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When customers are nice, I’m a ray of sunshine, but when they’re the kind who talks on their phone instead of ordering or the kind who waits in line for twenty minutes only to get to the counter and not know what they want…the storm clouds roll in.
lol I feel this so much
“Your intense dedication makes us a lot of money, but it also makes me worry for you.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of her. She puts a hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t quell the sound. I feel the eyes of the other patrons on us, but I can’t even care because she laughed. At my expense, but still.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, but you can be certain that I’ll be able to control myself. I’m a professional, and you’re not my type anyway,” she says, looking at me like she’s unimpressed with what she sees. “Tall, handsome, athletic men aren’t your type?” I ask. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms with a smirk. “They are.” I bite back a smile. I walked into that one.
“You shouldn’t have to make time for love, honey. Love comes first, and you make time for everything else.”
“Yes ma’am,” I say dutifully because you don’t contradict the woman who gives you pie.
He leans in. My breath catches at his sudden proximity. “Because I’m going to change your mind.”
“How do you know how many bedrooms I have? I thought you said I wouldn’t have to worry about you.” She gives me a look. “It was a lucky guess. Do you actually have ten bedrooms? That’s obnoxious.”
“Just so you know, I do have cameras around the property. In case you really are a stalker.” She wrinkles her nose. “Now I’m worried about you.” “There’s nothing to worry about. They’re all outside.” She gives me a look that says my words aren’t helping.
“Why do I get the feeling that having you around is going to make things a lot more interesting?” “Because you’re not as dumb as your chosen career suggests?” she quips as we start down the hall.
His trainer hands him a towel and he uses it to dry the sweat on his chest. I track the movement with my eyes. “Ellie?” I tense. My face heats as I drag my eyes up to meet Miles’ gaze once more. “Is that all you needed?” There’s something in his voice that tells me I’m as caught as I feel.
My face is so warm Crayola is going to name a new shade after me. Ellie’s blush, a bright, unmistakable red.
“Calling the redhead Red,” she says, her tone dry. “How original.” “It’s not because of your hair,” I reply with a smirk. Her blush deepens a shade, but her voice is level when she speaks again.
He reaches to type the location into the GPS, and his toned, tan forearm comes into view. I avert my eyes, feeling my face heat. He turns the AC on high and the scent of sandalwood and citrus fills the car. A scent that wasn’t here until he was, so I know it’s him. His arm brushes mine when he sits back. My heart stutters at the sudden contact. This is going to be a long day.
“As long as you don’t expect me to like golf, I think we can try being friends.” I chuckle. “I can’t wait for the day when you have to admit you like golf. It’s going to be glorious.”
Jason: Hey Shaw, what should I do if a woman hates me like Sutton hated you? I raise my eyebrows at the first text then keep scrolling. Shaw: Marry her? That’s what I’m doing. I chuckle at his response.
I slide my phone into my pocket, look up, and freeze. Ellie is walking toward me surrounded by an aura of golden sun. She’s wearing a black dress that hits a little above her knees, her legs lengthened by the matching black heels on her feet. My mouth goes dry the closer she gets. Her hair is still up, and she’s traded her braided jewelry for a simple pearl necklace. She’s painted her lips a berry color, and her brown eyes are framed by gold shimmer that sparkles in the light each time she blinks.
I stay staring for a moment, unable to comprehend her question while she looks like this.
I say the first thing that comes to mind–well, not the first thing. Because my first thought involved setting her on the hood of my car and kissing the berry lipstick off her mouth.
The sincere concern in her voice warms my chest. Though she could just be concerned for her safety. I would be too if I were her.
I turn my head to check on Ellie, only to find her asleep. The sight of her so peaceful beneath my jacket makes me smile. And then frown. Because why am I smiling?
“You threatened to murder him, that doesn’t read as scared to me.” “I get stabby when I’m scared,”
“Life is more than a game, Miles. I won’t be a hockey player forever, but I will be her husband. I’m investing in what matters most.”
“Here it is,” I say, holding out the fork. “The perfect bite.” I expect her to take the fork from me, or even roll her eyes and tell me my idea isn’t all that special. What I don’t expect is for her to lean down, mouth open, and eat off the fork I’m holding. I’m so surprised I almost drop it.
A tiny dot of whipped cream is on her bottom lip. I swallow and contemplate what I did wrong to deserve this level of torture.
“Oh.” She laughs a little, then swipes at her bottom lip with her thumb and licks it. “Better?” she asks. Worse. So. Much. Worse.
He walks down my porch, then looks over his shoulder. “You look good like this, Red.” My heart stutters in my chest. “You look happy.”
I try–and fail–to ignore how good it feels to have her in my arms despite the circumstances. It’s something that isn’t going to leave my memory for a long time. Because holding Ellie feels like stepping onto the beach, like home.
Everything smells like him. When I lean back onto the pillows I feel like I’m laying on a Miles-scented cloud. The fresh out of the shower scent is going to haunt me for days.
“I didn’t know you liked this,” I say, lifting the bottle so he knows what I’m referencing. His concerned look melts into a sheepish one. “I don’t, but I know you do.” He grabs the washcloth off the table, fiddling with it. “You asked for it at the restaurant in Alamanda, and seemed disappointed when they didn’t have any.”
awww
“Did you hit your head too? That insult was rough.” “Hey!” I poke his thigh with my good foot. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m hurt.” He squeezes my foot. “I’m sorry, you can keep poorly insulting me. I won’t say anything next time.”
It’s probably not normal boss behavior to bridal carry your assistant and give her the equivalent of a sponge bath
“I don’t need to be carried again.” She hands me the keys. “You can hop around like a stubborn flamingo once I’m gone, but until then, I’m carrying you.”
Because you may think that you’re saving her from pain, but you’re not. This is going to turn out worse than the story you’ve made up to justify being scared.”
But the cherry on top is the iced coffee in his hand, one with enough caramel drizzle that I can see it from across the room. It’s like he stepped out of a dream, or a factory where they make perfect boyfriends from scratch. Every woman knows that a man is exponentially hotter when he’s bringing you coffee.
So to have Miles in my space is strange. It’s like he’s waltzed into a physical representation of my heart.
“You have a practice round tomorrow, right?” “I do, why? Do you need something? I can move my tee time.” I’m going to turn into a puddle if he keeps acting this way. Why does he have to be so considerate? It’s making it very hard to keep my composure.
“Do you want me to say something?” She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. Then she’d only be nice to me because you said so. I’d rather she just be mean.” “Interesting perspective, but okay.
“First, you need to adjust your grip,” he says against my ear. His hands maneuver mine into the correct position. I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“For sharing what you love with me.” He hugs me tighter. There’s a feeling of rightness that overcomes me. It’s like when I’m in my garden, or on the beach with my toes in the water. Something just clicks and I know down to my marrow that this is good.
but I guess this is what happens when you care for a stubborn man. You make up stories to get him to take care of his mental health.
I’m collecting details like shells in a bucket, and each time I get one all I can think is more. I want to know more. I want more of her.
I share DNA with that man. The very thought makes me nauseous. My mother isn’t a saint, but I wish I would have gotten her blonde hair and brown eyes instead. I hate that I look like him. I hate that I share his last name. I’m ashamed to be related to him.
“Breathe,” he repeats his advice. I ignore him and start walking to where my ball landed–in a bunker. A few deep breaths aren’t going to fix anything. Because the very air reminds me of Ellie.
“If you just listened instead of throwing this attitude at me–” “If you wouldn’t have broken my heart maybe I wouldn’t have an attitude.” “I broke mine too!”
I take another step toward him, glaring. I’m not going to hit him, but judging by the look in his eyes, he doesn’t know that.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to deny me the pleasure of spoiling you when I’ve been looking forward to it for some time now.”
“You’re very cocky, you know that?” “Only when it comes to things I’m sure of. And I’m sure that we love each other. That we belong together.” He tips my chin up and looks meaningfully into my eyes. “I’m sure of you. You’ve been taking care of everyone else and working hard for years now. It’s time for you to chase after your own dreams.”
