Funny Story

by Emily Henry

Then again, it’s not like he had many options. His girlfriend had just moved out. Into my apartment. With my fiancé.

“I know,” I say. “I’m bringing my boyfriend.” Even as I’m saying it, there’s a voice screeching in my brain, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Like every time I dole out a kernel of my history to someone who’s not going to become a fixture in my life, a piece of me gets carried away, somewhere I can never get it back.

“I’m not moping. I just like sad music.”

That sand’s probably not even local. Bet it’s trucked in from Florida.”

He casts a meaningful sidelong look at me. “So I take a lot of side jobs in the off season.”

He laughs and unzips his sweatshirt, taking it off and tossing it in my direction. Less to me than at me.

He leans into me to inhale against the fabric on my shoulder.

“Okay, a little bit. But just because that sounds boring to me doesn’t mean I think you’re boring.”

He makes it so easy to open up. I wish I knew how to do the same.

“You’ve been reading it,” I say, unable to hide my glee. “Of course I have. What’s a Read-a-thon, anyway?”

“That’s what you say now,” Miles says, “but by the end of the summer, you’re going to be head over fucking heels for this place, Daphne. Just wait and see.”

“You’re not a stranger.” He knocks his leg into mine. “You’re my serious, monogamous girlfriend, remember?”

Offered to parade me around all summer, just so I won’t move away.

He doesn’t ask why, just holds my gaze and scoots until his side’s right up against me. “Here?” My stomach flips at the closeness of his voice. “That’s good.”

At the last second, on a whim, I turn and kiss his cheek as the picture finally snaps.

His face turns toward mine, our noses almost touching, pieces of his chin and cheeks hidden behind the flash’s afterglow.

“I will happily go back into the woods, find some sticks, and build you a tripod, Daphne,” he says.

“Here.” He draws me in against his chest, so that we’re almost fitted together like we’re on a sled, him in back, me in front, and his arms folded around mine, blocking the worst of the wind.

I shiver again as I nestle back against him, snapping a few more pictures.

His smile unzips slowly, from one side of his mouth. After a long moment, he leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple. “Thank you,” he says, arms tightening around me.

His eyes seem to spark when he smiles. “I’ll try harder.”

Every time I scan the crowd, Miles’s smile is a little bigger, goofier. He keeps looking around at the kids, parents, and nannies, like, Can you believe this shit? Wild!

Miles sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, which somehow instantly turns all fifteen kids from sleepy angels into rowdy buccaneers,

“I’ve been reading since I was six. I’m getting pretty good.”

“I’ll clear my Saturdays,” he says. “I was kidding,” I say. He grins. “Not me.”

He scoffs. “It’s on the calendar. It might as well be etched into the annals of history.”

His eyes flash back to mine, and he points for good measure, which really accentuates the Popeye-style anchor tattoo on his bicep. “Tomorrow. One o’clock. Don’t be late.”

I recognize the stamp on it as being from Fika, the shop I stopped in to on my way to work yesterday.

He taps his temple, like he’s nailing the information to his head.

“Yeah, right,” he says, “she thought I was hot.”

“They all thought I was hot,” he says. “Women of a certain age love me.”

“You take care of our boy,” Lenore tells me sternly, but with a wink. “He’s one of the good ones.”

“And if I needed to take out a hit on someone,” I say. “Gill from MEATLOCKER,” he answers, not missing a beat.

“The cat’s out,” he says.

“Is this some kind of kink for you?” I say. A blush hits the tops of his cheekbones, the only part not hidden by his werewolf beard. “I just want to know if you think they’re as good as I do.”

we hold eye contact and pop the cherries in our mouths at the same second.

“I don’t think you should leave because I don’t want you to leave. And my happiness is very important.

“Heavenly,” I say. He is so obviously pleased that I can’t help but feel a crush of affection for him.

Like a reminder that he was never that invested in whether I was happy here, whether I fell in love with this place.

“You okay?” Miles asks, right as I pitch myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck.

A half-amused, half-scandalized smile overtakes his face. “Okay.”

he grips my hip in one hand, my jaw in the other, and kisses me for real.

his hand slides around to the small of my back, fisting into my shirt. His other moves into my hair as he pulls me tight against him, my spine curving up until we’re flush with each other.

he turns us one hundred and eighty degrees, backing me into the side of the driver’s seat, settling his hips in against mine.

“He was just being shitty,” I repeat. “And it made me mad. And that’s why…”

press my palms against his trapezius muscles, trying to release the tension from them. His thumbs move back and forth on the sides of my wrists, restless. I get the sense he’s trying to soothe and distract himself.

He smiles, just a bit. “You are not.”

The corner of his mouth curls. “Sounds like a blast.”

His hands slide down my arms to wrap across my back.