to tell Miles Whitman my entire life story.

But it was hard not to when Grace was all I could think about and when not talking about her felt a lot like denying that she had ever been alive.

Instead of forcing my mouth shut, I told him about her big eyes as she followed me everywhere to bug me to play with her when I was clearly doing homework.

I told him that she could not sleep without that favorite nightlight of hers. It annoyed me for years—even back then, I preferred total darkness. Although, when Mom was packing away the starry-night carousel, I realized I would miss the understated lights it carried with it. I finally understood why Mom had cared enough to get it repaired whenever it would stop working.

I briefly mentioned her death without details. He didn't ask for them.

It didn't help me stay quiet when Miles seemed so intrigued by my story that his eyes barely ever left my face as he listened.

He laughed in all the right places as he cooked and rarely ever commented on anything.

I sat at the kitchen island and watched him watch me.

Well, maybe we should have known then that his infamous new recipe would end up burned.

Maybe we should have guessed we'd be ordering pizza instead of testing his cooking skills.

But I had no regrets—talking about Grace, acknowledging that I had a sister and still did even though she was no longer here to testify of it. She was still around in my mind to make sure I never forgot it again.

"So, you invited me to your place to watch you burn a new meal?" I joked as I took a slice of cheese pizza from the box.

Miles's half was covered with all sorts of weird toppings that I would never try but fit the chaos that permanently lived behind his eyelids perfectly.

His apartment was surprisingly clean for a guy who thought messiness was the solution to everything. I did a great job avoiding any part that wasn't—ignoring the cup stains left on the counter, the flour he spilled where he had been working. There must have been more flour on the counter than in his meal.

"I got distracted," he said, staring at me from across the island, with accusation in his narrowed eyes.

"Don't look at me. I tried to save the rest of it."

I remembered joining him at the stove to check on the state of his meal when I first noticed the steam. My arm brushed his as I tried to reach for the sauté pan's handle and I stayed frozen for the next few seconds, which was less helpful than I was going for.

"Couldn't have done it without you," Miles said, tilting his head slightly as he mocked me.

"I know."

I tried to make sure my hands would steer clear from his every time I reached out for one of the small slices, but he worked against me as though he sought my hand on purpose.

"Now that I remember," I said, though I had been thinking about it for a while, "I turned in my poetry collection yesterday, which, if I'm not wrong, makes me the grand winner. That's twice now, Miles. Are you even trying?"

He chuckled at the jab and looked back down at the pizza box that stood like a fort between us, successfully avoiding my gaze.

"In my defense," he said as he rose from his chair and nodded for me to do the same, "you're both a motivation and a distraction."

"Is that the best you've got?"

I nudged his shoulder as I walked by his side, and he simply shook his head, amusement visible on his face.