Alex took a long, slow drag of the cigarette, then turned his head to the side to exhale.
“We were on a fucking plane, Miles. Strangers on a goddamned plane. We could have had a nice chat about what I do, about how you know the Tripoli family. It’s just talking,” Alex said. “You sat there the whole time knowing who I was, knowing my name…”
Miles studied his own shoes before looking at him again.
“I know,” he said. “I’m just— I liked you. I like you now. And I don’t want to.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Liking a stranger is one thing. We meet. We make out. We never see each other again. And I may wonder, What if? But there’s nothing I can do about it. But knowing your name and that I might bump into you again? That changed the game.”
That almost-smile that threatened to undo Miles on the spot disappeared completely.
“I’m not playing a game, Miles.” Alex shook his head. “You’re a piece of work,” he added. “So sorry for your predicament.”
Jesus, he was doing this all wrong. But something about this guy made him do ridiculous things like say exactly what he was thinking and want to press him up against the building and kiss him again.
Alex straightened, took another drag, and then pushed off the wall.
“Vlakas,” he said. “You knew we’d see each other. We could have made a fun weekend of it, no expectations. But since things are so complicated, I’ll leave you to your brooding on the beach. I’ve met enough guys like you, Miles. I don’t need complicated, either.” Alex strode off around the side of the building.
Miles wasn’t the type to chase after anyone. But he found himself following Alex, telling himself it was for no other reason than to clear the air, if only to avoid Alex sneezing in his soup later that night. It had nothing to do with those lips, the ones he could still taste if he closed his eyes.
“Hey, Alex. Wait a minute. I didn’t mean I was playing games with you.”
Alex extinguished the cigarette on the side of the building and tossed it in one of the many trash bins that hid behind a short wall next to a door.
“Are you here to complicate things?” Alex asked, shaking his head as his lips parted in a smile. Then he laughed, a genuine laugh, and for a second Miles forgot what he came here to say. All he wanted was that smile to stay right where it was and for those full lips to take his again.
Fucking focus, Miles.
“No,” he said. “Maybe. I don’t know what vlakas means, but I’m sure I deserved it. I guess I just wanted to say that I’m usually much better at not being complicated.”
“I don’t know you,” Alex started. “I don’t know what you deserve. Vlakas—stupid—that was for me.” He paused. “Because I liked you, too.” He ran a hand through his thick, sandy hair, and Miles clenched his fists at his sides, willing them not to relive the feeling of those locks against his own skin.
Seriously, Miles. Do not let one stranger throw you off your game. Not that it’s a game. Shit. He was already in over his head, which was brand-new territory, considering how safe he’d been playing it for years.
“It’s not as if I asked you to marry me in an airplane toilet.”
Miles chuckled. He didn’t mean to, but the thought made him wonder how many proposals did happen in such a location.
“I know,” Miles said. “But—”
Alex shook his head, cutting him off. “Or move in with me,” he added. “What gives you the right to think I expected any more from what happened than you did?”
Okay, Miles thought. Now you’re a grade-A asshole. Because Alex was right. He hadn’t asked Miles for anything other than a few minutes of fun. Miles hadn’t withheld the truth about knowing who he was because of Alex’s expectations. He’d done it because he was terrified of his own.
“Why don’t you have an accent?” he asked.
“What?” Alex’s dark brows pulled together, and Miles took small pleasure in catching him off guard.
“I could tell you weren’t American,” he said. “But your accent is so slight, I wasn’t sure you were Greek until you translated for that woman on the plane.”
Alex pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door next to him, pausing in the frame before stepping into what Miles could see was the restaurant’s kitchen.
Miles stepped inside after him.
“What are you doing?” Alex asked, the corners of his mouth curling up again.
Miles shrugged. “I’m not expecting a proposal—or for you to ask me to move in with you. But it seems a shame for us to profess our like for each other and then walk away.”
Alex nodded and backed farther into the kitchen.
“My father is Greek, my mother American. They never married. He lives here, and she lives in New York. After spending my summers in the U.S., I decided to stay for university. Hence the accent—or lack thereof.”
Alex took one more step back, then turned and walked farther into the building. He left the door open.
This was an invitation. For what, though? Miles wasn’t about to ask. He wasn’t going to overthink. He was just going to accept.
He turned back to the door and pulled it closed behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Maggie
Maggie examined her cherry red nails, a bold contrast from their usual unpolished state. She smiled at the hustle and bustle around her. Despite the way the day had started, the bride was enjoying herself. There was a hopefulness in the air Maggie hadn’t felt only an hour before, and she couldn’t help but get caught up in it all, in what it meant to be here with Griffin—in how far they’d come the past year. This trip would be proof that she could step out of her comfort zone without any major issues. She had feared exhaustion or worse—a migraine—after the long trip, but she’d slept so well on the plane she wasn’t sure she was even jet-lagged. And even with Miles off being moody on the beach, she was okay. Jordan treated her like they’d been friends for years, and Maggie took satisfaction in knowing she could shake up her world a bit and still be okay.
Ambrosia was closed for the weekend for wedding festivities, but that didn’t mean the kitchen wasn’t running at full force. As each girl finished getting her nails done, she was escorted to another corner of the restaurant where a table was covered with Greek delicacies. Maggie snacked on grilled vegetables with tzatziki, unable to suppress her grin with each bite. If she had to wait for Jordan to finish her manicure, she couldn’t think of a better way to do it. While some of Elaina’s relatives spoke English, the conversation around her was all in Greek, so Maggie smiled and nodded whenever someone looked in her direction, but she was happy for the respite amid all of the commotion.
Her phone buzzed on the table next to her, and her heart leaped. She hadn’t realized until then how much she wished Griffin were there to experience this morning of firsts with her—first time away from Minneapolis since she’d been on her own again, first time out of the country, first time thinking she wouldn’t always be afraid of more firsts. But when she looked at her screen, she found it was only Miles.
Miles: You doing okay?
Maggie: Yeah, you? Hey, where are you?
While she was grateful to Miles for joining them on the trip, the whole wedding thing seemed to have him bent out of shape. And in the four years she’d known him, Miles Parker was never one to be ruffled by anyone or anything.
Miles: I’m getting a tour of the kitchen.