Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(29)

I reach out and grab his hand, stopping his departure. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re acting weird. As if I’ve…disappointed you or something.”

His face softens at that. “You could never disappoint me, babe. I think you’re incredible.”

His use of the word ‘babe’ has my heart leaping up into my throat. Being the idiot I am, I laugh awkwardly and reply, “Yeah, I’m so incredible that I had to sneak into a tire shop day in and day out to finish a book I couldn’t find the courage to write because I was too wrapped up in my ex.”

Miles dips his head, bringing us eye to eye, and pins me with a serious look. “This isn’t about your ex. This is about you finding something that worked for you. You went after it, balls to the wall, and did what you had to do to get the job done. You don’t care what anyone thinks, and that’s really fucking cool, so don’t go doubting yourself now.”

His words stun me into a rare moment of silence. But he’s wrong about one thing.

I care what you think.

Instead of oversharing that fun little nugget, I decide to shoot Miles a winning smile. “I had to stick with the vibe, so thanks for waiting with me.”

He offers me a soft smile. “Anytime.”

I reach down to close my laptop and slip it into my bag. “Will I see you Friday then?”

He nods. “You’ll see me Friday.” He looks like he wants to say more but grips the back of his neck and steps back. “Have a good night, Mercedes.”

And without some gallant, final grand gesture, I let my book boyfriend walk away, keeping him safe right where he belongs, in fiction.





“We’re almost thirty years old. We’re too old for kegs!” I groan as Dean rolls the huge silver monstrosity across my fancy plank wood flooring.

Dean sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses. “This isn’t fucking domestic beer, Kate. This is IPA from my favorite local brewer. They don’t sell this shit to just anyone.”

“Yeah, cuz no one likes it,” I mumble and kick the floor because damn it, what’s wrong with Coors Light? It was good enough for us in college, and it should be good enough for us now.

But Dean didn’t go to college with Lynsey and me. He self-educated himself on all things fancy. And ostentatious. Like IPA beer apparently.

He shakes his head and rubs the side of my arm. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just give it a chance.”

Resuming his station, his polka-dot button-down stretches around his biceps when he lifts the keg and places it inside the garbage bag-lined wooden barrel he brought over earlier. He goes back to the front door and grabs the giant bags of ice he left on the front step and proceeds to pour them around the keg.

Lysney comes striding through my back door. “The tiki bar is ready!” she exclaims with a swivel of her hips.

I have to stifle my laugh because she had to roll that thing all the way through her house and my house in order to get it to my back patio.

Even though we’re neighbors, there’s a giant privacy fence that separates our properties. When I first moved in, we got really drunk and tried to prop a ladder on either side of the fence so that we could flow freely between the two properties.

It did not end well.

Dryston ended up having to carry me up the stairs to bed because I hobbled into the house in pursuit of more vodka. But I lived to tell the tale so, silver lining.

“I also strung up my Edison bulbs back there,” Lynsey adds with eager eyes. “It’s great mood lighting. Perfect for meaningful conversation.”

“Or random hookups,” Dean adds, waggling his brows at me. “I invited some people from my coworking space, so there’ll be some fresh faces for you to maul in an alley, Kate.”

“Shut up, dick.” I kick my flip-flop at him, and he tosses it out the back door without even looking.

“Also”—I rub my hand over my forehead—“don’t forget to call me Mercedes tonight, remember?”

Lynsey rolls her eyes.

“I mean it. It’s the theme of the party since we’re celebrating my typing ‘The End’ as Mercedes. In my text, I told everyone coming that anyone who calls me Kate has to do a keg stand.”

“What?” Dean gasps, horrified. “This isn’t fucking cheap college beer, Kate!”

“Mercedes!” I correct. “And I’m banking on everyone hating that beer and no one wanting that horrific torture.”

“You get used to the hops!” he cries like a huge fucking sissy.

“If by hops, you mean poison, then I’ll pass,” I reply and do a final check on the appetizers spread out on the counter.

Lynsey sidles up next to me as I stir the meatballs in the slow cooker. “Are you going to take my advice then?” she asks, her voice quiet, but Dean’s comment of, “What advice?” means it definitely wasn’t quiet enough.

“No,” I groan and begin pointlessly readjusting the charcuterie platter.

Lynsey exhales heavily. “I told Ka—Mercedes that she should try to make Miles jealous tonight because it works. Tells her it works, Dean.”

Dean stops monkeying with the ice and hits me with a look. “It works.”