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“I just wanted some quiet,” Allison moved over to make room. “Want to sit?”
Miles sat down beside her. He didn’t light a cigarette immediately, but just sat there, looking at the dark silhouette of the woods beyond the fence.
“Here, you’ll freeze,” he draped the blanket over her shoulders, and for a moment his fingers brushed her neck. Allison flinched at the fleeting contact; a wave of warmth that had nothing to do with the air temperature rushed through her.
He eventually pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and flicked his lighter — the tiny flame momentarily carving his focused face, the stubborn curve of his lips, and a stray lock of hair out of the darkness.
“Did you actually like it?” he asked, blowing a stream of smoke upward. “The party, the guys… You looked all evening like you were waiting for a catch.”
“It was… surprising,” Allison admitted honestly. “Rachel crowing in the yard at two in the morning was exactly what I needed for total happiness. And the way we got tied in knots playing Twister. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
“This is just the beginning,” Miles smirked and looked at her. “That’s how we live. Stupid, loud, but at least it’s real.”
He told her the story about Tom’s brother and the “floral perfume” that turned out to be insect bait. He told it in character, acting out Tom running across the lawn fending off wasps, while Allison laughed into her hand, afraid of waking those sleeping inside.
Then the laughter died down. Silence returned, but now it was different — electric and thick. Miles crushed his cigarette against the edge of the ash tray and turned toward her. He leaned on his knees, closing the distance.
“Allison…”
She froze, afraid to move. The air between them felt as dense as water. Miles moved even closer until their shoulders touched under the shared blanket. He looked straight into her eyes — hazel, now appearing almost black in the dark. There was no trace of his usual bravado in his gaze, only a strange, frightening tenderness.
“You are very beautiful,” he whispered. “And it’s not because of the mascara on your lashes.”
His hand rose slowly, and he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. His fingers were warm, smelling faintly of tobacco. Allison’s heart broke into a frantic rhythm, pounding against her ribs so hard she felt certain Miles could hear it. She couldn’t look away, as if caught in a gravitational field with no exit.
When his lips touched hers — cautiously at first, almost weightlessly — time simply stopped for Allison. It was the taste of cherry gloss, bitter resin, and the night chill. The first kiss of her life. It wasn’t like the movies. It was more hesitant, a bit awkward, but it sent such a powerful feeling through her veins that her head spun. She closed her eyes, finally surrendering to the moment, allowing herself to forget who she was and what was waiting for her back home.
They sat on that terrace until the very break of dawn. The sky slowly turned to steel, then pearl. They barely spoke, just sat with their fingers intertwined, covered by a single blanket between them. Miles gently toyed with the strands of her hair, and Allison rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
Only when the first rays of the sun touched the tops of the pines did Miles whisper softly:
“Let’s go inside. You need to get at least a little sleep.”
He settled her on the sofa himself, tucking a soft pillow under her head and covering her with the same blanket that still held their shared warmth. Miles didn’t go upstairs — he settled in a chair nearby, and the last thing Allison saw before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep was his smile in the morning light.
Waking up was difficult. Around noon, Judy burst into the living room — sleepy-eyed but still full of energy. The group began to slowly pack up. Rachel left first, grumbling about a headache; Sam grabbed his backpack and raced off to practice.
In Miles’s car on the way back, a strange silence reigned. That specific awkwardness that always follows something important. They both understood that in those few hours on the terrace, something had changed irrevocably.
“Well, here’s your castle,” Miles stopped at Allison’s house. “The vintage fence is still standing.”
Allison looked at her windows. They looked dark and unfriendly.
“Thanks, Miles. For everything.”
“See you tomorrow?” he caught her hand on the door handle.
“See you tomorrow.”
He kissed her again — quickly this time, on the corner of her mouth — but the gesture gave her strength.
The car drove away. Allison stood by the gate, breathing in the scent of damp earth. She knew that as soon as she opened the front door, the fairy tale would end. Trying to keep the remnants of the warmth Miles had given her inside, she turned the key in the lock.
The house didn’t smell like pancakes. It smelled of burnt food and something sour.
Her note lay on the floor in the hallway, torn to shreds, as if it had been trampled in a rage. Allison walked into the living room and froze.
“Mom?” Allison called out, her voice cracking.
CHAPTER 6
Breathing heavily and shielding her face from the biting morning light, Amanda woke up on the sofa. The air in the living room felt sour, saturated with the fumes of cheap whiskey and long-standing misery. Every cell in her body screamed from the previous night’s binge. Her muscles ached, her bones felt as if they were filled with lead, and a dull, lingering pain pulsed rhythmically in her temples. The last time she had felt this wretched was in her youth, after food poisoning in a cheap Greenwood diner that smelled of rancid oil and failed hopes.
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