“Yeah.” Miller leans casually against the couch again, his head resting against the back of it. He’s watching me process everything he just said. He’s staring back at me with so much vulnerability—like it just took a hell of a lot of courage for him to admit what he did, and he’s nervous about how I might respond.

I don’t even know how to react. I kind of want to change the subject because I feel awkward now. I don’t have anything to say that’ll impress him or make him feel as good as his words just made me feel. For those reasons, the most random thing comes out of my mouth. “Does your truck have a name?”

Miller squints, as if he’s wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Then he just laughs, and it’s the greatest, deepest laugh. “Yeah. Nora.”

“Why Nora?”

He hesitates. I love the smile that’s playing on his lips. “It’s a Beatles song.”

I recall the Beatles poster hanging in his bedroom. “So you’re a Beatles fan?”

He nods. “I have a lot of favorite bands. I love music. It feeds my soul.”

“What are your favorite lyrics?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “They’re not from the Beatles.”

“Who are they from?”

“A band called Sounds of Cedar.”

“Never heard of them, but I like the name.”

“If I tell you my favorite lyrics by them, you’ll want to listen to every song they’ve ever written.”

I smile hopefully. “Good. Give me a couple of lines.”

He leans in just a little and smiles as he repeats the lyrics. “I’ve believed in you since the moment I met you. I believe in myself now that I’ve finally left you.”

I let the lyrics simmer as we stare at each other. It makes me wonder if those are his favorite lyrics because of his recent breakup with Shelby or if they were his favorite lyrics even before that. I’m not about to ask him, though. Instead, I release a sigh.

“Wow,” I whisper. “Those words are somehow both tragic and inspiring.”

He smiles gently. “I know.”

I can’t hide how he makes me feel in this moment. I’m appreciative that being with him gives me a respite from my grief. I’m appreciative that he’s not pretending to be someone he’s not. I’m appreciative that he broke up with his girlfriend before making a move on me. And even though I don’t know him really well, I know him enough to be able to tell that there’s a lot of good in him.

I’m severely drawn to that part of him—the part of him that showed up to my father’s funeral, simply because he wanted to check on me. I’m drawn to that part even more than his looks or his humor or his terrible singing voice.

There are so many feelings swirling around in my chest right now, and I’m afraid the room will start spinning if I don’t find my center of gravity. I lean forward and press my lips against his, if only just to balance myself.

It’s a quick kiss. Unexpected for both of us, I think. When I pull away, I’m biting my lip nervously, wondering if I should have done that. I rest my head against the couch and wait for his reaction. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“I didn’t think our first kiss would be like that,” he says quietly.

“Like what?”

“Sweet.”

“How did you think it would be?”

His eyes wander to the few remaining customers still lingering. “I can’t show you in here.”

When his gaze meets mine again, the satisfaction in his lazy smile fills me with confidence. “Then let’s go to your truck.”

The anticipation for our second kiss makes me even more nervous than our first. We’re holding hands when we exit Starbucks. He heads to his truck and opens the passenger door for me. I get in and he shuts it, then walks around to the driver’s side.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous now. Probably because this is actually happening. Me and Miller. Miller and me. What would our ship name be? Cliller? Millerra?

Ugh. They both sound terrible.

Miller closes his door. “What’s that look for?”

“What look?”

He points at my face. “That one.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Nothing. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer to him. We meet in the middle of his seat. That’s the thing about older trucks. The seats are long, without a console to separate the passengers. We’re even closer now than we were on the couch. Our faces are closer, our bodies are closer. Everything is so much closer. His hand is on my outer thigh, and I’m wondering what flavor of sucker he’s going to taste like.

“What do you mean you’re getting ahead of yourself? Do you regret kissing me?”

I laugh because that’s the last thing I regret. “No. I was thinking how terrible our ship names would be.”

I see relief take over his expression. But then his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Oh. Yeah. They’re terrible.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Jeremiah. What’s yours?”

“The quintessential Nicole.”

“That’s a really long middle name.”

I laugh. “Smartass.”

I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Jerecole?”

“That’s so bad.” I’m thinking about it when it hits me how odd this is. We’ve had one small peck. We’ve only spent part of an evening together without him being attached to someone else, yet here we are, discussing ship names. I want to believe how he makes me feel, but the truth of the matter is he hasn’t even been single long enough to decide if he even wants this to go anywhere.

“You’re making that face again,” he says.

I sigh, breaking eye contact with him. I look down and grab his hand. “Sorry. I just . . .” I pause for a moment, then look back up at him. “Are you sure about this? I mean, you just broke up with Shelby today. Or yesterday. I don’t even know when, but either way. I don’t want to start something if you’re going to back out of it in a week.”

The silence after I finish speaking lingers in the truck for a lot longer than I feel comfortable with. We’re still holding hands, and Miller is lightly stroking the outside of my thigh with his other hand. He sighs, more heavily than I want him to. That kind of sigh is usually followed up with words that aren’t good.

“You know the day in my truck when you told me to figure out my shit?”

I nod.

“That was the day I broke up with Shelby. It wasn’t today or yesterday. It was weeks ago. And to be honest, my shit was already figured out long before that day. I just didn’t want to hurt her.”

Nothing else is said with words. It’s all said with a look. His eyes pierce mine with such a concentrated honesty that I suck in a breath. He moves his hand from my leg to my elbow and then slowly drags his fingers up my arm and neck, coming to a stop at my cheek.

I’m pulling in shallow breaths, watching his eyes as they scroll over my face and pause on my lips.

“Nicomiah sounds okay,” I whisper.

The moment is interrupted by his laughter. Then his hand slides to the back of my head, and he pulls me to his mouth, still grinning. It’s a sweet kiss at first, much like the one I gave him inside. But then his tongue slips past my lips and touches mine, and the sweetness is gone.