Chapter 2 Honey, I'm Home

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• "Maximiliano, sei a lavoro?"
• "No, Pappa. Vado a casa."
• His phone wasn't on loudspeaker, but she could hear enough. His dad just had this deep and clear-cut, usually authoritative voice. Kel grabbed her satchel and pretended not to listen in before unbuckling the seat belt. Ignoring Miles and his glances took some acting skills; she just didn't want him to think she was eavesdropping.
• He reclined in the driver seat, frowning, his attention currently held by an unexpected phone call from his parents. Mr. Falco just asked another question over the phone as Miles parked in front of the house.
• "Sì, Pappa." Miles pulled the car keys out of the ignition before she could step out of the passenger seat. "Erm...sì. Aspetti, forse verrò," Miles said, his obvious reticence thinning his voice. With his cellphone pressed onto his ear, he muttered more Italian phrases and stepped out of his car, hurriedly and with a mild frown she got used to seeing every time he talked to his parents.
• Consistent and quite curiosity-piquing, but definitely none of her beeswax.
• Miles didn't talk to his family often. Why? She wasn't sure. He rarely visited or called his parents. Granted, they were busy with the family business, but they were merely a two-hour flight away.
• To give him some privacy, she proceeded to the front lawn of their quiet abode. Well, she barely had the right to imply partial ownership of the high-priced house and lot. But for several months now, the simple but elegant two-storey house had been her home away from home, her secure and private residence away from the busy city...with Miles being her freehanded roommate, of course.
• He caught up to her sooner than she could unlock the huge front door. The drive from the show venue lasted two hours or so, her aching back and legs telltale signs of her overworked state.
• Fashion Week always did her in. Grueling. Time-consuming. The only thing she appreciated right now was the apparent fact that her head didn't feel like it was being jackhammered from inside her skull, and the possibility of a bigger paycheck this week.
• "Rest up; you're exhausted." Miles watched her fumble with the keys. He held her purse for her.
• "Want something to eat?" Kel unlocked the knobs. The heavy, solid hardwood door made her wince. Her limbs ached whenever she would make sudden movements. A good night's sleep to recuperate from her runway stints would definitely help.
• "I'm good. I'll make something if you're hungry." Miles lingered in the doorway, his car keys jangling in his hand. He walked into the kitchen and flipped some lights on.
• "Mm-kay. Thanks." Kel just about dragged her feet into the dining room.
• "Was waiting for you to call." Miles took raw meat and vegetables out of the tall fridge. "No more shows tomorrow?" He switched the stove on and kept his back to her, his hands quick with the ingredients.
• "Yeah. So tired," Kel muttered. She stretched her achy back and enjoyed watching him get busy as she sat on the chair nearest to the stove.
• The wide table served little to no purpose, frankly. The only time the dining set wasn't totally empty was when Miles let the security staff enjoy a warm home-cooked meal with them, which was a rarity. Miles loved his privacy.
• Then this afternoon's events popped into mind. Kel rushed to where he had left her purse—on a console by the hallway. She checked her phone for any new calls or texts from an unregistered number.
• None. Thank God.
• She stood in the dim hallway, staring at the messages she'd received earlier from a certain someone she didn't think would spoil her otherwise productive afternoon.
• "It's me. Pick up."
• "Still in Milan? Almost there. -D"
• Her heartbeat paused. The disquieting messages forced her to read them over and over.
• How could he be in Milan? The guy was too busy working on a new movie, last time she'd heard about him. Not that she was keeping tabs.
• "Rare or medium rare?" Miles hollered out from the kitchen seconds later. The aromatic smell of meat cooking distracted her right away. "Mykaela?"
• "Yeah." Kel swore in her head and slid her phone back into her pocket.
• "Still finishing a painting. Can't drive you around if you'd like to go somewhere later."
• "Goin' out's the last thing on my mind right now." She massaged her temple and walked back into the dining room.
• Strange how her headache just vanished after a two-hour drive with Miles behind the wheel. She didn't even nap.
• "My headache's gone." She sat back down on one of the chairs, the one nearest to the stove. She loved watching him cook. Miles Falco...slaving away in his own kitchen to fix her a meal—such a rare sight. Almost funny, actually. "What's your secret? You're always better than painkillers."
• "You just like me that much." Miles smirked when he caught her staring from afar. He flipped the pinkish pieces of meat and let them crackle on the pan.
• Everything just smelled divine. Her stomach wanted to jump for joy. No runway shows until next week—now she could eat whatever she wanted. Her stomach grumbled while her nose enjoyed the scent of garlic and raw meat cooking.
• "Eat everything on your plate. I'm not walkin' out of the basement after this."
• "Sudden bout of inspiration?" Kel smiled and waited for him to spare her a small grin. They hadn't had a proper conversation since he sped out of the show venue's parking lot. "You done with the biggest?" she asked with more enthusiasm. His newest paintings must look breathtaking. "Can I take a look?"
• "Definitely not." Miles kept his gaze on the stove. The barbecue sauce on the pork chops made noise over the intense heat. "I'm not even done shading the first one yet."
• "How's your mom and dad?" she asked out of mere curiosity. The phone call from his father didn't even take longer than a minute. Why didn't Miles talk to his family more often? He rarely visited or called his parents.
• "Fine."
• Counting out the scraping and crackling noises on the stove, the entire kitchen and dining room fell silent when Miles didn't further the conversation.
• Something bothered him. She could sense it. Kel pulled a face. He was never this reserved, except when he got busy behind a canvas. Miles hadn't even looked her in the eye since that kiss back at the show venue.
• It wasn't really a kiss, though. More like, an awkward lips-on-lips contact. Between friends. Plain old friends. Never been the "with benefits" kind. Not in the romantic sense, at least.
• It wouldn't be an issue had the circumstances been different. If it was him who gave her a kiss, she wouldn't put any meaning behind it. At times, he was just that affectionate towards his close female friends, especially after a couple drinks—not that he had a lot of girl friends.
• But they both knew she'd kissed him earlier because of something else entirely. Miles seemed uptight that she hadn't come clean about why she did it and about her panic-stricken behavior earlier.
• If he was just waiting for her to start a discussion about it, then fine. She'd let the cat out of the bag, just so he would stop being fairly unsociable. Kel sighed and walked towards the stove. Without hesitation, she hugged him from behind. "Thanks."
• "For what?" Miles stood still and stopped angrily scratching the frying pan with the spatula—like he'd rather do construction work than kitchen duties.
• "For being the chef today and for picking me up early."
• "Not gonna happen again, so don't get used to it."
• "Hey. I'm tryin' to be nice here." Kel stopped hugging him to pinch his earlobe.
• "Fine— Just, get off me." He chuckled while his free hand tried to push her away. "You'll get oil burns."
• "Fine. Be mean." She backed a few steps away from the warm stove and kept her hands to herself. Why was he dodging the serious conversation she was just about to start? But good thing they were back to being friendly.
• "Get the cayenne." Miles continued to stare at the now brownish pork chops making noises on the hot pan. "And parsley."
• "Got it, chef." She was just about to tend to his request when Kel felt something in her pocket.
• Her ringtone trilled. She froze and gripped her phone. Could it be him?
• The surprise didn't escalate into slight panic when she read her sister's name on the screen. For a moment, Kel just stared at Jill's photo, her big smile and light brown curls promptly reminding her of their mother.
• Jill took after their mom, whereas Kel inherited her stick-straight hair and strong features from their dad. She and Jill hadn't been in constant communication all year long since their last serious conversation on the phone, which had resulted in an argument about her leaving the U.S. on a whim.
• Kel took the call and distractedly stepped away from Miles. "Hey. Baby's asleep?" she asked her sister over the phone.
• "Yeah. Hey." Jill's hoarse voice greeted her on the other end, her tone urgent. "K, Drew called."
• ◇
• 7:50PM
• "Dessert? Bought pudding and chocolate cake."
• "Thanks. Maybe later," Kel mumbled. She sat still and held onto her phone, secretly waiting for another phone call or text from an unregistered number she had already memorized. Her sister's phone call had been a surprising one, as much as it was informative. Kel had kept it short and casual.
• Part of her just didn't want Miles to notice anything unusual. She glanced around the spacious basement. Paint-smeared cans, scrapped lifesize canvasses, and soiled, overused rags littered the floor of the studio, and she knew most of them were just days-old trash waiting to get stuffed into large garbage bags.
• It was the only room in the house where her artistic friend didn't observe cleanliness and order to an impressive degree. It was also the only room where she was least welcomed in. Miles loved working on his art in total solitude, quiet and undisturbed. He stood in the middle of the room now and wore pants that looked overused with patches of different paint colors.
• White lights lit the basement, but not too brightly that she'd find herself squinting. He probably liked the fairly mysterious lighting. Maybe it helped him get in the mood to paint? "You're the only girl I know who doesn't like chocolates."
• "I'm just really full," she replied. Her stomach just protested at the thought of artificial flavorings and processed sugars. The juicy, meaty steak he'd cooked for her was enough to satiate her appetite. "Want a slice? I'll get some for you."
• "No."
• Oh. Why was she in here again? Kel couldn't help but ask herself. He kind of insisted that she come down here with him after they'd cleaned up the dishes. Did he want to talk to her about something? "Need help with something?"
• "No."
• His immediate response made her sit still. Kel stared at his broad back while he continued to paint. "So you...need to talk?"
• Was he going to mention the kiss now? Right now?
• "I think," Miles mumbled while his impressively precise hand painted dark strands on the canvas. "You should ask yourself that."
• "Um...okay?" Kel scrunched her brows at his vague reply. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead every time he'd turn away from the canvas to grab something from his paint stash.
• "So?" Miles stayed focused on the painting. It featured a woman with long hair as dark as a raven, her slender body lying on something white and slanted. "What happened back at the show?"
• "Nothing." Kel bit on her lip. Her voice almost wavered. Sheesh. She was such a terrible liar. "Just the usual."
• "Did anyone unwelcome approach you?" Miles turned to glance at her. His grin was mild and quite forced. Her peculiar behavior after the fashion show definitely piqued his curiosity.
• "I thought I heard someone." Kel paused to chastise herself in her head. She should just put her phone away. Why was she expecting someone to call again? For months now, she actually thought she'd already tricked herself into thinking she had finally moved on.
• "And?"
• "I think Drew got my new number."
• His long and careful hairlike strokes halted at her reply. Miles cleared his throat, as if surprised by the news.
• "I'm not sure it's him, but..."
• "Tried to call him back?"
• "No."
• "You texted him back?"
• "No." Kel watched him resume painting on the four-feet-tall canvas, his strokes now less precise but focused on the woman's dark hair. "I couldn't send a reply."
• "Why? What'd he say?"
• "That he's...in Milan."
• At her hesitant tone, Miles paused for a moment and just studied the colorful painting before him. Seconds of awkward silence filled the room and made her uneasy.
• She could tell he felt the same. Miles only kept eye contact to a minimum whenever he was anxious or bothered by something.
• "You sure?" He picked another paintbrush. His back slouched and remained facing her, while his paint-smeared left fist clenched beside his hip.
• "Not really." Kel absently rubbed her palm against her forehead, unsure of what else to say.
• "You're gonna see him?"
• "No," she answered. "Jill called. Told me he's been looking for me."
• "Yeah; I figured." Miles didn't press on, but his tone denoted a fair amount of curiosity and doubt.
• "Can we talk about something else?" She covered her face with her hands to muffle her timid response.
• "Okay. Sorry." Miles turned away from the canvas to wipe his overworked fingers with a damp and old rag. The look on his face when their gazes focused on each other appeared blank, instead of sympathetic. He stepped closer to where she sat, waiting for her to start up another conversation—one that didn't involve impulsive exes and surprising phone calls.
• "How's your folks?" she asked out of the blue, maintaining eye contact with him. A part of her hoped he was in the mood to talk about his family.
• She'd known him for years now (although they were merely acquaintances then) and she'd been living with him for almost one. His being tightlipped about his family was a big mystery she had yet to unravel.
• "What about 'em?" Miles looked away and grabbed something on the paint-stained table. He bunched up his dark hair with an elastic band.
• "Just...you were talking to your dad and," she muttered. "I wasn't listening in, but..."
• "He said they're comin' over."
• "Really? For your birthday?" She smiled when he only nodded. "How's your Pappa?"
• "Fine," Miles muttered. "Busy. As always." He turned back to the canvas and ripped open a sachet of something he used for mixing colors.
• A moment of silence prolonged. "You don't visit or call them up," she remarked. She was just curious about his parents.
• From what he'd shared about his wealthy family, she knew his parents barely had time for him as they were always tied up with the family business. Miles had also told her once or twice that his family, more often than not, could get a little controlling and domineering.
• But to what extent—she had yet to discover for herself. "Why? I mean, I just noticed you don't talk to them often."
• "Says the girl who never calls home and ran away twice now." Miles smirked at her, then turned his attention back to his painting.
• "Okay— That's an exaggeration." She chuckled, shook her head, and stood up from the chair to get closer to him.
• The canvas he worked on stood far from her, but the strong smell of fresh paint and thinner assaulted her nose that she had to smother half of her face. "Go rest up," Miles advised when he saw her covering her nose.
• "What d'you want for your birthday?"
• Instead of answering her question, he ignored her and continued shading the outline of the faceless woman on the painting.
• "I need to get you something. Help me out."
• "Anything's fine."
• "What about a new book?" Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? He loved to read. Tonight she'd search for new and interesting novels online. "No? What about cake? Party stuff?" she asked when he didn't respond. "New boyfriend?"
• Her suggestion made him scoff. "Right. 'Cause that's just what I need right now," he mumbled.
• His evasive reply got her quiet. Mykaela stayed standing a few steps behind him.
• Maybe he was already seeing someone new? But that was another story for another time. Clearly he wasn't in a chatty mood, and she could tell he needed a couple more hours to complete the paintings.
• He had to finish two more, she remembered. "Are those finished?" she asked of the smaller paintings in the corner of the studio. She sat on the edge of the table with the disorderly collection of painting materials. She even found several knives on the desk, and other sharp tools whose purposes she didn't even want to know.
• "Barely," Miles sighed. "The new deadlines are fuckin' exhausting."
• "Okay. I'm out." She stretched her aching back while sitting on the edge of the table, then fumbled for her phone. "Ow!" She flinched when something sharp pricked her hand. "What the he—" She lifted her hand.
• On the side of her palm was a thin wound taking form.
• For a noiseless few seconds, Mykaela did nothing but stare at the crooked line of bright red blood staining her pale skin. The warm liquid oozed and lined on the side of her palm, while a stinging pain registered in her head.
• Wait. How did she cut herself?
• Her intakes of breath must've been loud enough since Miles stopped whatever he was doing and rushed towards her in a blink. "What?"
• "I cut myself."
• "With what?" Miles looked around. He sighed when he saw the steel knife behind her, just sitting on the table. He held her wrist gently after inspecting the wound. "Let's clean this up."
• "No; it's fine." Kel pulled her hand out of his grip to stop him from staring at her bloody hand. She dismissed his fussing and eyed the stairs, the only way out of his studio and this cold basement.
• "It might get infected—"
• "It's fine. I'll get the first aid kit upstairs."
• "Mykaela, let me see first—" Miles grabbed her forearm rather forcefully, but their small tug-of-war lasted some more seconds.
• "It's nothing," she mumbled. The pain under her skin intensified, but she ignored it. The second she realized he was intent on taking care of it, she stopped resisting.
• At that instant, the side of her injured palm hit his face, and before they could both react, a bright red smear of her blood had already stained his parted lips.
• Oh crap. Kel couldn't say anything or react. Her throat had constricted somewhat.
• Standing so still before her, cheeks turning pale and looking shocked himself, Miles let go of her. He lifted his paint-smudged fingers to his lips. His brows furrowed at the splotch of her blood on his skin. Miles backed off of her before either of them could speak again.
• He just rushed to the stairs. He left her alone in the basement, her common sense baffled while she sat on the messy table.
• "Hey!" she called out before his tall figure disappeared from her view.
• What was that about?
• "Sorry." She climbed up the dimly lit stairs, her steps calm but her mind filled with confusion. "You okay?" she had to ask. She was barely out of the basement yet, but she could already hear a faucet running, with him spitting and making retching noises by the kitchen sink.
• Huh. New fun fact: Miles Falco was terrified by the sight of blood.
• "Let's clean that up," he mumbled with a sigh after turning off the faucet. "And you gotta stop giving your parents more reasons to hate me."
• ◇