Chapter 48 048
RYAN
Miranda leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely, wearing that look she always had when she thought she was being clever. Her mouth tilted to one side as she shrugged.
“We women can be very funny sometimes,” she said lightly. “All we need is a little push in the right direction. I’m pretty sure she would be jealous at the fact that we’re together and she would try to get you back.”
I laughed, but it sounded wrong even to my own ears. Too dry. Too tired. “Just stop with your jokes, Miranda,” I said. “Thank you for today. Really.”
She studied my face for a second longer, like she was trying to read what I was not saying. Her eyes softened. “Think about it,” she said quietly.
Then she turned and walked back inside to grab her bag.
I stayed outside for a few minutes after that, leaning against the porch railing and staring at the quiet street. The houses looked peaceful, lights glowing softly behind curtains. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and then went quiet. The air was cool, the kind that settles deep in your lungs and makes every breath feel clean and sharp.
I replayed Emily’s face in my head without meaning to. Those wide eyes when she saw Miranda in my shirt. The way her voice cracked when she said explain what, like she had walked into something she was never meant to see.
Emily had always been like this with me. Always pulling, always pushing. One minute she kissed me like the world might end tomorrow. The next she called it a mistake and pretended it never happened.
One minute she cried into my shoulder in a hospital chapel, clinging to me like I was the only solid thing left. Then she shut me out in front of my parents, her walls snapping back into place like nothing had ever cracked.
With her, I was never sure. Never sure if she wanted me to fight for her or if she wanted me to walk away again. Never sure if staying was brave or stupid.
What if Miranda was right?
The thought crept in slowly, unwelcome but persistent. What if Emily just needed a push? What if seeing me with someone else, really seeing it, would force her to confront whatever she kept locking away? What if it would make her stop running and finally say what she wanted?
The idea made my stomach twist. It also made my heart beat faster.
I straightened up and went back inside.
The living room was warm with lamplight, the kind that made everything feel softer around the edges. Zara sat on the rug, completely absorbed in her new dollhouse, humming under her breath as she moved tiny furniture from room to room. Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her with that familiar mix of love and worry she never quite managed to hide.
When I stepped into the room, Emily’s eyes flicked to me.
Sharp. Guarded. Defensive.
Like she was bracing herself for another hit.
I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room felt, how heavy the air was. A dozen things crowded my head at once, but none of them felt safe enough to say out loud.
Emily did not look away. If anything, her glare hardened, like she was daring me to explain myself or daring me to make it worse.
Before I could decide which mistake to make, Miranda came back from the guest room. Her small bag was slung over her shoulder, her posture straight, her expression calm again. The warmth from earlier was tucked neatly away, replaced by the polished composure she always wore so well. It was like watching someone put armor back on.
“I’ll be on my way out now, sir,” she said lightly, her tone professional, almost casual.
I nodded. “Take care.”
She smiled. It was small, careful, but there was something hopeful in it that tightened my chest. A quiet question lingered there, unspoken. She turned toward the door.
And that was when I noticed Emily watching us.
Not glancing. Not pretending not to care.
Watching.
Her eyes followed Miranda’s every movement, her jaw set tight, her arms crossed so firmly it looked like she was holding herself together by force alone. Something about that look pulled at me, stirred something restless and angry and tired all at once.
Something in me shifted.
Maybe it was frustration. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the echo of Miranda’s words earlier, still rattling around in my head. Or maybe it was the familiar ache of always feeling like I was choosing wrong no matter what I did.
Whatever it was, it pushed me forward before I could talk myself out of it.
I reached out and pulled Miranda back.
Not rough. Not dramatic. Just enough to stop her.
I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. It was meant to be brief. Controlled. Something harmless.
But she turned at the last second.
Our mouths brushed, and the kiss landed fully this time. Soft. Slow. Intentional. It was not desperate or hungry.
Miranda pulled back just enough to look at me, her lips curved in something knowing. She leaned in and whispered, low enough that only I could hear, “I believe you’re saying yes to my proposal.”
I hesitated for half a heartbeat.
Then I nodded once. “It’s just for the meantime.”
Her smile bloomed instantly, bright and unmistakably victorious, like she had been waiting for that exact moment. She turned toward the kitchen, toward Emily, who was standing perfectly still now.
“Bye, Miss Emily,” Miranda said sweetly.
Zara popped up from the rug like she had been waiting for her cue. She ran over and wrapped her arms around Miranda’s legs. “Bye, Mira.”
Miranda crouched down and hugged her back, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Bye, sweetheart.”
She stood, glanced at me one more time, her eyes lingering just long enough to say plenty, and then she pecked me again.
Right on the mouth.
Right in front of Emily.
Then she walked out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The sound echoed through the apartment, sharp and final.
I turned slowly.
Emily was staring at me like I had just crossed a line she never thought I would. Her eyes burned, hurt, and anger tangled together so tightly it felt almost physical. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her chest rising and falling faster than normal.
Here we go.