When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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It quickly becomes clear that Aiden's concerns were unfounded. A fortnight has passed since New Year's Eve, and mine and Preston's relationship hasn't spiralled into some awkward, misshapen mess, nor are we suffering intense bursts of desire when in each other's presence. If anything, that night has resolved whatever weird tension had been simmering between us since reuniting in September. He's seemed better as well; he's been doing better, so much so that he casually dropped the fact he's finally reached out to Rhys into conversation a few days back.
That night was exactly what I needed, too. I went back to a guy's place after a party a few days back, and the experience was fine. Nothing groundbreaking, but I hardly expected that from a one night stand with a stranger. I'm even back in touch with Nick, so by all accounts, my love life is thriving. With January exams to deal with, lectures restarting, socialising, and everything in-between, there's not been any space for things to turn awkward between Preston and me, even if the universe wanted it to.
Sure, I think about that night with him a lot, but I figure that's healthy and normal.
I'm on my way to the first Typewriter Magazine meeting of the year, which is being held at Preston's place because it's doubling up as a semi-social, which to my delight, was his idea. Despite his crisis over it at Christmas, I think I've actually convinced him that enjoying life won't kill him, not that I'm getting complacent; I know him too well to get complacent.
I'm turning up at his house early to help organise things before everyone else arrives, which he assured me was unnecessary, but I assured him it was. Within moments of being ushered into his house, I'm proven right.
'You can't invite a bunch of people over and not have any snacks!' I exclaim while gesturing around his very empty kitchen.
'There's a corner shop five minutes away if anyone's that ravenous,' he argues as I continue flapping.
'Perfect. C'mon, then.'
Without any further explanation, I return to his living room to grab my coat from the sofa, then throw it back on. He doesn't bother with a jacket of his own as he follows me out of the house, but nor does he complain at me, so I choose not to fight that battle. He silently guides me in the direction of the infamous corner shop, and in hindsight, a lack of snacks probably isn't that big of a deal. I just have this urge to make everything perfect, as if one tiny error could ruin the evening, and in turn, Preston's revived sociability.
I flash the shopkeeper a warm smile as we enter, but don't let his response of a grunt deter me. We roam the aisles while I grab multipacks of savoury treats and chocolate, then shove them into Preston's hands.
'I'm not sure inflicting diabetes on the entirety of our society is the wisest move,' he comments as I'm reaching for a huge bag of sugary sweets.
I spin around to glare at him, but upon scanning the huge pile of food in his arms–he's resorted to having to carry it like a baby–I realise he may have a point. As I surrender and go to take the food from him to pay for it, he stops me.
