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Chapter Forty-Eight

Lilianna

T he sun climbed higher as we spent the morning exploring the creek, and I found myself relaxing in ways I hadn't known were possible.

Miles showed me where the water pooled deepest, where the best skipping stones could be found, and how to cup my hands to catch the tiny minnows that darted between our feet.

Each new discovery felt like a small revelation—proof that there was an entire world of simple pleasures I'd been denied.

"I think I understand now," I said as we finally made our way back to shore, my jeans damp and my feet pleasantly cool from the water. "Why you come here when you need the escape."

Miles settled beside me on the grass, both of us drying our feet in the warm sunshine.

"It's like the world stops demanding things from you," he said, his voice thoughtful as he watched the water flow past. "No schedules, no expectations, no one to perform for. Just... being."

I nodded, understanding completely. "My parents would hate this," I said, wiggling my toes in the grass. "All this 'unproductive' time, getting dirty, sitting on the ground like common people." I mimicked my mother's disapproving tone, making Miles chuckle.

"Their loss," he said simply, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "They'll never know what they missed by trying to keep you in a box."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the creek babble past while the sun warmed our shoulders. Eventually, Miles stood and offered me his hand."Ready to pick some wildflowers then have lunch?”

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet with a smile that felt as natural as breathing. "Lead the way."

Miles guided me through the meadow, pointing out different varieties of wildflowers as we walked.

His knowledge was impressive—he could identify Queen Anne's lace from wild carrots, distinguish between goldenrod and evening primrose, and even showed me a patch of late-blooming purple asters that he said his grandmother had planted decades ago.

"She believed every flower had a purpose," he explained as I carefully selected a particularly perfect aster to press in my journal. "The practical ones for cooking and medicine, the beautiful ones for joy."

I crouched down to examine a cluster of delicate blue flowers. "What about these?"

"Forget-me-nots," Miles said, kneeling beside me. His voice was soft, almost reverent, and the way he looked at the delicate blue flowers made my breath catch. It wasn’t just the name of the flower he spoke—it was the meaning behind it. Something enduring. Something quietly powerful.

I reached out and brushed the petals with my fingertips. They felt almost too fragile to touch. “They’re so small,” I murmured. “I don’t think I would have noticed them on a normal day.”

“That’s the thing,” Miles said, plucking one with careful fingers and tucking it into my palm. “People miss them all the time. They’re easy to overlook. But they stick around. Once they take root, they come back every year.”

I closed my fingers gently around the bloom, tucking it into the pocket of my sweater like a secret. Something about it felt important.

We wandered in companionable silence, collecting flowers until my arms were full with color and scent.

Miles was patient as I asked questions, even when I didn’t know the names of things.

I was learning—learning to notice, to breathe, to exist without pressure.

By the time we returned to the picnic blanket under the wide oak tree, the sun had begun its slow descent across the sky, casting everything in a golden haze.

Miles had unpacked a small lunch from a basket—panini sandwiches still warm in their wrappings, fresh fruit, and a thermos of sweet tea.

I settled onto the blanket beside Miles, arranging my bouquet of wildflowers carefully so I could press them later. The thermos of sweet tea was perfectly chilled, and I realized Christopher had even thought to add a twist of lemon the way I preferred it.

Miles unwrapped one of the sandwiches, the aroma of fresh herbs and roasted vegetables making my stomach growl in response.

"Christopher outdid himself," I said, accepting the sandwich he offered. The bread was still warm, crusty on the outside but soft within, and the filling was a perfect blend of flavors I couldn't quite identify.

"He always does when it comes to you," Miles observed, settling beside me with his own sandwich. "You bring out the caretaker in all of us."

I paused mid-bite, considering his words. "Is that what this is? Taking care of me?"

Miles was quiet for a moment, his green eyes thoughtful as he watched me. "Maybe at first," he admitted. "But now? Now it feels more like... finding the right balance. You take care of us too, in ways you might not even realize."

"I do?" I asked, genuinely surprised. What could I possibly offer these men who seemed to have everything figured out?

Miles smiled, reaching over to brush a crumb from the corner of my mouth.

The casual intimacy of the gesture made my heart flutter.

"You remind us to slow down. To notice things.

Julian's been working less since you arrived—did you know that?

He actually took an entire weekend off for the first time in years. "

I hadn't noticed, but now that Miles mentioned it, Julian had been more present, less distracted by his phone or laptop.

"And Christopher?" Miles continued, taking a sip of tea. "He's always loved cooking, but seeing you experience his food with such genuine appreciation? It's like watching someone fall in love with their passion all over again."

A warmth spread through my chest as a small smile follows. "Miles," I began, not entirely sure what I wanted to ask. "Do you ever wonder if this is all happening too fast? If we're all just caught up in some... I don't know, some fantasy?"

He considered my question seriously, his expression thoughtful rather than defensive. "I think," he said carefully, "that life doesn't always follow the timeline we expect. Sometimes things that are meant to be just... click into place."

"Like pieces of a puzzle," I murmured, thinking of how each of them fit into my life in a way I didn’t know I had been missing.

"Exactly," Miles agreed, his voice warm with understanding. "But if you're having doubts—"

"I'm not," I interrupted, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.

"It's just... I've never felt anything like this before.

The connection, the trust, the way you all make me feel like I'm exactly where I belong.

" I picked at the edge of my sandwich, gathering courage.

"Sometimes I worry I'm going to wake up and find out it was all a dream. "

Miles set down his tea and turned to face me fully, his expression serious but tender. "Lili, look at me."

I met his gaze, finding myself anchored by the steady warmth in his green eyes.

"This is real," he said simply. "What we have—all of us—it's real. The feelings, the connection, the way you light up when Christopher teaches you something new or when Julian looks at you like you're the center of his universe. It's all real."

His hand found mine, fingers intertwining with gentle certainty. "And even if it feels fast, even if it's unconventional, that doesn't make it any less valid. Some people spend years building what we found in weeks."

I squeezed his hand, feeling the truth of his words settle into my bones. "I love you, " I whispered, the admission slipping out before I could stop it. "I love all of you, and it terrifies me how much."

Miles's breath caught, his eyes widening slightly before his expression softened into something that made my heart ache with its tenderness. "I love you too, Lili. More than I thought possible."

He leaned closer, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "And you don't have to be scared of that," he murmured, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. "Love isn't something to fear. It's something to celebrate."

I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as his words washed over me. The gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and pine, mingling with Miles's own familiar scent. When I opened my eyes again, he was watching me with such admiration that it made my breath catch.

"May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

Instead of answering, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his with newfound confidence.

The kiss was unhurried, a slow exploration rather than a desperate need.

Miles's hand slid from my cheek to tangle in my hair, cradling my head as if I were something precious.

I melted against him, my hands finding his shoulders as the kiss deepened, becoming something more than gentle exploration.

Miles pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around my waist until I was practically in his lap, our lunch forgotten beside us.

The sunlight filtered through the oak leaves above, dappling our skin with golden patterns as we lost ourselves in each other. Miles's kisses were intoxicating—thoughtful and thorough, as if he were memorizing every sigh, every shiver that passed through me.

"Miles," I breathed against his mouth, my fingers threading through his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine as we both caught our breath. "Yes?" His voice was rough, deeper than usual, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I want..." I hesitated, suddenly shy despite the heat building between us. "I want more."

Miles's pupils dilated, his breathing becoming more ragged as he seemed to try to compose himself, “I’d love nothing better than to give you more . But I want you to experience camping and if you are wanting more by the end of the night…. I will happily do so.”

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face, both disappointed and charmed by his restraint. "You're really committed to this camping experience, aren't you?"