Page 129 of Wisteria and Cloves
“I am.” I shifted a little to make space as he approached. “Just checking comments.”
His brow lifted as he sat at the edge of the nest. “Still going strong?”
“More than I expected.” I angled the phone so he could see, and he whistled low at the numbers.
“Well,” he said, nudging my knee lightly with his hand, “what did we tell you? The world doesn’t need you to be a brand, Lili. Just a heartbeat.”
My heart almost stopped at the name he called me.Lili,I have never been called anything but my full name before.
"Lili," I echoed softly, testing the nickname on my tongue. "No one's ever called me that before."
Miles's expression shifted, something like concern flickering across his features. "Is it okay? I didn't mean to—"
"I like it," I interrupted, surprising myself with how quickly the words came. "It feels... mine. Like something that belongs just to me."
His smile returned, softer this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Good. Because it suits you. Simpler. Less…stuffy."
"My parents would hate it," I said, a small laugh escaping me.
"All the more reason to use it," he replied, his voice carrying that quiet confidence I'd come to associate with him. He shifted slightly, his weight making the edge of the nest dip. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the space beside me.
I nodded, making room for him. Miles settled beside me with careful precision, mindful not to disturb the carefully arranged pillows and blankets that made up my nest. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I found myself gravitating toward his warmth without conscious thought.
"I heard about your cooking lesson," Miles said, his voice casual but his eyes watchful. "Christopher hasn't stopped grinning since."
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I remembered Christopher's lips against mine, the way Julian had watched us with dark, hungry eyes. "It was... educational."
Miles chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I bet it was."
The teasing in his tone made me duck my head, but I couldn't help smiling. "Not just the cooking part," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes darkened slightly, and I watched as he swallowed, his throat working. "Julian mentioned that too."
"Did he?" I asked, suddenly curious about what exactly had been said after I'd left the kitchen.
Miles nodded, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the blanket near my knee. "He said you were... blossoming." His fingers traced closer to my knee, not quite touching but near enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "His exact words were that you're 'coming into your own in ways that make it hard to breathe sometimes.'"
The description made my heart flutter. "That's... poetic for Julian."
"You bring that out in him," Miles said simply. "In all of us, really."
I studied him in the soft evening light filtering through my curtains. Miles had always been the most enigmatic of the four—quiet where Christopher was exuberant, thoughtful where Julian was decisive, warm where Nicolaus was analytical. His green eyes held depths I hadn't fully explored yet.
"And what do I bring out in you?" I asked, surprising myself with my boldness. Miles's fingers stilled on the blanket, his gaze lifting to meet mine. Something flickered in his eyes—hunger, maybe, or vulnerability.
"Hope," he said finally, the word hanging between us with unexpected weight. "You make me hope again."
The simple honesty in his voice caught me off guard. I'd expected something lighter, perhaps even flirtatious, not this raw confession that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.
"Hope for what?" I asked softly.
Miles studied me for a moment, his green eyes thoughtful in the dim light of my room. "For connection that doesn't feel like a transaction. For quiet moments that matter more than grand gestures." His hand moved from the blanket to cover mine, his touch gentle but grounding. "For mornings where waking up feels like a gift, not an obligation."
My breath caught in my throat. There was something profoundly intimate about his words—more intimate, somehow, than even the physical moments I'd shared with Julian and Christopher. Miles was offering me a glimpse of something vulnerable, something that felt sacred in its simplicity.
"Miles," I whispered, his name feeling different on my lips now—softer, more precious. My fingers turned beneath his, interlacing with his own. "I feel that too. This... peace I never knew I was missing."
His thumb traced gentle circles across my knuckles, the repetitive motion soothing and electric all at once. "I've been wondering," he said, his voice dropping lower, "if you'd let me take you somewhere tomorrow. Just the two of us."
