Miley thought that maybe this was the most exhilarating wait in the history of her life. Sure, there were those limo rides to those kitschy award shows, mile-long minutes spent backstage mentally picking herself apart as she waited for her cue to flounce front and center, so anxious she might as well have had her fingers in her mouth, teeth savagely ripping the nails right out of their beds. Never mind the nights she'd nearly rehashed her dinner all over the living room floor, gnarled with dread because she was expecting a renowned music critic's publication the following morning. No, this time Miley was keening with anticipation.

She caught her reflection in the mirror, considered swapping her rainy day pajamas for something more appealing and immediately frowned, citing these sorts of irrational yet persistent pangs of inadequacy as the kindling behind her inexcusable conduct. She had embarrassed herself to near social suicide, Kamikazed her dearest friendships and managed to derail any romantic possibilities with the love of her life. She'd acted rashly. But what teenager hasn't? She thought, and consequently scowled at herself for being so selfish. God, suck it up. After all, this wasn't a playground tryst that lasted the course of a shared juice box or a month long relationship to be filed away under incidents of puppy dog infatuation; she could confidently say that Lilly was the crux of her existence. In hindsight, she guessed nothing really mattered, not really, because Lilly would be arriving at any moment and Miley was prepared to grovel, determined to walk on water if the blonde so much as whimmed it.

When Lilly knocked at her doorway Miley was playing with the loose threading on her pajama bottoms. For a moment, she panicked, second guessing her readiness to address the situation. Another knock, a little more insistent than the first. She quickly kicked her legs off the edge of the bed. "Come in," she coughed, distractedly smoothing down her hair.

"Hey," greeted Lilly, a fatigued smile flashing across her face.

Miley thought Lilly looked miserable, exhausted, and perhaps even a little heartbroken. She bit her lip and tentatively patted the space beside her, beckoning her best friend closer with an encouraging slip of a smile. "Sit down?"

Lilly edged atop the mattress, consciously leaving what, Miley thought, seemed like a canyon of space between them. Awkwardness served as a nagging undercurrent and it stung. "Did you mean it?" Lilly asked finally, hooking and unhooking her ankles, sweeping her eyes across the bedroom she could blueprint blindfolded in order to avoid looking at Miley.

"Yes," Miley breathed, surprised by how easily her voice had splintered into a pathetic whimper, "I'm sorry."

Lilly bit her lip, busied herself by picking at invisible lint on her jeans. God, she was going to fucking cry and it was no use trying to pretend like she wasn't. "I'm sorry, too," she admitted, rubbing the back of her palms across her runny eyes.

Miley stiffened, outraged. "For what?" She shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong! I'm the one that screwed up. I'm the one that—"

"Stop saying that!" She glanced away guiltily, peered into her palms as if they were Teleprompters. "I should have told you the truth about Lexi. I just thought that," she rolled her stinging eyes, "that you'd hate me or something, you know? I was so scared, Miley. I never meant to," she swallowed, "hurt you."

Miley nodded vehemently although deep down, in the recesses of her heart, she felt a stitch of vindication. "I know. It's okay, Lils," she cooed, gently placing her palm on Lilly's trembling back to rub soothing circles along the taut surface. "It's alright." She inched closer, inviting Lilly into her arms with a meaningful look. Miley had only ever heard Lilly cry twice. Her own face was slick, but seeing Lilly in tears made her ache in an unforgivable way.

Lilly clutched on tight, burrowed deep and then deeper into her Miley-shaped cocoon. The brunette was determined to hold on just as firmly for as long as Lilly allowed her to. For all she cared, she could have died right then and there. She shut her eyes and focused on the feel of Lilly in her arms, the tears smattering across her neck. She imagined her tears were staining Lilly's shirt in the same sappy manner. If an ill-timed Jackson had witnessed them, he'd agree that the extent of their yearning for one another was palpable.

The girls settled into a comfortable lull. It was an unspoken agreement that they'd treat this incident much like a used wrapper, crumple it up and toss it behind their shoulders and into the garbage bin of almost trainwrecks and near life-altering disasters. Miley leaned against the wall with her legs crossed and Lilly lay on her back, head resting on Miley's lap. The brunette threaded her fingers through the blonde's hair, massaged her scalp in a smooth rhythm that made Lilly want to cat nap for days.

"Miley?" Lilly's voice was raspy, a little uncertain.

Miley kept her eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall. "Hm?"

"I love you."

She smiled. "I love you, too, Lils."

It was only when Lilly pulled away from her that Miley forced her eyes open. She was about to ask why, but the blonde had pushed herself upright and was staring at her earnestly, shyly. "I'm," Lilly stumbled there, reminded herself to breathe in collected strides instead of starved spurts. Her hands were shaking and how the heck could her heart conceivably beat this fast without going pop? She'd rehearsed these words in her head for years, allowed this single vibrant notion to keep her up on countless nights, playing and re-playing projections of herself and Miley until her brain snow-screened. Now she realized no amount of preparation could have ever made this effortless. "I'm in love with you."

Miley blanched. She'd waited a lifetime's worth of nanoseconds for that confession. Lilly tilted her head towards the floor, bottom lip secured between her teeth. She let her blonde hair curtain her flushed cheeks and would have, if only she were more flexibly inclined, kicked herself in the ass because Miley was too quiet and her head was spinning with a thousand awful thoughts to compensate for the silence. Lilly held her breath as Miley cupped her cheek and redirected her timid gaze from the floor. The bed sheets bunched beneath her palms as Miley leaned in and pressed a meaningful kiss to her lips. They broke apart and smiled at one another, forehead to forehead. "I'm in love with you, too, you dummy," she rasped.

"Right," Lilly whispered, brushing her mouth against Miley's for a second time. The kiss lingered and bled into a third, which bled into a fourth, fifth, sixth... They stopped counting kisses as day tiptoed into night.

The only light in Miley's bedroom came from the fluorescent moonbeams seeping in through the window. Their lips were bright and swollen, but neither girl felt the sting of too many kisses. "I should probably go," said Lilly, sweeping a lock of hair away from Miley's face.

The brunette seized Lilly's hand and placed a tiny kiss on her thumb. "No," she said, adding another nip of a kiss. "You're staying for dinner, Truscott, and I don't want to hear another peep about it, are we clear?"

"Insanely."

When they crept downstairs, Mr. Stewart was stirring some roux colored concoction in an immense stainless steel pot. They sidled along the dining table hand-in-hand. Miley shot a glance at her dad. His back was turned, presumably engrossed with whatever aromatic dish was bubbling in the pot. She leaned over and pecked Lilly on the cheek. After the initial shock subsided, a kissing war ensued, and when the exhilaration was too much they resorted to giggling into their fists.

"Look who's decided to join us," said Mr. Stewart. He was relieved that the girls had reconciled. The funk Miley'd been bringing into the Stewart household made him twitchy and quite frankly, he'd missed the blonde girl and her eagerness to eat whatever absurdity was presented to her: tofu tacos, scrapple, peanut butter and bacon quiche… Speaking of the adolescent garbage disposal, there was a week's worth of Tupperware with her name on it!

Lilly ripped her mouth away from Miley's cheek so fast it nearly stung; in fact, it should have left a bright pink impression. Wooden legs whined against the floor as each girl shoved her chair in the opposite direction. "How does he do that?" mouthed Lilly.

"Didn't Miley tell you? I got eyes on the back of my head," interjected Robbie Ray, pointing at the spot where his aforementioned set of eyes allegedly burrowed. He turned around and unfastened his apron. "Ears like ultrasonic radar, too."

"Thanks for the heads up. What's on the menu, Mr. S?"

"Gumbo and rice. Wait 'til you taste this puppy!"

"You say that all the time, Daddy," grumbled Miley.

"Let the man finish," insisted Lilly, "it's not every day I get to chat up a culinary genius."

Mr. Stewart waggled a finger at the blonde girl. "Oh, I'm onto you, Lillian."

"Drats."

"I know you've got ulterior motives. I've never had anyone take such an interest in my cooking."

"Politeness always gets seconds."

"Thirds," scoffed Miley.

"Fourths," corrected Jackson as he slid into an empty seat.

"Don't you go picking on Lilly," chastised Mr. Stewart, "My wager is on fifths."

"Hey! Say the word and I'll head straight home. I'm sure my mom can cook up a hot meal. It will be subpar compared to your standards, Mr. Stewart, but a girl can't have everything," Lilly said, fluffing a napkin over her lap.

"Allow me to call your bluff, Lillian," scoffed Robbie Ray. "There's no way in heck you'd turn down one of my home cooked meals!"

She shrugged, "Fair enough."

He set the steaming gumbo on the tabletop and ladled a generous serving over a bed of rice. He dropped the plate in front of Lilly and rubbed her shoulder, "Good eatin'."

"Thanks!"

"What about me?" grumbled Jackson.

"Guest of honor. Bowl. Ladle," said Mr. Stewart, pointing at Lilly and the various items. "Dig in, son."

Miley afforded peeks at the blonde throughout the meal. Watching the interactions between her best friend and her little family only affirmed Lilly's rightful place in her heart. Miley chalked it all up to destiny because what else could explain the annoyingly perfect fit? It superseded logic. "Daddy," she said. "Can Lilly stay over tonight? I know it's a school night, but I promise we won't go to bed too late."

Mr. Stewart picked up his iced tea, "As long as Lilly's mom says it's alright, it's fine by me."

"Thanks, Daddy, you're the best!" She bit her lip when Lilly squinted at her. If her daddy wasn't looking, she might have spelled her intentions out for Lilly, but he was so Miley just smiled, reached over and casually draped her hand over Lilly's knee.

Miley's palm inched upward and Lilly nearly spilled her drink. Mr. Stewart was saying something to her, looking directly at her, but she hadn't heard his question. She couldn't comprehend anything with Miley dragging her fingers in wispy little circles, higher and higher, across her inner thigh, soft and lazy strokes. She couldn't halt Miley's advances without making it obvious because both of her hands were engaged over the tabletop and Mr. Stewart was already looking at her funny.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Is the gumbo too spicy? Your face is redder than the Devil's rear-end."

Miley noted that Lilly had narrowly escaped Robby Ray's suspicion-fueled interrogation. The brunette was seated cross-legged on the rocking bench, fleece blanket loosely draped around her shoulders. She stared out across the ocean and sighed. She didn't understand Lilly's reluctance to spend the night. Miley didn't like this new development one bit. "Don't worry, Lil," she giggled, "I'm not going to guerilla sex you."

"I don't know," said Lilly, pacing towards the opposite end of the porch, "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"It never bothered you before."

"Yeah," she snorted, kicking at the sand granules embedded in the floorboards, "before."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Lilly sat down beside her, stole the outermost corner of Miley's blanket. "Before I knew I could kiss you, Miles," she breathed. "Before I knew I could touch you. I don't think I can control myself anymore."

"I don't want you to."

"You don't get it. What if your dad caught us?"

"He'll deal."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"He'll deal, Lilly."

Lilly sighed. "I just respect him so much, you know? And it would just totally suck if he…"

"Hmm?" Miley huddled closer, dropped her head on Lilly's shoulder.

"If he hated me."

"That man may be a lot of things, but he's not a bigot. No way, no how."

"It's not just that, I mean, you're his little girl. Remember the psychological hell he put your boyfriends through? Polishing his double-barrel in plain sight?" Lilly gulped. "Imagine what he'll do to me when we tell him about us or when he puts two and two together… all those sleepovers…"

"Oh, there's no doubt about it," Miley exhaled loudly, "he's definitely going to kill you," she nodded, "Yep, and knowing Daddy, he'll probably make it extra slow and ultra painful. You can forget that double-barrel shotgun, Lil, you should see the artillery he keeps out back," she whistled, "Not counting that wood chipper Jackson got him last Christmas…

"Jesus, why would Jackson buy him a wood chipper?"

"Because Jackson knows, Lilly. Jackson knew before we did," she stretched her legs out. "He figured if he had to watch Daddy kill somebody else, it might as well be fun and innovative--"

"Miley!" Busted.

"What?" giggled the brunette. "I'm just telling you what you want to hear."

"You are so not funny…"

Miley grinned and kissed the blonde's cheek, jawline, neck. "Let me make it up to you," she whispered, maneuvering herself between Lilly's legs. "I promise no one will find out." Miley continued to run her lips down Lilly's neck.

"I don't know…" but the tremble in the blonde's voice was just as good as a yes.

"But I think you do know," she teased, kissing the corners of Lilly's mouth.