Finding Cinderella Maybe Someday

Me: What do we do about tomorrow night?

---

Rachel: We lie to them?
Me: Can you meet me at seven?
Rachel: Yes.
Me: Rachel?
Rachel: Yeah?
Me: Good night.
Rachel: Good night, Miles.
I turn off my phone, because I want that to be the last text I
receive for the night. I close my eyes.
I’m falling, Rachel.

---

chapter seven
TATE
It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Miles but only two
seconds since the last time I’ve thought about him. He
seems to work just as much as Corbin does, and while it’s
nice to have the place to myself occasionally, it’s also nice
when Corbin isn’t working and there’s actually someone to
talk to. I would say it’s nice when Corbin and Miles are 
both
off work, but that hasn’t happened since I’ve lived here.
Until now.
“His dad is working, and he’s off until Monday,” Corbin
says. I had no idea he’d invited Miles to come back home
with us for Thanksgiving until just now. He’s knocking on
Miles’s apartment door. “He doesn’t have anything else to
do.”
I’m pretty sure I nod after hearing those words, but I turn
and walk straight toward the elevator. I’m afraid that when
Miles opens his door, my excitement over the fact that he’s
coming with us will be transparent.
I’m on the elevator, at the far back wall, when they both
step on. Miles finds me and nods, but that’s all I get. The
last time I spoke to him, I made things completely awkward
between us, so I don’t say a word. I also try not to stare at

---

him, but it’s extremely difficult to focus on anything else.
He’s casually dressed in a baseball cap, jeans, and a 49ers
T-shirt. I think that’s why I find him hard to look away from,
though, because I’ve always found guys more attractive
when they put less effort into trying to appear attractive.
My eyes leave his clothes and meet his concentrated
stare. I don’t know whether to smile in embarrassment or
look away, so I just choose to copy his next move, waiting
for him to look away first.
He doesn’t. He continues to watch me in silence for the
remainder of the elevator ride, and I stubbornly do the
same. When we finally make it to the ground floor, I’m
relieved he steps off first, because I have to inhale a pretty
noticeable breath, considering I haven’t inhaled in at least
sixty seconds.
“Where you three headed?” Cap asks once we’re all off
the elevator.
“Home to San Diego,” Corbin says. “You have any plans
for Thanksgiving?”
“Gonna be a busy day for flights,” Cap says. “Reckon I’ll
be here working.” He winks in my direction, and I wink back
before he shifts his attention toward Miles. “How about you,
boy? You headed home yourself?”
Miles silently watches Cap in the same way he silently
stared at me on the elevator. This disappoints me
tremendously, because on the elevator, I had a small
glimmer of hope that Miles was staring at me like he was
because he feels the same pull to me that I feel when I’m
around him. But now, watching his visual standoff with Cap,
I’m almost certain it doesn’t mean Miles is attracted to a
person simply because he stares unabashedly. Miles
apparently just looks at 
everyone
this way. A very silent and
awkward five seconds follows, with neither of them
speaking. Maybe Miles doesn’t like being referred to as
“boy”?

---

“Have a good Thanksgiving, Cap,” Miles finally utters, not
even bothering to answer Cap’s question. He turns and
begins walking through the lobby with Corbin.
I look at Cap and shrug my shoulders. “Wish me luck,” I
say quietly. “Seems Mr. Archer might be having another bad
day.”
Cap smiles. “Nah,” he says, backing up a step toward his
chair. “Some people just don’t like questions is all.” He falls
into his chair. He gives me a farewell salute, and I salute him
back before walking toward the exit.
I can’t tell if Cap excuses Miles’s rude behavior because
he likes Miles or if he just makes excuses for 
everyone.
“I’ll drive there if you want,” Miles says to Corbin when we
all reach the car. “I know you haven’t slept yet. You can
drive back tomorrow.”
Corbin agrees, and Miles opens the driver’s-side door. I
climb into the backseat and try to figure out where to sit. I
don’t know if I should sit directly behind Miles, in the middle,
or behind Corbin. Anywhere I sit, I’ll feel him. He’s
everywhere.
Everything is Miles.
That’s how it is when a person develops an attraction
toward someone. He’s nowhere, then suddenly he’s
everywhere, whether you want him to be or not.
It makes me wonder if I’m anywhere to him, but the
thought doesn’t last long. I can tell when a guy is attracted
to me, and Miles definitely does not fall into that category.
Which is why I need to figure out how to stop whatever this
is I feel when I’m around him. The last thing I want right now
is a silly crush on a guy when I’ve barely got time to focus
on both work and school.
I pull a paperback out of my purse and begin to read.
Miles turns on the radio, and Corbin lays his seat back and
kicks his feet up on the dash. “Don’t wake me up until we’re
there,” he says, pulling his cap over his eyes.

---

I glance at Miles, and he’s adjusting his rearview mirror.
He turns around and looks behind us to back out of the spot,
and his eyes briefly meet mine.
“You comfortable?” he asks. He turns around before
getting my answer and puts the car in drive, then glances at
me in the rearview mirror.
“Yep,” I say. I make sure to tack a smile onto the end of
that word. I don’t want him to think I’m upset that he came,
but it’s hard for me not to appear closed off when I’m
around him, since I’m trying so hard to be.
He looks straight ahead, and I look back down at my book.
Thirty minutes pass, and the movement of the car
accompanied by my attempt to read is making my head
hurt. I set the book down beside me and readjust myself in
the backseat. I lean my head back and prop my feet up on
the console between Miles and Corbin. He glances at me in
the rearview mirror, and his eyes feel like they’re hands,
running over every inch of me. He holds his stare for no
longer than two seconds, then looks back at the road.
I hate this.
I have no idea what’s going through his head. He never
smiles. He never laughs. He doesn’t flirt. His face appears as
if he keeps a constant veil of armor between his expressions
and the rest of the world.
I’ve always been a sucker for the quiet types of guys.
Primarily because most guys talk too much, and it’s painful
having to suffer through every single thought that goes
through their heads. Miles makes me wish he were the
opposite of the quiet type, though. I want to know all the
thoughts that pass through his head. Especially the one
thought that’s in there right now, hiding behind that
unwavering, stoic expression.
I’m still staring at him in the rearview mirror, trying to
figure him out, when he glances at me again. I look down at
my phone, a little embarrassed that he caught me staring at

---

him. But that mirror is like a magnet, and dammit if my eyes
don’t shoot back up to it.
The second I look into the mirror again, so does he.
I look back down.
Shit.
This drive is about to be the longest drive of my entire life.
I make it three minutes, then I look again.
Shit. So does he.
I smile, amused by whatever game this is we’re playing.
He smiles, too.
He.
Smiles.
Too.
Miles looks back at the road, but his smile remains for
several seconds. I know, because I can’t stop staring at it. I
want to take a picture of it before it disappears again, but
that would be weird.
He lowers his arm to rest it on the console, but my feet
are in his way. I push up on my hands. “Sorry,” I say, as I
begin to pull them back.
His fingers wrap around my bare foot, stopping me.
“You’re fine,” he says.
His hand is still wrapped around my foot. I’m staring at it.
Holy hell, his thumb just moved. 
Deliberately
moved,
stroking the side of my foot. My thighs clench together and
my breath halts in my lungs and my legs tense, because I’ll
be damned if his hand didn’t just caress my foot before he
pulled it away.
I have to chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from
smiling.
I think you’re attracted to me, Miles.
• • •
As soon as we arrive at my parents’ place, my father puts
Corbin and Miles to work hanging Christmas lights. I take

---

our things into the house and give Corbin and Miles my
room, since it’s the only one with two beds. I take Corbin’s
old bedroom, then head to the kitchen to help my mom
finish prepping dinner.
Thanksgiving has always been a small affair at our house.
Mom and Dad didn’t like having to choose between families,
and my dad was hardly ever home, since a pilot’s busiest
times of year are the holidays. My mother decided
Thanksgiving would be reserved for immediate family only,
so every year on Thanksgiving Day, it’s always just been
me, Corbin, Mom, and Dad, when Dad is home. Last year, it
was just Mom and me, since Dad and Corbin were both
working.
This year, it’s all of us.
And 
Miles.
It’s strange, him being here like this. Mom seemed happy
to meet him, so I guess she didn’t mind too much. My dad
loves everyone, and he’s more than happy to have someone
else helping with the Christmas lights, so I know the
presence of a third person doesn’t bother him in the least.
My mother passes me the pan of boiled eggs. I begin
cracking them to prepare them for deviled eggs, and she
leans across the kitchen island and rests her chin in her
hands. “That Miles sure is a looker,” she says with an arch of
her eyebrow.
Let me explain something about my mother. She’s a great
mom. A really great mom. But I have never been
comfortable talking to her about guys. It started when I was
twelve and I got my first period. She was so excited she
called three of her friends to tell them before she even
explained what the hell was happening to me. I learned
pretty early on that secrets aren’t secrets once they reach
her ears.
“He’s not bad,” I say, completely lying. I’m absolutely
lying, because he 
is
a looker. His golden-brown hair paired
with those mesmerizing blue eyes, his broad shoulders, the

---

scruff that lines his firm jaw when he’s had a couple of days
off work, the way he always smells so fantastically delicious,
like he just stepped out of the shower and hasn’t even
towel-dried yet.
Oh, my God.
Who the hell am I right now?
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
I shrug. “I don’t really know him, Mom.” I take the pan to
the sink and run water over the eggs to loosen the shells.
“How is Dad liking retirement?” I ask, attempting to change
the subject.
My mother grins. It’s a knowing grin, and I absolutely hate
it.
I guess I never have to tell her anything, because she’s
my mom. She already knows.
I blush, then turn around and finish cracking the damn
eggs.

---

chapter eight