For the past couple of years, I've made a habit out of utilizing my Sundays, the one day a week the studio is closed, as time for sleeping in late, catching up with Damon's family over a home-cooked breakfast, and then spending the day catching up on all of the chores I slack on while I'm working. It's not that big of a place and I try to do my share when I'm home, keeping up with dishes and taking out the garbage and making sure the living room at least presentable when I'm gone, but I know that housework can build up when people aren't around to do it so I make it a point to be home and pitch in. It's not an impressive use of my spare time, but I know it's important and I hardly ever break the routine.

So naturally, I'm surprised to hear my ringtone go off at a quarter after eight in the morning, causing me to nearly roll off the couch when I startle awake. My eyes are barely open when I blindly feel around the coffee table, closing my fingers around my phone and bringing it to my ear without looking at the ID. I just assume it's Zoe (because who else think to call me right now, really) and muster up a groggy "What."

There's a small pause. "…Hey, Zig?"

My eyes shoot open when I register the voice on the other end. "Maya!"

She lets out a nervous laugh. "Uh…yeah, hi…I got your number from Zoe yesterday, I, um…I hope that isn't too weird…?"

I shake my head even though she can't see it, "No, no, it's fine, you're fine! What, ah…what's going on? Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine! It's just, uh…" A bit more hesitation where I can hear her drawing in a bit of breath to prelude a sentence but her words get caught in her mouth before she can say them. I let her take her moments before she finally finds how she wants to say what she's trying to say. "…Yeah, so…this is totally stupid and I don't know how I even managed to do it—and feel free to laugh at me because it's ridiculous, like I'm an idiot."

I chuckle, "You're not an idiot, I won't laugh."

"You just did!"

"You know what I mean!"

"I do, I know, I'm playing, sorry, um…" I think I can hear her pacing on the other end, "…So I guess…I didn't realize today was Sunday or something? I don't know what I did, but I managed to not realize that there wasn't any filming today so I had Miles drop me off like an hour ago, and I've just been waiting for someone to come and unlock the door, but I just looked at my phone and saw what day it was and I was like, wow, okay, I'm dumb."

"Wait, you're at the studio?"

"Yeah, but just outside."

"By yourself?"

"Well, yes. And I've been trying to call Miles but he's not answering his phone or texts or anything."

I furrow my brows, "That's kind of messed up."

"He's probably doing something. Like I'm guessing he made plans, knowing I was here. I don't know, he's probably busy."

"He shouldn't be too busy to answer your calls."

"He usually does, this isn't a typical thing, um…but yeah, so I'm…I'm here, and no one else is here, and I don't have a car because, like I said, Miles dropped me off, and…yeah…"

"…You're asking me to pick you up?"

"…I'm sorry, you totally don't have to if you can't, I know this is really last-minute and early and weird because we haven't seen each other all that much lately and—"

"No, stop, it's fine," I chuckle softly, "I don't mind at all."

"Really? I mean, I'll pay for gas money and everything, too, since it's inconvenient and out of the way—"

"Maya, stop, it's fine," I sit up, scrubbing a hand over my face, "Just…give me a few to get my shoes on and stuff and I'll be right there, yeah?"

"Yeah, totally, of course!"

"Okay…okay, cool, yeah, so I'll…see you in a few?"

"Yeah, definitely! I'll, uh…I'll be here."

"Cool," I smile, "I'll see you then." When we hang up, I bolt for Damon's room, flicking on his light and delving into our pooled pile of overdue laundry to locate something that can pass for clean.

He grumbles as he stirs, pulling his comforter over his face and turning towards the wall. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, Maya called. I need to get dressed."

"Maya?" He gurgles through his fatigue.

"Yeah, she's at the studio. She needs a ride." Every pair of pants I'm finding has either sawdust or paint stains, or has just been worn so many times in the past two weeks that I know they can't exactly pass for fresh. "Do clothes today, okay? We have more dirty than clean."

"Wait, Maya? Like Maya Matlin?" he shifts to peek at me slightly through half-mast eyes, hooded by his blanket.

I nod, digging deeper into the closet to dip into summer clothes. "Yeah, Maya Matlin. She needs a ride."

"Since when are you and Maya Matlin talking again?"

"We're not exactly talking. I mean, we're not not talking." I pull out a pair of black cutoffs with frayed edges, throwing them over my shoulder. "She came into the studio yesterday. She's shooting a commercial there."

"A commercial?"

"Yeah, for a charity thing." I sift through all of the sleeveless black shirts I've owned for years, trying to find one that's recent enough to at least be new to her. "She got dropped off and she didn't know it was closed today so she needs a ride."

"So you're giving her a ride."

"Yeah, it's not that complicated," I find a grey tank top a local band gave me as thanks for helping move their equipment when their roadie was sick. It was only a year ago, so there's no way it could look like something I've had a while. I fold it over my arm as I make a mental note to nab some body spray on the way out since it smells kind of musty.

"How isn't it complicated?" He blinks lazily, squinting in my direction, "You're gonna go pick up this girl you've been obsessing over since high school that's on TV shows you're always watching, talking about her wedding to another guy."

"So?" I shoot him a look as I turn a pair of boxers that I think I've worn already inside-out.

"So," He laughs, sitting up slightly, "You two are gonna be alone together. She's gonna be on your bike, with her arms wrapped around your waist, all up on you while you're driving her around."

"Uh-huh."

"Probably feeling up on all your muscles, holding herself all tight to you like, ooh, Zig, I never realized how buff you are—"

"I don't get what you're driving at."

"You don't think that's gonna be weird?" He quirks a brow, "Having her cling to you—having to make small talk."

"My bike is loud. That's not an issue."

"But what about red lights? And before she gets on the bike? You're not just gonna show up and be like 'get on' and then drop her off without saying a word. You'll have to chat her up."

"So I'll chat her up." I state flatly as I slip out of my sleep pants and into my street clothes.

"And you think it's not gonna be weird."

"No."

"What if she asks you about what you've been up to?"

"Then I'll tell her."

"And if she asks about Zoe?"

"I'll tell her that, too."

"What if she gets all jealous and pissed off that you've been nailing her enemy?"

"They're not enemies and she won't."

"But what if she does?"

"Then I'll tell her she has no reason to be mad at me since she's engaged."

"And if she gets pissed about that—"

"Damon, I don't have time for this, she's waiting." I say as I grab a pair of his socks that were probably rolled by his mom, leaning against the wall to tug them on. "I'm taking your helmet, okay?"

"Okay," He turns to lie on his back, "But one more question."

I groan, "What."

"What if you get a boner when she puts her arms around you?" He grins.

I roll my eyes, grabbing the pants I'd slept in and throwing them at him, hitting him square in the face.

He laughs, batting them away, "Get out of here!"

"I'm trying to, ya' dingus." I hit the light-switch back to off and grab for the doorknob, "Tell your mom I'll pick up dessert. I feel bad missing breakfast."

"I'm sure she'll understand, but yeah, she'll like that. She's been talking about this strawberry cheesecake they made on one of her cooking shows."

"Call up that Italian bakery she likes and order one under my name, yeah?"

"Sure," He says, turning back onto his side to resume his typical sleeping position.

"Before they get busy."

"Right."

"It's Sunday. They get busy on Sundays—"

"Yeah, yeah, go already. Maya needs you to give her a ride."

I roll my eyes, "Ass." Closing the door behind myself, I head into the kitchen to grab my jacket from its usual kitchen chair, making a pit stop in the garage to grab Damon's helmet and quickly mist down with some AXE before heading outside.

The drive isn't nearly as packed as it was yesterday, but there is still a fair amount of congestion on the streets as people who apparently don't know the filming schedule attempt to sneak into the studio. Luckily, the police were informed of the mass of paparazzi traffic, so they kept some officers near the studio exit with a few road barriers to ensure non-authorized personnel didn't clog the parking lot. I wait my turn as car by car gets turned away, helmet between my legs and fleeting thoughts I'm attempting to avoid between my ears. I'm trying not to let Damon's points get to me, but I can't help but find some validity to them. This would be, after all, the first time I'd be seeing her, one-on-one, in years. No tasks at hand, no other people around. Just me and Maya Matlin and years separating us from our last casual conversation. As much as I tried to pass it off as nothing, it was intimidating. The boner was even a legitimate fear.

The guards inspect my work ID and nod, moving the barricades aside to let me through before instantly setting them back so the car behind me couldn't piggyback me. The lot is basically empty, so it's not hard to head straight up the aisles and round the building's entrance.

I can feel a soft flutter in my gut when I spot her there, leaning up against one of the pillars of the covered walkway. She has her hair in the same arrangement of curls but with the braid exchanged for a thin black barrette, and beneath her long hound's-tooth coat, belted at the waist, I can her slender legs peeking out, clad in dark wash jeans.

"Good thing you wore pants today, huh?" I laugh as I slow down the bike to approach her, watching her turn and smile as she spots me.

"What?" She peels herself away from the column and strides down the footpath, hands tucked in her coat pockets.

"I was afraid you'd wear one of your dresses," I hoist the helmet from my lap and offer it to her, "Skirts and motorcycles don't always work well together."

"Oh," She chuckles, taking it, "Yeah, I almost did, but it's kind of chilly out. I don't know how you're wearing shorts."

"Eh," I shrug, playing it off as if the wind whipping at the bare skin of my calves hasn't numbed them or anything. "It's already March. It's not too bad."

"It's March in Toronto." She raises her eyebrows, securing the helmet over her head, "It's pretty bad."

"Well, yeah, to someone who just spent three weeks in Gustavia, I'm sure it is pretty bad."

She raises her eyebrows.

I shrug, "I…sometimes like to watch the shows you're on and stuff. Know what you're up to."

Her features soften. "That's sweet."

"Yeah, yeah," I nod behind myself, "Hop on."

She smiles, touching my shoulder and carefully maneuvering herself to situate behind me, "So where are we headed, anyway?"

I glance at her through a side mirror. "I'm taking you home, right?"

"Oh, I mean, yeah, at some point. But I thought, since you said I couldn't give you gas money, maybe I could pay you back by treating you to lunch?"

I feel my nerves simmer a bit. It was one thing to have to make enough conversation to maintain a simple ride to her house, but sitting down for a meal together would mean a lot more talking, not to mention time sitting with her, face-to-face, trying to mask the fact that my pulse still accelerates just by having her around. We could run out of things to talk about so quickly, and I could easily slip up and say something stupid or mess something up and ruin everything so soon after having her back in my life.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," I wave her off.

"But I want to!" She smiles. And how can I say no to that?

"…Sure. Okay, yeah. We can do lunch," I nod, watching the reflection of her whole face lighting up.

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not. But nothing too expensive or else I'm not letting you pay for me."

She laughs gently, "Doable. Very doable. I was thinking something simple, anyway. I've had enough French food in the past month to set me for life, so I'd kill for just, like, a panini or something."

"See, here's how I know you've been fancy-fied. You say 'panini' when you very well could just say 'sandwich'."

"Don't be a jerk!" She gives my arm a gentle shove, "You act like they're just the same thing."

"A panini is a sandwich!"

"It's a type of sandwich. Sandwiches aren't always paninis. I'm saying I specifically want a panini, not just any sandwich, now are we going to sit here and argue about this all day or are we going to go somewhere?"

I laugh, "I'm sorry but I don't know many places offhand that sell paninis."

"I think The Dot does, doesn't it?" She shrugs, "We could always go there. I haven't been in years."

I can feel a small smile turn up at the corners of my mouth. "…Well, that would certainly take us full circle." I glance back at her, weighing whether or not she remembers.

The downcast eyes and crooked smile I'm met with tells me that she does. "Yeah…I suppose it would."

Nodding, I turn and straighten my posture, reinforcing my grip on the bike handles. "Alright, hold on, then." When she gingerly places her hands on my sides, I can't help but laugh and glance over my shoulder. "Maya, you can't expect that to be the only thing keeping you from flying off this thing once it takes off."

"Forgive me, I've never been on a motorcycle before," She crinkles her nose, scooting in a bit closer and cautiously wrapping her arms around my waist. When she registers no complaints from me, she locks in, clasping her hands together and laying her head against the back of my shoulder. I swallow thickly and rev the engine, unable to keep from worrying about Damon's prophecy coming true.

I manage to convince myself that the only reason it would happen is mind over matter, fearing it enough that I psych myself into actually making it happen, but any sensations below the belt gained from the vibrations of the bike reverberating through Maya's hold on my waist were outranked by the knowledge that Damon would never let me live it down, so we arrived at The Dot without my pants getting any tighter—a blessing, since I'm positive that Maya would be able to feel an issue like that.

The rawness of the air nips at me as she unravels her arms from my middle, leaving me exposed at the lack of heat. I keep a hand out for her to hold for balance as she climbs down from the seat, reaching to pull off her helmet. "Well, that was invigorating. Is my hair a mess?"

I take my own off and run my fingers through the front of my hair. "Your hair's never a mess."

"That's a complete lie," She smirks a bit, fussing with the ends of her curls, "No, but seriously, how bad is it?"

I shake my head. "You look perfect. Like always."

Her lips pinch into a little smile, and I think I can see a small sense of pink blossoming in her cheekbones, but that could also just be the weather. "Come on. It's cold out here."

We set out over the sidewalk and I hold the door open for her, smiling as she thanks me and following behind. There's a warmth that envelopes the room, both a sheathe from the early spring atmosphere and a nostalgic film reel as I remember walking this same floor nearly six years ago as I awaited the company of the same girl I'm arriving with now, only back then she was even smaller and I hardly knew more than her name. I can still remember turning to see her walking through this very door, a head of loose blonde curls framing her fresh face, blue eyes somewhat shy behind her wire-framed glasses.

I can't help but mull over how things have changed when I look at her now, from the way she carries herself to the vast difference in my perception of her. It's funny how knowing a person so much can change the way they enchant you, but keep you enchanted nonetheless.

"What are you smiling about?"

I raise my eyebrows and look over at her. "Huh?"

She's eyeing me curiously, fingers still toying with her highlighted locks. "You just got all smiley all of a sudden."

"Oh, ah," I force a laugh, giving a wave of my hand as my cheeks take a turn at burning red. "Nothing. Just...this place hasn't changed. It's cool."

"Right? It's like stepping into ninth grade all over again. Only it's way less packed than I remember."

I nod, "I guess no one really comes here on Sunday mornings."

"I guess," She gestures towards a table, leading me to sit with her. We both take off our jackets to revel in the indoor heating. She's wearing a cropped shirt with a pair of those high-waisted jeans all of the girls have these days, leaving a few inches of her upper midriff exposed, but my eyes can't help but wander to the sheerness of her mint green top. I'm not sure if informing her that her black bra is very visible through it would make me a good friend for looking out for her or a pig for looking at all, but I'm guessing it's the latter so I keep it to myself.

As she strings her purse around the corner of the chair, I scan the lunch menu. "What do you know? They do have paninis."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't make fun of me. They're delicious."

"I mean, they sound delicious, they just sound so snooty," The bridge of my nose creases.

"They do not!" She points to one of the items, "See, look. Avocado and sun-dried tomato with brie and basil on ciabatta bread. You mean to tell me that doesn't sound good?"

"It just sounds so prestigious," I shrug. "It's a fancy people sandwich."

"Okay, I don't know who put it in your head that I'm fancy all of a sudden, but my sandwich preferences don't allude to some major personality switch, you know."

"I don't know, Maya, some people like good old-fashioned peanut butter and jelly."

"I like peanut butter and jelly!"

"You like paninis."

"Shut up, I can like both!"

"Oh yeah?" I sit back in my chair, "And when was the last time you had one?"

She narrows her eyes. She's smiling still, but her eyes have definitely narrowed. And as a dark-haired boy that I remember schooling with our freshman year approaches the table with a notepad, she keeps her sly expression fixated on me when he asks for her order. "Yes, I'll just have a peanut butter and jelly, please."

I laugh, shaking my head, "She's kidding. She wants that avocado panini thing with the brie."

"No, no, I'm good with the peanut butter and jelly, thanks. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm fancy or anything."

I shake my head, stifling a laugh. "Don't listen to her, she wants the panini."

The waiter raises his eyebrows, "Look, I don't particularly care who wants what or what makes someone fancy or what doesn't. It's Sunday morning and I've got a kid at home so I'm not running on too much sleep, so if you two could just make up your minds so I can do my job, that would be fantastic."

Maya pinches her lips and raises her eyebrows, sending me a glance of a stunted smile and looking back to him. "I'll have both, then. Compromise."

"Fair enough," He nods, looking to me.

"Ah..." I scan the menu and shrug, "Yeah, I'll just have the same thing."

"Excellent. And to drink?"

"Oh, I'm good with water, thanks."

She nods, "Me, too. Oh, but can I get a bag of ketchup chips, too, please?"

"You got it." He scrawls down our orders and turns to head back to the kitchen.

Maya watches him, probably to make sure that he's out of earshot so she can turn and laugh to me, but when she glances back she raises her eyebrows. "What?"

I do the same. "What, what?"

"You're all smiley again."

I shrug. "It's nice to know some things haven't changed, I guess."

Maintaining conversation isn't as awkward as I'd feared. In fact, midway through a conversation about how Maya could tell Zoe wasn't actually all that happy to see her, I can't help but notice that there really wasn't much weirdness at all. There's an obvious gap between the way we talked then and the way we do now, but throughout the meal, it becomes less of an elephant in the room and more of a conversation piece; unimportant differences like how we spend vacations and how we treat our social media aren't so much obstacles as they are games of compare-and-contrast. She's still the same Maya, and I start to think it's actually not all that terrible for her to think that I'm still the same Zig.

Midway through a discussion about how we shop for special occasion outfits (I rent suits, she gets offers from indie designers for free custom gowns), she sets down her half-eaten PB&J and brushes her fingers on her napkin. "So are you really not coming to my wedding?"

My stomach pauses all digestion and I have to force myself to swallow the food in my mouth. "Huh?"

"My wedding. You seem like you're not going." She shrugs a bit, setting her hands in her lap, "Why?"

A series of blinks draw my eyes to and from her, settling on that strip of skin where her jeans end and her blouse begins, all too inviting for just a few inches of abdomen. "...I-I don't know. It just...doesn't seem like my place."

"That's stupid. I want you there. That makes it your place."

"I don't know, Maya," I shrug. "It's not like I was invited, anyway."

"Yes you were," Her eyebrows stitch together.

I shake my head, "Never got an invite."

"You so did!" She seems appalled that I'm even saying this. "I sent you one—two, actually. I sent one to your parents' house in case you'd moved back there."

"Nah, I'm still living with Damon."

"Yeah, I know, that's where I sent the first one. I sent him one, too!" She leans a bit forward, folding her arms on the table. "You guys didn't get them?"

Again, I shake my head.

Her eyes search the floor. "...Huh...I'll talk to my planner about that, that doesn't seem right...either way, yeah, you're both invited. You should go."

"I don't know—"

"I want you there." I can feel her eyes on me, so I glance up to match her gaze. The eye contact is stiffening, striking my spine into alignment and making me sit up straight.

"I'll, uh...I'll see what my schedule's like, okay?"

She nods, "Okay..." This assuages her features for a moment before I can see her eyes trailing behind me, widening. "...Oh, crap."

I blink, turning to see what she's looking at before feeling my own face fall.

The entrance bells chime as the door is thrown open, a dark-haired familiar face donning a blue gingham button-down and a pissed-off expression gripping its handle. He's maybe a few inches taller than the last time I saw him, his hair grown out a bit and pushed back, which is an improvement since his haircut used to be an expensive imitation of my own. The past few years have definitely aged his sunken features, but he still looks as douchey as ever.

His eyes are dark as they scan the room, zeroing in on our table. I turn my head sharply away from his line of vision, but I can tell from the sound of his brown leather Sperrys marching towards us that we've been spotted as a unit.

My ears get hot as he approaches, his hands splaying at the edge of our table top. "So this is where you've been all day? With him?"

Maya's lips part only to not know what to say. "...Miles, I—"

"You know, when I saw you weren't home this morning, I figured you were getting breakfast or getting your nails done or something. This is the last thing I expected to see you doing."

I put a hand up, "Whoa, wait, didn't you drop her off at the studio?"

He turns to me with a cocked brow. "No, why would I do that? It's not open on Sundays. Why, is that where she was?"

"...I..." It's obvious that something isn't right, but I don't want to get Maya in any trouble.

When she catches on that I'm keeping quiet, she intercepts. "...Yeah, I was there...I guess I didn't believe you so I wanted to make sure for myself that there wasn't any filming."

"You didn't believe me." He says flatly.

She shrugs. "Yeah. You've been wrong about things. Plus, you know me. I'm stubborn. If I believe I'm right, I believe I'm right."

I nod, because that's not false, but I don't say anything otherwise.

He studies the two of us skeptically, piecing together the story before leaning back on the soles of his shoes. "Alright, that's all well and good, I suppose, but how does you being stubborn and going to the studio lead to you going to The Dot with your ex?"

Maya raises a finger, "Okay, first of all, he's not my ex. We never dated." This stings a bit, but its not incorrect. "And we got here because Zig picked me up."

"You couldn't drive yourself home?"

"I took a taxi! I didn't feel like driving at 8 AM, sue me!" She folds her arms over her chest, "So Zig picked me up and I thought I'd thank him by treating him to lunch since someone didn't answer my five million calls this morning."

He raises his eyebrows, gesturing to himself, "You don't mean me, do you? Because I've been trying to call you all day and you didn't pick up once. I had no idea where you were! I had to be told by strangers on Twitter that you were spotted here with some mystery guy!"

"I didn't get any calls from you!" She huffs, waving to me, "Ask Zig!"

I pinch my lips together, "...I mean, it's true, her phone hasn't gone off this whole time."

"And if you don't believe that, then check it!" She nods to her iPhone, sitting on the table by her empty chip bag.

Miles eyes her and the phone before picking it up, scanning it over for irrefutable evidence against her. I try not to be smug in knowing he won't find any until I see his features tense. "It's on airplane mode."

Maya raises an eyebrow, "What?"

"Your phone," He holds the screen to face her, "It's on airplane mode. You can't make or receive any calls or texts. It pretty much blocks you from all communication."

Her visage is screwed up with confusion as she takes the device back from him and looks it over herself. "...Oh, I...I guess I never switched that off when we got back from Gustavia..." She looks up at Miles, who doesn't look like he buys it.

"If that's the case, then how'd you contact him?" He points to me.

I can feel my eyes widen, and when I look over to Maya, I can see that hers have as well. It's then that I realize that all of this is way more suspicious than I'd previously thought, and the look of panic on her face clues me in that this is a major hole in some big plan she'd been fabricating.

Thinking on my toes, I stammer over an excuse. "...Well, ah, I-I...I was already there, actually. She didn't call me or anything, I just...ran into her and she told me what was up, so I offered her a ride." I glance over at Maya, hoping that all the times I've sat in on improv circles at work have paid off.

She shows an ounce of relief but we're both clearly more concerned with Miles poking holes in the alibi—which, of course, he does. "And what were you doing there on a Sunday? You work there. You knew it wasn't open."

I can see Maya's jaw clench, but I manage to come up with something quickly. "I...left something there."

"Something."

"Yeah..." I glance over to my Harley through the store window, then back to him. "...My helmet."

"You left your helmet at the studio."

"Yeah, we got out late, I was tired, I didn't think—I don't recommend it, helmets are really important, but I mean, hey, sometimes people forget to wear protection." I laugh, trying to lighten the air. It remains tense, though, so I clear my throat and continue, "So...yeah, I wore my roommate's on my way there to go pick it up, saw Maya locked outside, and...yeah, the rest is like she told it."

I look between the two of them, and they look between each other and myself.

I don't want to let the silence stew because that's where Miles seems to find his ammo. "...Worked out well, really, because the both of us had helmets. I mean, if it was just her, I would've let her wear mine, anyway, of course, but yeah." I give myself bonus points for addressing the issue before anyone else found it coincidental.

There's a small flash of defeat in Miles's eyes. It doesn't alleviate all of his suspicions, but it's enough to unlock his jaw. "Alright, well...if that's how it really went down...I appreciate you looking out for my fiancé, Zig. I'd hate for something to have happened with her being stranded out there. So thank you."

I nod, "Anytime."

"You, however," He turns to Maya, "You need to be more careful."

She rolls her eyes, "It was an accident."

"Accident or not, do you know how irresponsible that was?" His upper lip furled, "You were cut off from the world and you didn't even realize it."

"Miles, chill, it's not like I did it on purpose," She matches his bitter expression.

"What if there was an emergency, Maya? Huh?" He puckers his further, "What if I needed you?"

"Seriously, stop—"

"What if your mom needed you?"

This sends a pang of guilt straight through Maya's face, widening her blue eyes and sending them down to the floor. I can't even fully emote the disgust I feel as I see a sense of satisfaction play out over Miles's features, knowing he'd trapped her with that point; I'm too busy examining Maya. Her mother, who's afflicted with multiple sclerosis, had been a sore subject for her since our senior year of high school; Maya had been out with friends, Katie was away at college, and their father was at work when Mrs. Matlin, who had been recently trying to transition from primarily using her wheelchair to walking with forearm support crutches, slipped on a water spill in the kitchen and hit her head on the counter. It was estimated that she'd been unconscious for a little over two hours when Maya came home and found her on the floor. The woman was rushed to the hospital and stayed in critical care for weeks, and apparently things weren't looking too good, so Miles, who wasn't even dating Maya at the time, went to his parents and the family donated enough money to get Mrs. Matlin all of the aid she needed to make the best possible recovery. Since then, the woman has been in better condition, but Maya (who had resumed dating Miles not too long after that, unsurprisingly) still carries the worry that something else could happen when she wasn't around—which is understandable. The worst things seem to happen to the people in Maya's life when she lets her guard down.

Setting her hands back into her lap, she quietly clears her throat. "...You're right...I'm sorry..."

He nodded, "It's alright, I just...I worry, you know?"

"I know." Her voice is barely above a murmur. I've gone so quiet I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

After a few moments' silence, Miles, who had been side-eyeing me for the past few minutes, leans back and glances at the black and gold Rolex watch he kept beneath his half-folded sleeve. "...Well, it's getting kind of late. We have a meeting with the photographer at 4 and our wine tasting at 6. I figured you'd want to get changed."

She nods, turning to unwind her purse strap from her chair.

I shake my head before she can even fish out her wallet, "No, no, it's okay, I've got it."

"I told you I'd pay," Her attempted smile is weak.

"It's fine, really."

"No, but I said—"

"Hey, I'll solve this real quick," Miles interjects, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a patent leather wallet that matches his shoes. "I'll pay."

I try to object but he shoves right under my plate and buries the wallet back into his Chinos, so I have to do so after the fact. "This is way more than we'd need."

"Consider it a thank you for looking out for my fiancé, yeah?" There's a greasiness to the way he says this and claps a hand to my shoulder, turning to Maya and raising the eyebrows on his smug little face. "You ready?"

She nods, standing up and threading her purse strap over her shoulder. "It was really nice hanging with you, Zig. I'll, ah...see you tomorrow?"

I offer a smile, "Absolutely. Let me know if you ever need a ride again—you know, if you have you don't have airplane mode on." I tease.

There's a small smirk to her returning smile and she nods, but she manages to lose it before she turns to Miles. The two of them bid me another goodbye before heading out to a model Porsche that won't even be available to the public until next year. I watch as he presses a button on his keys that raises the butterfly doors, ushers Maya into her side as he slips on a pair of sunglasses that are definitely way more expensive than they look, rounds the front to take to the driver's side, and speeds away, leaving only my ratty black bike with its two helmets.

Man oh man did it take me forever to complete this chapter. I apologize for having been constantly updating this story and then suddenly stopping; my old laptop, Holly J., contracted some nasty viruses that wiped out all of my text documents and turned them into jarbled and/or Chinese characters. I'd kept the original draft of this chapter on it and therefor lost it, and I don't know about you guys, but I find it extremely difficult to find the muse to rewrite a chapter I've already written with satisfactory results. But I finally buckled down to crank it out and I think it actually turned out better than the original, so I hope you all like it! And again, thank you all so much for the positive feedback. It fuels me and makes me smile. (:

xo, Kina