FYI: I Outpitched You Ch. 12
FYI: I Outpitched You Ch. 12
The city lights cast a warm glow over the rooftop terrace as Callie and Miles sat side by side on the bench, coffee cups in hand. The buzz of the coworking lounge had faded behind them, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and the quiet between them. A breeze stirred the hem of her coat, carrying with it the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a vendor down the block.
Miles nudged her knee with his. “So,” he said, breaking the silence. “That night at the rehearsal dinner…”
Callie arched a brow. “Which part? The awkward toast or the emotional dance?”
He smirked. “Both. All of it. Especially the part where you pretended not to be watching me the whole time.”
She scoffed. “Please. I was watching the bartender try to light that ridiculous flaming cocktail without setting his sleeve on fire.”
“Sure you were,” he said, leaning back with a grin. “You always did have a thing for danger.”
She took a sip of her coffee, hiding her smile behind the rim. “I have a thing for not repeating mistakes.”
Miles tilted his head, studying her. “Is that what I was? A mistake?”
Callie hesitated, then met his gaze. “No. Just… bad timing.”
He nodded slowly, the teasing edge in his expression softening. The wind tousled his hair, and for a second, he looked exactly like he had the first time she’d fallen for him—unguarded, magnetic, and just a little bit reckless.
She glanced down at her cup, then back at him. “Do you still talk to Tabitha?”
That wiped the smile from his face. His fingers stilled against the side of his cup.
“No,” he said after a moment, voice even but firm. “Not for years.”
Callie nodded, her gaze dropping again. “Good,” she said softly. “Because if you did, I don’t know if we could be… friends.”
He looked at her, surprised. “Friends?”
Callie shrugged, forcing a small smile. “For now. It’s probably the smartest option.”
“Probably,” Miles echoed, but his eyes held something else—something hopeful, unspoken. “But just so we’re clear… I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
Her breath caught, but she masked it with a laugh. “You always were dramatic.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You always liked it.”
They sat quietly again for a beat, the city stretching out before them like a glittering promise. Somewhere below, a car horn blared, followed by laughter. Life kept moving, even when hearts stalled.
Then, just as she started to rise, he leaned back with a grin. “By the way—you owe me a basket.”
Callie groaned. “Seriously?”
“A win’s a win. Rules are rules.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But don’t expect mercy this week.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As she walked away, she didn’t look back—but she felt his gaze on her, warm and steady, like a tether she wasn’t sure she wanted to cut.
\---
By the time she reached her apartment, the buzz of the rooftop had faded into a quiet hum in her chest. She kicked off her heels, pulled her hair into a messy bun, and changed into sweats. But even as she curled up on the couch, the ghost of Miles’s smile lingered in her mind—teasing, familiar, dangerous.
She paused in front of the mirror in the hallway, catching her reflection. Her cheeks were still flushed. She told herself it was the wind.
There had been a time—years ago—when she’d imagined a future with him. Sunday mornings. Shared playlists. A dog, maybe. She’d buried that version of herself. Or tried to.
Later that night, Callie was scrolling aimlessly through social media. Her phone buzzed with notifications she didn’t care to check. The glow of the screen cast a pale light across her face, but her mind was elsewhere—still on the rooftop, still replaying the way Miles had looked at her.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windowpanes. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders just as the doorbell rang.
She froze.
It was nearly nine. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Heart ticking faster, she padded to the door and peered through the peephole.
Roman.
Holding a bouquet of roses.
She opened the door slowly. “Roman?”
“Hey,” he said, offering the flowers with a boyish smile. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Callie stared at him. “Really?”
“Okay, no,” he admitted. “I just… wanted to see you. I hope that’s not too forward.”
She hesitated, then took the bouquet. “It is a little forward,” she said honestly, stepping aside. “But you’re here now.”
He stepped inside, and for a moment, the scent of his cologne—clean, citrusy—hit her. It was nice. Familiar. But not the scent that had clung to her scarf after Miles hugged her goodbye last week.
“Nice place,” Roman said, glancing around with casual curiosity.
“Thanks,” she said, placing the roses in a vase. The petals were a deep crimson, velvety and fragrant. “Next time, maybe just text first?”
“Fair enough,” Roman said with a grin. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
They ended up ordering Chinese takeout and settling in on the couch to watch black-and-white movies—something comforting about the grayscale nostalgia and dramatic orchestras. The scent of sesame and ginger lingered in the air, mingling with the faint perfume of the roses.
Callie laughed at the dated dialogue. Roman made fun of the fashion. The mood was light, easy.
And yet… something felt off.
Not with him. Not really.
But with her.
She wasn’t sure if it was guilt or something else entirely, but dating Roman—charming, handsome, sweet Roman—felt like walking a tightrope over a minefield. Every smile felt borrowed. Every laugh, a little too rehearsed.
He worked for her competitor. And he was Miles’s stepbrother.
And even if she hadn’t let herself say it aloud, Miles still made her heart flutter in ways she hadn’t felt in years. Not since before everything fell apart. Not since before Tabitha.
She glanced at Roman, who was fast asleep now with his arm draped across the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly, lips parted in a soft exhale. He looked peaceful. Trusting.
But her heart wasn’t.
Callie turned back to the movie, letting the black-and-white shadows flicker across her face. The heroine on screen was crying in the rain, mascara streaking down her cheeks as the music swelled.
And in the quiet, uninvited but insistent, Miles’s voice echoed in her mind:
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of it settling in her chest like a stone.
It was going to get complicated.
But hadn’t it always been?