If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(30)

And just like that, I’ve shared more with Mila than I’ve shared with anyone in a long time. I guess I really hadn’t realized how secluded I’ve become until this moment. It’s pretty sad. I’ve never really had a use for anyone else. Until now.

I stare at Mila.

“So, now you have my life’s story. What about you? I know your parents died. What else is there to know about you?”

I reach for the bottle of wine and fill our glasses up again. I have a feeling that we’ll both need it by the time the evening is out. I glance around and find that the restaurant has pretty much cleared out, except for some clattering in the kitchen.

“Well, I’m still fascinated by the fact that we have more in common that I had thought,” Mila admits, her cheeks flushed from the wine.

“Yeah, we belong to an elite club,” I roll my eyes. “We know what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age. Lucky us.”

“You were much younger than me,” she tells me seriously. “I was grown and in college. I can’t imagine what that would do to a little boy-to grow up without his mama. Was your grandma alive for a while at least? Did you have any kind of female influence at all?”

I shake my head. “No. My grandma died before I was born. And no, I didn’t have any kind of female influence, other than teachers as I was growing up.”

And right there, with one breath, Mila touched on something that I’d never thought about. Had the fact that I didn’t have a mother (or any other female) affect me more than I had known? Is that why I’m not good at relating to women?

From the look on Mila’s face, I think she’s wondering the same thing. But she doesn’t say anything. There’s a bit of sympathy in her eyes though and I hate that.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I tell her. “There are millions of people who have had their mother die. You did, as well. I’m not so unique. We all get through it as best we can.”

She stares at me again, her face pensive. “So you don’t cut yourself any slack at all that you grew up without a mother?”

I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to find some sort of reason that I’ve become such an *? The reason is…I’m an *. There are some things in life that can’t be explained. Period. Assholes are *s. Rainbows are pretty. Kittens are cute. Chick flicks are sad. It’s the way of things, no explanations.”

And now she rolls her eyes.

“Things are the way they are, but everything has a reason. Kittens are cute because they’re tiny fur-balls with smushed faces. Rainbows are pretty because they have every color in the world in them and they’re made from refracted light. Chick flicks are sad because chicks sometimes just need a good cry. And *s are always *s for a reason.”

She stares at me again, her eyes full of determination, and I can see that she truly wants to pick me apart and see what makes me tick. I suddenly feel naked beneath her gaze. But as luck would have it, our food arrives at this most perfect of times, and I almost sigh with relief.

Her sister Madison sets our plates down in front of us. Lasagna for me, penne for Mila. A basket of bread between us.

“You should be all set,” she tells us, but she’s looking at Mila, not me. “If you just want to put your dishes in the kitchen and lock up when you’re done, that would be great. Everyone else will be leaving soon. Are you good here?”

She raises an eyebrow at her sister and I know she’s really asking Mila, Are you okay here with him?

I fight the need to glare at her. She’s the one who left her little sister alone and drunk with an * last night. I didn’t.

Mila nods and smiles. “We’re good, Maddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Madison nods and leaves without looking at me again. I look at Mila.

“Your sister’s an ice bitch,” I point out politely.

Mila throws her head back and laughs. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Pax?” She giggles again, then adds, “Maddy’s just protective. She’s all I have now and she takes that role pretty seriously.”

I raise an eyebrow. “She didn’t last night when she left you alone with Jared the *.”

Mila shakes her head. “She feels badly about that. She can’t handle her liquor very well either and she made a mistake.”

I shake my head, but let it go as we dive into our food.

“This is very good,” I tell her. “It’s no wonder this place is swamped in tourist season.”

She smiles. “Thank you. It was my parents’ dream. And Madison is keeping it alive for them.”

We continue eating by the candlelight, the silence surprisingly comfortable. I’ve never been with someone before when I didn’t feel the need to fill the awkward silence. With Mila, nothing seems awkward. She’s got an easy way about her that puts me at ease.

When we’re finished, we carry our plates to the kitchen and Mila turns to me, her slender hand on my chest. I glance down at her in surprise.

“I’m not ready to say goodnight yet,” she tells me softly. “Would you like to go for a walk on the beach?”

I nod. “Of course. Let’s get our jackets though.”

I help her shrug into hers and then I follow her outdoors, over the worn trail leading down to the water.