4th of July

When Vera stepped into the dining hall, she was surprised to see it occupied now.

Most times, the dining hall wouldn’t see many guests unless it was around dinnertime—but the Hernandez family were trading conversation with members of the large congress family at the big table, eating their lunches while their children ran amok outside, swimming in the pool and keeping themselves occupied away from the adults. Davies was serving a few drinks to a couple of guests at the bar, and Jorge was chatting and laughing with the father and two of the uncles of the huge congress family, Rosa sitting at the end of the table with the wife, the ladies entertaining their own conversation.

Vera stood at the end of the bar, leaning on it and sighing. She watched Jorge from afar, waiting patiently until she’d have the chance to speak with him.

After what felt like hours, Jorge finally waltzed away from the big table, heading toward the bar. He smirked when he spotted Vera, giving her a wave as he approached.

“Hey, um… can we talk?” Vera asked him.

“Yeah… sure,” Jorge agreed. “What’s on your mind?”

Vera took in a deep breath, glimpsing around and seeing that nobody in the room was very close to them. So, she inhaled again, hushed her tone, and told him everything that she’d just heard from Max in the Underground.

When she finished, Jorge’s charismatic smile had vanished without a trace. He spent several seconds merely glaring down, frowning deeply at the giant lush rug beneath their feet.

“Well… thanks for telling me,” Jorge mumbled with a sigh. “I’m gonna have to get him in to see a doctor somewhere. Gonna have to go and talk to him, too… s’cuse me…”

He moved past her, striding out of the room with a troubled expression.

Vera watched him go, feeling for the man, but she also felt a touch of relief. Max would be helped by his parents somehow now, and beyond that, there wasn’t much else she could do.

Just when she started toward the exit, the bartender seized her attention.

“Hey, hey—Vera,” Davies called out. “You coming on the 4th?”

Vera whirled around and gave him a questioning look. “What, here?”

“Yeah,” Davies nodded. “There’s a big huge dinner party in here every 4th of July… and you haven’t been to any of the dinners here yet. That one would be the best one to make your first.”

Vera tilted her head, squinting interestingly at him and sauntering forward. “And… exactly how elegant is this little get-together? Because there are certain levels of ‘elegant’ that I honestly can’t pull off.”

Davies let out a laugh. “Well… first of all, you’re the owner, so you can dress however you damn well please. Secondly… it’s about as elegant as everything usually is here. You can dress up or dress down however much you want. It’s not like there’s a dress code or anything. I mean, it always has that elegant sort of feel to it, but you can still just do whatever.”

“4th of July isn’t elegant,” Vera snickered. “It’s anything but that where I come from.”

“So… you’re not gonna be happy unless it’s all fireworks and screaming drunk rednecks.”

“Well… that, and waging firework wars out in the middle of the woods somewhere. Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ. People do that?”

“Oh yeah. People would get hammered and go off shooting fireworks at each other in rural Tennessee. What, is that not normal?”

Davies paused and laughed, shaking his head down at the counter. “Um. No.”

“Well… that’s boring,” Vera snickered. “Do they do fireworks here at all?”

“Oh, yeah, they do. Miles sets it up over the hillside out front, and it makes a cool show. It’s not gonna be like what you’re used to… but the 4th is still pretty cool here.”

“Huh.” Vera glanced down, flashing a smile. “I’m gonna have to see what I can do about dressing for the occasion…”

“Don’t stress,” Davies cackled. “You can look however you want.”

“Yeah, but… I wanna look decent , at least,” Vera replied. “I’m kinda excited to see fireworks here, too. I love fireworks so much…”

“Do you?” Miles’s voice came from behind her, nearly making her jump.

Vera wheeled around, seeing Miles standing just beside her, wearing his usual flattened expression with a hint of a half-smile on.

“Jesus Christ—where’d you come from?” she chided.

“Blame my parents, Madame,” Miles replied smoothly, turning to Davies. “By the by, I do have to run into town to collect a few more things I need for the fireworks display, so I may not be around to help you start decorating in here tomorrow. At least not for the full day.”

“Well… that’s fine,” Davies shrugged. “It’s just gonna be me climbing up a ten-foot ladder without having anyone there to hold it still for me. I don’t see how that could go wrong.”

“Yes… your sarcasm is duly noted, and swiftly dismissed,” Miles told him, his half-smile seeming to grow. “I believe you can handle hanging lights and bunting up all by yourself. You’re a big boy.”

“Oh… I can hang stuff just fine,” Davies quipped in response. “It’s the falling down and snapping my neck in half that I don’t wanna deal with, man.”

“Well, then… if I might offer some advice… perhaps try to not do that,” Miles told him curtly.

Davies smiled caustically, brandishing a middle finger at him. “Yeah—good luck setting everything up, by the way. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow and the next day, so you’re not gonna have it easy either.”

“Well, this may surprise you to learn… but I have actually been in the rain before,” Miles stated. “I’ve managed the 4th of July display here for many years, and I have a protocol for every occasion. You, however, don’t even have a protocol for a ladder. So… I daresay… I win.”

“Yeah, okay, you win,” Davies admitted, shaking his head and laughing as he began to wipe down the surface of the bar. “I can’t even argue with that…”

Vera and Miles chuckled, turning and strolling out of the dining hall.

When they reached the hallway, Vera pocketed her hands, thinking everything over for a moment as they walked.

“I’m gonna have to go into town, too,” she mumbled.

Miles glimpsed over at her. “What for?”

“For an outfit,” Vera smirked. “It’s gonna be the first get-together that I ever actually attend here… so I wanna look at least halfway decent. I think this is gonna be fun.”

“Fun,” Miles muttered. “Well… sure, it’ll be fun, but do try to indulge me in a favor, and try not to look too nice. There are a few single men here who might like to get you under their thumb, and I’d hate to have to beat any of them over the head.”

Vera laughed. “No way.”

“Miss Nightingale… you’re young, attractive, and frankly well-off,” Miles told her. “Single men would see you as a prize to catch. And I don’t trust them to strive for that prize for any reasons that aren’t selfish ones.”

“Okay… first of all, I’ve dealt with that before, and super pushy guys like that tend to back off when they’re at the end of a gun or a tazer,” Vera said. “And, second of all… I’m not worried about anything with you here.”

Miles spared her a brief glance again, smirking and saying nothing.

Vera smiled as well, thinking of Max for a moment, but she decided not to bring it up to Miles. She’d already told Jorge everything, and that was the most she could do, so she saw no reason to dwell any further on it for now.

As the 4th crept near, and as guests continued to fill the Nightingale, a sense of exigency seemed to fill the air of the resort, as everyone was looking forward to the celebration, and several of them were preparing for it.

Vera leaped into her van and drove away from the Nightingale for the first time since her arrival, reaching the nearest town and shopping from shop to shop until she found exactly what she wanted to wear.

Miles left the Nightingale for similar reasons, gathering what he needed for the fireworks display—and they both returned to the resort just before the heavy rainfall came.

Throughout the evening of the 2nd, and throughout the entire day of the 3rd, a pummeling rainfall fell upon the resort almost nonstop, complete with thunder, lightning, and the occasional flickering of lights inside the Nightingale, though the power never went out altogether. A few of the guests spent their lunches and dinners discussing the weather, worrying that the rain might ruin the fireworks display, but Miles and Davies seemed certain that the rain would stop in time for the show.

In between her usual routines—doing whatever paperwork that needed to be done in the office, helping whatever employees needed assistance with their tasks, and keeping Wilson a bit of company in the late mornings—Vera also managed to assist Davies in decorating the dining hall, holding his wobbly ladder still for him while he strung up hanging orb lights and red-white-and blue bunting along the tops of each wall. She expected Miles to arrive and help them at some point, but he seemed strangely absent all evening long.

Vera collected her dinner from the dining hall—as well as a plate for Miles—then rode the elevator back to the top floor. She peeked into the office, seeing that it was empty, then entered her room and nudged the door shut, setting the tray down on her nightstand before powering the TV on.

She sat on the edge of her bed and watched a sitcom for about twenty minutes before she thought to check her phone, though she didn’t have any missed calls or texts. Miles rarely ever contacted her by phone, anyway, so she hadn’t expected to see anything from him.

Sighing, Vera lowered the phone and glanced to the side, observing the world through her sliding glass door, the constant downpour with interspersed lightning still as persistent as ever outside.

Honestly, she enjoyed storms, but she felt a touch of worry now…

Knock, knock, knock.

Vera turned and eyed her door. “Yeah?”

“Madame,” Miles called from the other side, his voice sounding a bit throatier than usual. “Have you already gotten your dinner, or do I need to get it for you?”

“I got it,” Vera affirmed, now relieved. “And I got yours, too. Come in here.”

Miles hesitated for a moment. “I’m not sure I should.”

Vera made a face at the door. “Why?”

“Soaked to the bone, Madame,” Miles told her, then paused and cleared his throat.

“Oh… what the hell,” Vera uttered, standing and marching over to the door, then pulling it swiftly open.

Miles stood there, reeling slightly back, his skin shiny and his hairs matted down with rainwater, his brown suit and overcoat all dark and drenched, the ends of his sleeves still dripping.

Vera shot him a baffled look. “What have you been doing …?”

“Working,” Miles mumbled. “Outside…”

“Yeah. Okay. Why?” Vera barked.

“To set up the fireworks, Madame,” Miles told her. “It takes a bit longer when the rain is—”

“You had to do that right now ?” Vera griped, ogling him bizarrely and motioning back to her sliding glass door. “In the storm ?”

“To keep in line with my schedule… yes,” Miles affirmed, stopping to clear his throat again. “Tarps, canopies, and stone platforms will keep the fireworks safe from the rainwater… but it had to be done tonight, or I’d have little time to see to my tasks tomorrow.”

“You set up a—you put up a bunch of—okay.” Vera paused, raising her hands and narrowing her eyes pensively at him. “Okay. Okay—when you set up a canopy, especially when there’s a bunch of wind or something, you have to nail it down. You have to do a bunch of stuff to fix that stuff down and keep it there, and that takes time to do. So—what—you’ve been working out in the rain for like an hour ?”

“Three hours and thirty-eight minutes, actually…”

“ What …?”

“Well… I had to set up several of them.”

Vera gaped at him incredulously, scoffing and yanking him into the room.

Miles blinked and raised his brows, turning to face her just when she slammed the door.

“You… just… y’know,” Vera grumbled, slapping her hands to his chest and shaking her head at him. “Y’know… when I used to work at flea markets… there’s a reason I never set up when it rained. I tried it before. And you know what happened?”

Miles stared at her, wordless, gently shaking his head.

“I had to set up a canopy in the rain—and then I got sicker than hell,” Vera stated, jabbing a finger into him. “That’s why you don’t do that, smart one.”

“Oh… please, Madame,” Miles muttered, flashing his signature half-smile. “I’ve done that at least four times. Well… five now.”

Vera dropped her arm by her side, staring at him incredibly again. “What… and my dad just let you do that?”

“Your father couldn’t have cared less what I do,” Miles replied. “So long as I did what he needed of me, everything else was… rather… unimportant to him. I could do what I pleased… in the rain and all.”

He stopped and cleared his throat once more.

Vera glared at him, her teeth beginning to grind. “Yeah… okay… but I don’t want you to do that. See, you’re sick already. I can tell you are.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Miles said knowingly, smirking wider now.

Vera gave him another sharp glare. “It doesn’t matter …?”

“No. Doesn’t matter,” Miles confirmed. “The fireworks display simply couldn’t be neglected this year. And… I’m rather certain you’ll enjoy it.”

Vera stared at him, suddenly at a loss for words. What he just said, and the look in his eye now—suddenly, she felt certain that part of the reason he’d worked for so long in a violent storm was to please her.

“Oh… you’re so stupid,” she exhaled, releasing a faint little laugh. “You’re so stupid… don’t do that. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Miles said, his smile growing even more. “You love fireworks. So… yes… there had to be fireworks. Fireworks aplenty.”

“Oh my God… sit down,” Vera ordered, pushing him over to the bed and clasping his overcoat tight, then peeling it off his shoulders. “And take that off.”

Miles sat on the edge of the bed, shedding his overcoat fully. Vera took the coat, tossed it carelessly at the threshold of her bathroom, and headed for the exit.

“Stay,” Vera demanded, jabbing a finger at him and pulling her door open. “I’ll be right back with some clean dry clothes.”

Miles squinted at her. “Are you going in my room—?”

“Yes—shush,” Vera retorted, still aiming her finger fixedly at him. “Stay.”

Then, she marched out of the room and vanished down the hall.

Miles stared after her, hearing her footsteps slowly fade away.

He choked out a laugh, then coughed a few times, shaking his head and sighing heavily with a sense of contentment, still wearing his smile. He looked directly ahead at the TV, where the sitcom Vera had been watching was paused, then gazed downward, feeling more at ease than he ever usually did here.

In fact, many things about his usual life here were beginning to feel different now.

Miles Williams had a plethora of unique and important jobs here in the Nightingale, and many of them involved being a step ahead of all the things transpiring around him, of maintaining the resort and managing even its worst problems, usually entirely in secret. Nobody was ever the wiser, and nobody ever knew all that he did. No one was ever a step ahead of him, and no one ever expressed the same amount of effort on his behalf as he did for others.

But this—this was the first time anyone ever had.

Vera Nightingale certainly gave him a run for his money—and that was no easy feat at all.

Miles wore a calmer, more peaceful smile than usual now, releasing a contented cloud of breath. Then, his gaze wandered to the side, landing on his wet lump of an overcoat, lying in the doorway of the bathroom in the corner.

Miles stared, his expression darkening, his eyes lost in the bathroom now.

The bathroom door was open, and the light was powered off, but he wasn’t able to see the tub, the curtain, the sink, or the toilet. In fact, he could barely see anything in the room past the overcoat lying at the threshold.

Miles’s eyes narrowed at the dark bathroom, and he gently turned, staring at the lamp on the nightstand, which was turned on.

Then, he glared at the bathroom again, the room entirely dark and black, none of the nearby lamplight illuminating any part of it at all.

He took a deep breath, feeling a slow, festering dread begin to grow in the pit of his stomach.

The butler swiftly reached his feet, making his way to the door and peeking down the hall. Far down the hallway, past the lit sconces, he was just able to see his own room’s door open, where Vera was presumably still searching around inside.

So, he slinked down the hall, every step as silent as a shadow, and he stopped at the doors of the main office, turning the knobs very slowly before inching them open. He speed-walked across the office, collected his basher from the desk, and emerged in the hallway again, closing the double-doors as silently as possible before stealthily slipping back into Vera’s room.

Vera strolled out of the butler’s room seconds later, pulling his door shut and heading back down the hall, some of his clothes draped over her arm. When she entered her room again, Miles sat on the edge of the bed—basher tucked close to his leg—looking as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“Here,” Vera said, handing his clothes off to him. “Go get dressed, and we’ll eat.”

Miles slowly stood, glimpsing over at the pitch-black bathroom. Then, he met her eyes and gave her a smirk.

“Gladly, Madame.”

Miles spun on his heel, swiftly slid the basher off the bed, and walked off to the bathroom, vanishing into the thick darkness and pulling the door shut behind him.

Vera was standing in front of the TV, not noticing that anything was amiss, aiming the remote at it and navigating back to Neftlix, as the two of them always watched stand-up comedy specials whenever they shared a meal together.

By the time she landed on a new special that they hadn’t yet watched, Miles was finishing up in the bathroom, unlocking the door and stepping out again.

Vera plopped down on the bed and scooted back, smiling at him and patting the spot beside her.

Miles emerged, now wearing a dark button-up and pants to match, flipping the bathroom lights off. He walked out—leaving the basher propped against the corner of the bathroom—and sat on the bed next to her.

“We haven’t watched this Chappelle one yet,” Vera grinned, nodding at the TV.

“Oh… good,” Miles replied, intertwining his fingers and planting his hands atop his knee. “More incredibly American humor for me to fully rewire my brain for.”

“Tch—you laughed at all his other ones,” Vera snickered, shaking her head and pressing play. “Don’t act like it’s all foreign to you.”

Dave Chappelle’s Closer special began to play on the screen, and Vera collected the large tray of foods from the nightstand, placing her own plate in her lap before handing the other one off to her butler.

Miles took it, glancing over and gazing into the bathroom, seeing that the lamplight from the nightstand was illuminating the room from the side now, just as it properly should.

“You have gas stoves in here…?!”

“Yes, Ma’am, we do,” Miles affirmed, giving Amy a nod. “And our chefs know quite well how to use them.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Amy scoffed, scrunching up her face at him and glancing over at the doorway of the dining hall. “My son has an intense fear of fire, and he can’t be in a place with a gas stove in it. He’s terrified of gas.”

“Well… then by all means, Ma’am… we’ll refrain from giving him a full tour of the kitchen or dousing him with propane,” Miles told her vacantly.

Amy’s face twisted up even more. She looked up and down the hallway where they stood, almost as if she expected an audience to appear to witness their conversation. When none did, she simply huffed and tossed up her hands, adjusting the strap of her white dress and giving him a disapproving scowl.

“I don’t know how you still have a job here,” Amy hissed. “The way you talk to people—”

“Ah—beg pardon,” Miles interrupted, raising a finger. “You’re the one who stopped me, and you asked me how the 4th of July dinner was being prepared. All I did was explain it to you.”

“You’re being rude to me.”

“I’m only regarding you in the same way you have me.”

The two of them continued to argue back and forth—and Vera strolled down the stairway in the corner of the lobby, turning her head and eyeing the doorway to the hallway, just able to hear their voices.

“What the hell is wrong with you? What the hell is wrong with this place ?” Amy snapped, stepping forward and glaring daggers into Miles. “How does a butler end up in charge of management? How is a butler allowed to walk around talking down to all the guests in the Nightingale? And why in God’s name should any of us have to put up with it?!”

“Well… frankly, Ma’am, you paid to be here,” Miles replied tonelessly. “If you detest the place so much, and if that hasn’t changed after all of your previous visits here, then perhaps you should’ve left your bloody checkbook in the drawer.”

“ Excuse me?”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry… you should have left Nathan’s checkbook in the drawer.”

Amy reared back and swung—slapping him hard across the face.

Miles’s head whipped to the side, his mouth hanging agape as he grasped his burning cheek.

Then—Vera moved past him with a swiftness no one in the Nightingale had yet seen of her, reeling back and smashing her open palm into Amy’s face with a loud POP.

Amy’s eyes tore wide open—and she staggered back and fell to the floor, sitting crookedly on the carpet and clasping her face, her eyes suddenly watering.

Miles raised his brows in surprise—and Vera stood just in front of him, glaring down at the Sindaco woman, blowing a strand of hair from her face as her chest rose and fell with every angry breath.

Vera looked drastically different today; her black hair was tied back in a high, spiky ponytail, a few strands left to flow over her face, with a sparkly red dress on and two glistening American flag earrings dangling from either of her ears. She grinded her teeth, her jaw twitching as she gave the woman on the floor a searing glare.

Amy returned the glare for a moment, though she couldn’t keep the tears inside, and they began to roll down her cheeks. Sniffing and choking out a sob, she jumped to her feet and hurried away, speed-walking down the hallway and vanishing around the nearest corner.

Vera and Miles were silent for a second, Miles giving her a look from behind, and Vera releasing a slow, calming breath before turning around to face him.

Miles felt—uncharacteristically—stunned to momentary speechlessness, and his eyes ventured briefly up and down her.

“You… ah,” he uttered, clearing his throat and speaking on. “You know that very well might get us sued, don’t you…?”

Vera cocked her head at him. “Don’t care.”

Miles swallowed, inhaling deeply and gnawing on his bottom lip, surveying her appearance again. “You look…”

“Well… I wanted to surprise you with this, but that didn’t happen,” Vera sighed, motioning up and down her tight red dress.

“Oh… yes it did,” Miles scoffed with a laugh.

Vera snickered, nodding sideways. “Yeah, okay, but not how I wanted…”

They both paused, and she glanced down the hall, then back.

“I kinda feel like I should just skip the dinner now,” Vera sighed.

Miles perked his brow at her. “Why?”

“Well… just… I don’t know,” Vera shrugged. “I just hauled off and slapped one of the guests. Like… a really rich well-to-do guest. People aren’t gonna want… I don’t know… I feel like they’re not gonna want me here anymore. I’m really not like these people. I don’t belong here…”

“Oh… you’re reading far too much into the pseudo-elegance of the Nightingale,” Miles told her with a smile. “Madame… all of the people here are simply people, same as you. And, beyond that… little-known secret… not a single person here likes Amy Sindaco. Employees and guests alike… no one here has ever liked her. None of them would fault you for hitting her, either.”

Vera managed a laugh, but she gazed off to the side, still not entirely convinced.

Miles observed her, making an understanding nod. “But… the dinner is set to take place after the fireworks, so you have time to decide whether or not you’d like to attend. You do whatever you see fit, Madame.”

Vera nodded, then gave him a questioning look. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly nine o’clock, Madame. Nearly time for the fireworks, actually.”

“Really? Why isn’t anybody going outside?”

“They already have. Most of them were hanging about in the dining hall, so they took the outdoor path to the front.”

“Oh… okay. Well… let’s go ahead and go out there, then.”

“No, no.” Miles smirked, raising a finger and marching past her, then beckoning her to follow. “You and I will watch from up high. It’s a far better view.”

“Really? Okay,” Vera agreed.

The two of them walked off together, stepping into the elevator and riding up to the top floor. When they arrived, they entered Vera’s room, marched across it, and opened the sliding glass door, stepping out onto her balcony and overlooking the vast endlessness of the landscape beyond the Nightingale, the night sky stretching on forever, as did the open fields and woodlands below, and as did the ocean off to the left, the area directly below them filled with crowds, chatter, and the occasional glow stick carried by the children of the families.

As the guests of the Nightingale gathered on the ground to watch the show—Vera and Miles stood high above them, leaning on the balcony and gazing into the night sky, a scene so peaceful, Vera felt as if she might as well be living in another world compared to the one she knew before.

Life in the Nightingale often made her feel such a way, as if the dangers, stresses, and strife of a poverty-stricken working life were nothing more than loose, dying memories from a distant, fading dream.

In fact—as she glimpsed over at Miles—she had to admit, she felt much the same about him now. Most times in the past, the men in her life were anything but him. They were loud, obnoxious drunks—they were lazy, unambitious hermits—they were sad, depressed souls who sought to make her feel the same—they were selfish, demanding people who cared only for their own interests—or they were a dangerous sort who’d skulk around her van at night, planning to do God knows what.

But, here stood Miles Williams, who was simply decent in a way she was beginning to think nonexistent in the world.

And, honestly, she admired many of the people she’d met here for that very same reason; Wilson was an older soul, more genuine than most people she’d ever known that were around her own age, and Sarah was just the same. Jorge was a jokester type of father, who clearly cared about his family—Davies and Connie were the fun types, quick to make others laugh—and the list went on from there.

It seemed she’d found a nicer life here, and not because it came with money, a prosperous resort, or a butler at her beck and call.

The people here were real, genuine people—as decent and as humane as could be.

“Yeah… okay,” Vera sighed, folding her arms on the balcony’s railing. “I can go to the dinner.”

Miles turned his head, his brow perched. “What changed your mind?”

Vera shrugged, smiling peacefully at the nighttime scenery. “People are just gonna be people. No matter where you are.”

Miles made a nod, gazing into the night as well. “Yes… it does one well not to dwell on things that don’t matter. Things like class differences. Especially here, where the ‘class’ is all a façade from the get-go.”

Vera breathed out a laugh. “Yeah. Just… give me a warning.”

“Regarding what?”

“The single guys who might try and come after me at the dinner party. Who are they?”

“You expect me to have a list, Madame?”

“No… but you know the people who come here a lot better than I do.”

“Oh… very well,” Miles mumbled, glancing upwards and pausing for a second to think. “There’s… Harold Reynolds, Patrick McCloud, Antonio Rodriguez, Harrison Lloyd, Samuel Knight, Larson Richards, Kenny Stevenson…”

“Jesus Christ… never mind,” Vera laughed dryly. “I don’t wanna go.”

Miles chuckled.

The two were quiet for a second, and then, Miles turned and eyed her from the side, wearing a thoughtful visage. He took in a breath, narrowing his eyes down at the crowd below, and gently fidgeted with the end of his suit jacket’s sleeve.

“I thought…” he barely spoke, then shook his head and dismissed it. “Well… never mind.”

Vera faced him, squinting at him curiously. “What?”

“No… I had an idea, but…” Miles muttered, shaking his head again.

“Tell me,” Vera urged.

Miles raised his brows, still looking down, and he cupped his hands in front of him, making a loose little shrug.

“Well… they’ll leave you alone if you have a date,” he told her, meeting her eyes again.

Vera stared, her eyes narrowing interestingly at him. Then, she flashed a smirk, raised a hand, and waved him closer with her fingers.

“Then be my date,” she said.

Miles hesitated. “I didn’t imagine that you’d want to take the help along as a date is all.”

“Oh. Oh, right, yeah… because I’m totally high-class and well-bred and all that,” Vera snickered, sliding closer and gingerly tugging his sleeve, pulling his arm closer to her. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Miles let out a laugh, stepping over to her, and she slid both of her arms around one of his, hugging it close and gently resting her head against his shoulder.

Feeling warm, content, and at peace in a way the two usually never did—they remained this way for a long while, until the magnificent fireworks show began, illuminating the sky in great bursts of brilliant colors and sizzling explosions, ending off in a fantastic finale of bellowing eruptions, all of which were red white and blue.