Finding Cinderella Maybe Someday

Miles: Have you eaten yet?
Me: Yes.
I’m suddenly disappointed that I already ate dinner. But I
got tired of waiting for him, and he never said anything
about dinner plans.
Me: Corbin made meat loaf last night before he left. You want me to bring
you a plate?
Miles: I’d love that. Starving. Come look now.
I make him a plate and wrap it in foil before heading
across the hall. He’s opening the door before I even knock.
He takes the plate out of my hands. “Wait here,” he says.
He steps inside his apartment and returns seconds later
without the plate. “Ready?”
I have no idea how I know he’s excited, because he’s not
smiling. I can hear it in his voice, though. There’s a subtle
change, and it makes me smile, knowing something as
simple as hanging up some curtains makes him feel good. I
don’t know why, but it seems as if there isn’t a lot in his life
that makes him feel good, so I like that this does.
He opens the door all the way, and I take a few steps into
the apartment. The curtains are up, and even though it’s a
small change, it feels huge. Knowing he’s lived here for four
years and he’s just now putting up curtains gives the whole
apartment a different feel.

---

“You made a good choice,” I tell him, admiring how well
the curtains match what little I know about his personality.
I look down at the rug, and he can see the confusion as it
crosses my face.
“I know it’s supposed to go under the table,” he says,
looking down at it. “It will. Eventually.”
It’s positioned in an odd spot. It’s not in the center of the
room or even in front of the couch. I’m confused about why
he placed it where he did if he knows where it would look
the best.
“I left it there because I was hoping we could christen it
first.”
I look back up at him and see the adorably hopeful
expression on his face. It makes me smile. “I like that idea,”
I say, looking back down at the rug.
A long silence passes between us. I’m not sure if he wants
to christen the rug right this minute or if he wants to eat
first. I’m fine with either. As long as his plan fits within my
three-hour time frame.
We’re both still staring at the rug when he speaks again.
“I’ll eat later,” he says, answering the question that was
silently running through my head.
He pulls off his shirt, and I kick off my shoes, and the rest
of our clothes eventually end up together, next to the rug.

---

chapter sixteen