7. Milo

SEVEN

MILO

My fingers trembled much longer than I would have liked to admit to another living soul. In truth, my hands had begun to shake when I had first uttered the words that had been my deepest, most cherished secret since I was ten years old.

I hurried to the front of the shop and locked the door, then walked back at a slower pace. The aromas of Kody’s white elephant chocolates filled the air, strengthening the closer I was to the kitchen. The only trouble was that I struggled to force myself back in there.

The chocolates would be fine. I’d left them sitting on the counters, still to be wrapped, and I sat on the nearest chair, elbows resting on the small, round table. What on Earth had possessed me to tell him the truth?

And what the hell was up with him? A sliver of anger passed through me. Who gave him the right to be so devastatingly handsome? Who let him grow from a pretty boy to a stunning, heart-stopping man? It wasn’t fair on the rest of us, destined to gaze at the likes of Christian Underwood and be unable to suppress the flutters of hope lifting in our stomachs.

He hadn’t exactly taken that kiss from me by force or despite my grudging reluctance, but it wasn’t right anyway. First kisses—even if they were also doomed to be the last—needed to be special. Where was the mistletoe? Where were the snow flurries and wind lashing against his coat? Where was the determination to kiss me despite the raging storm?

When I’d realized where Christian had been heading with those inching moves, I was happy to let him do whatever crossed his mind. I was willing to throw myself at his feet like a wounded pup in need of protection. Stupid me; I had always had a weakness for him, but I had forgotten just how much of a problem that could be in the years of separation.

My fingers drummed against the wooden coffee table, and I chewed my lip despite all the effort to stop. Closing my eyes, I sent myself back in time with a single, deep breath.

The aroma of toasted bread filled the small apartment. Outside, snow blanketed the entire town. My small fingers tore off pieces of the toasted sandwiches, cheese sticking to my fingertips, and Mother put her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you eating your breakfast, Milo?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Not hungry,” I said, although that wasn’t entirely true. My tummy rumbled. It wasn’t a problem in my stomach but higher, somewhere in my chest and especially in my throat. There was a tightness in it that hadn’t left me since waking up from the sweetest, nicest dream I’d ever dreamed. The cold, dreary reality of a whitewashed morning that arrived in the place of the cozy warmth of the dream had left me in a desperate need to cry it out. Except I couldn’t. I couldn’t just bury my face in the pillow and cry after a dream I could hardly remember.

He was in it. That much I was sure about. Me and Christian and someplace warm. I remembered little else.

“You have to eat your breakfast, mister.” Mom wasn’t stern about it, but I knew I wouldn’t get any time alone until I did what I was told. And I seriously needed to be alone. Every fiber of my being wanted to weep as if I lost something incredible. But the thing was, I hadn’t lost anything. I hadn’t had it in the first place.

I knew I loved him. And I knew he didn’t love me back.

Sometimes, when we lost ourselves in our games, I forgot the second part. My heart lifted with hope because Christian looked at me in a certain way that I was sure was reserved only for those he loved. Nobody got him grinning the way I did.

I collected the crumbs from my plate after forcing the sandwich down, walked to the window, opened it, and spread a handful of breadcrumbs on the windowsill for little sparrows to collect during the day.

Sadness overwhelmed me before I could hide in the safety of my bedroom. Something—anything—always reminded me of him. I knew I would see him later today; I knew I would see him every single day for as long as I lived. But it wasn’t the same. He still wasn’t going to be mine, and I hated it. I hated myself for loving him, and I hated him for not loving me back.

Please , I whispered internally to whoever was in charge of my heart. Please, just let it go away . These feelings were ruining everything. I wished to go back in time. If only it could all be before that fateful day I’d seen him at the lake and my world turned upside down.

Slowly, I emerged from the rich, vibrant memories and looked around my shop. Years had passed, but they still hadn’t faded with time. They were as real as if I were still a heartsick boy nursing the sweet hurts of my first love.

I’ll never be free of you , I thought hopelessly.