My Favorite Bad Decision (The Favorites, #1)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

I’ve never seen more beautiful hair in my life, but that’s always how it was with Kit—some girls had one amazing feature, one amazing quality, but she possessed all of them. The loveliest hair, the poutiest lips, the bluest eyes, the best laugh, the smartest comebacks. Her mother and Maren were both famed for their looks, but she somehow made them look plain when she entered the room.

I also know she couldn’t be in love with Blake Hall, because he doesn’t deserve for her to be in love with him.

“This is actually my favorite show,” I admit. He glances at me again. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” “Why? Because the main character is sort of mean and cynical?” “No, Kitten,” he says with a soft smile, “because it’s my favorite show too.”

“It’ll be fine,” he mouths, his gaze holding mine. I’m not going to let you get hurt is what that gaze says, and I believe him.

“I’m not turning into Gerald, and I don’t want a buffet of women. I just want to find one I can’t wait to get home to.”

Blake and I trade. If one of us gets something, the other gives something. Miller is different. Miller doesn’t want to take a thing from me. He just wants to provide. He wants to comfort me when I’m sad, feed me chocolate to make me smile, share his phone so that I’m entertained, stay by my side so I don’t fall.

He wanted to make sure someone had my back. He wanted to be the person who had it. And he was. It says more than a thousand of Blake’s proclamations. Because Blake would never have done what Miller did. And I wouldn’t have wanted him to.

This is the happiest I’ve felt since I left Tanzania. I’m not going to think too hard about the common denominator in both.

“Unbelievable,” I whisper. “Yeah,” he says, but he’s only looking at me. As if I’m the thing that’s wondrous to him here and not the view, as if I matter more than everything else combined.

I’ve gotten accustomed to shirtless Starfish Cay Miller, but I love Winter New York Miller just as much. I’m pretty sure I’d love all the versions: On The Way to Work Miller, Off To The Gym Miller, Black Tie for a Wedding Miller.

“This isn’t done, Kit,” he whispers as he releases me. “Get through whatever is going on up there and then come back to me because this isn’t done. I can’t fucking stand for it to end here.”

I don’t need accolades. I just need Miller saying ‘You looked beautiful there, and you look beautiful here.’

I want this to work out with her in a way I can’t even describe. I want to follow her across the world, and I’d give up every fucking thing I have to make it happen.

“I’ve been in love with you for a decade. You really think I wouldn’t wait two more weeks?”

“I just want to grow old with you, Kit Fischer,” I tell her. “And I’m going to follow you for as long as you let me.”