Page 36 of Falling

“I live to serve,” I joked, shifting the tiniest bit to make him more comfortable.

“You do, though, don’t you?” Miles asked, tilting his head back to look at me upside-down. Not my most flattering angle, but I wouldn’t have moved him for anything. “You’re always helping people out.”

I shrugged gently so I wouldn’t disturb him. “Where I can.”

“More than that,” Miles said. “Does anyone ever do anything for you?”

“Seth’s throwing me a birthday party,” I said. “You’re keeping me warm,” I added, smiling down at him.

I had to resist the urge to drop a kiss on his head. Dammit, I wanted it. Just that. Just this. Just the tiniest bit more.

I couldn’t risk scaring him off, but that didn’t stop me wanting it.

“Do you ever ask for anything for yourself, though?” Miles asked, still looking up at me.

I smiled wryly, settling back against the couch. “Why would I? I have everything I need.”

“Now who doesn’t ask for help?” Miles murmured, moving with me.

“Do you see me under siege by preschoolers?” I smiled at the memory. He’d be good with kids one day. If he just let himself.

I wanted to see that. I wanted him to stick around and come into his full self. I could see it hiding under the surface, waiting to break out. I’d seen glimpses of it, when he’d been at his most relaxed, and I was so honored that had happened around me that I could barely contain myself.

I realized then that I’d been toying with the edge of Miles’s actual, honest-to-god pajama shirt, which he wore over an ancient gym t-shirt that was a size too small for him and kept creeping up to expose a half-inch strip of stomach that I’d been trying not to look at. Especially the part where there was the finest trail of strawberry-blond hair disappearing down past his waistband.

“Sorry,” I said, taking my hand away belatedly. “I fidget. It’s why I knit,” I added.

“It’s fine,” Miles said. He hadn’t budged an inch, or tensed up at all, so it probably was fine. “I don’t mind being touched. People always say I’m cuddly. Too cuddly, in some cases.”

“No such thing,” I said. “Or at least, I don’t mind. Like I said, you’re keeping me warm.”

Miles hummed. “Speaking of knitting, though,” he said. “I was thinking. I’m meant to be, y’know, making sure the library is a community space. And you said your craft store closed down. What if, umm. What if there was a… what are they called? A stitch ’n’ bitch?”

I burst into laughter, gripping Miles’s hip to stop him from falling off me.

“Is that not what they’re called?” he asked.

“No, it is, I just… didn’t expect to hear you say that.”

“I can’t say bitch?” Miles asked, tilting his head back again.

“Clearly, you can,” I said. “I just didn’t expect it.”

“I can also say fuck,” Miles said.

I raised an eyebrow.

“They teach you in librarian school,” Miles explained sagely. “Swearing is an important skill. We’re just not meant to do it in front of the patrons.”

I snorted. “I think you’ve done a great job so far, not cussing any toddlers out.”

“So do I.” Miles smirked, settling down again. “I was thinking Mondays? Unless those are actually alone time for you.”

“This is for me?” I asked.

“It’s for the community,” Miles said firmly. “And for the sake of the library. If we don’t use it, we lose it.”

But it was for me. He’d remembered what I’d said about knitting, about the craft circle I’d once had, and about knitting alone in the bar on Mondays.