22. Ellie Hart
A knock sounds at the door and my heart jumps to my throat. I roll my head to the right on the arm of the couch to look out the window next to my door. The black SUV Miles rented for Sutton and Shaw’s visit is in my driveway. I can’t believe he really came.
“Come in!” I call out, my voice cracking a little.
Miles walks inside and I have to clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open at the sight of him. He’s in gray joggers that hug his legs, and a black t-shirt that’s just fitted enough to show off the muscles he works so hard for. 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.
“Are you trying to get murdered?”
I blink at him, unsure how to respond. “What?”
He huffs, yes huffs at me, then comes over to where I flopped on the couch earlier.
“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” he says, setting down my coffee and the paper bag on the table that is just out of reach because of how I’m laying. I eye the cup longingly.
“I unlocked it when you said you were on your way.”
He starts unpacking the paper bag as he talks. “That was forty-five minutes ago. Anything could have happened.” My mouth waters when I see what looks to be breakfast burritos, alongside giant croissants and a cheese danish the size of my head. It’s glorious and I want to eat every single bite. I haven’t had anything since my s’more last night.
“It was closer to thirty-five. You drive really fast.”
I push myself to sit up. If he won’t give me the food I’ll have to get it myself. But–while he’s still lecturing me–he helps me resituate, placing more throw pillows behind my back.
“Either way, you’re alone and injured, something could have happened.” He hands me a foil-wrapped burrito and I smile. Not at him–he’s being ridiculous right now–the burrito. It’s warm and smells delicious.
“Nothing happened, and we live in Coastal Cove. Nothing ever happens here.” I take a bite and almost groan.
“That’s what they say at the start of every small town true crime documentary.”
I hold out my hand and he looks at it for a second. “Coffee,” I tell him. “It’s going to get watered down.”
“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” He crosses his arms.
“I would listen better if you gave me coffee.” I smile sweetly at him.
His lip twitches. “Maybe I didn’t bring you any coffee because of all the sass you gave me over text.”
“You said you can’t have a tone over text, so how do you know I was being sassy?” Like he’s unable to hold it back any longer, a small smile stretches his lips. “Besides, I know that coffee isn’t yours. You don’t drink anything that tastes good.” I take another bite of my burrito.
“I’m a changed man. I started getting caramel iced lattes with extra drizzle.”
“Really?” I raise a brow and call his bluff. “Then drink it.”
“Fine, I will.” He picks it up and surprises me by taking a sip. What doesn’t surprise me is the way his face screws up into an exaggerated grimace. My head falls back on the arm rest as I laugh.
“Was proving your point worth it?” I ask him.
“No, not at all.” He hands me the coffee and I laugh some more.
He grabs the other burrito and sits at the end of the couch next to my feet. The sight of him in my living room, on my couch makes my stomach fill with butterflies. I thought him bringing me home was bad enough, but now he’s here in my sanctuary. Everything in here I bought because I loved it. When I moved, I told myself I’d rather sit on the floor than buy a piece of furniture I didn’t like. I slept on a mattress on the floor for a month before I found a bedframe at Buried Treasures that I loved and could afford.
So to have Miles in my space is strange. It’s like he’s waltzed into a physical representation of my heart. My greatest passions–the beach and flowers–are on display and not in a casual way either. I’ve never been a halfway sort of girl. So if he didn’t like some of it, it would be as if he didn’t like a part of me. I simultaneously want to ask him what he thinks and to ask him to leave.
It occurs to me that I haven’t thanked him for bringing all of this over. We’ve just been eating together in silence while I panicked over him existing in the same space as me.
“Thank you,” I say after I swallow a bite. “I was starving, and I don’t even own a coffee maker because I go to Coastal Coffee every morning. I would have been miserable.”
“It was either this or find you toppled over on the side of the road from hitting a pothole with your borrowed walker.” He smirks and I roll my eyes.
“I wasn’t actually planning on walking there.” I take another sip of my delicious coffee. “I could barely get a shower this morning, much less walk two blocks, even with Martha’s walker.” I take the last bite of my burrito.
“You showered?” he asks.
My face heats and it takes incredible effort not to choke on the bite I just took.
“Um–yes?” I wheeze out.
“You’re still wearing my sweatshirt,” he points out. My face flames. I might have put it back on after my shower because it smelled like him and I wanted to feel like I was still in his arms. But that would sound weird and probably get me fired for being one of those stalker assistants.
“It’s laundry day and I can’t carry the basket,” I say lamely. He smirks as if he knows how this is affecting me.
“Makes sense.”
He leans forward and reaches a long arm to grab one of the croissants. He hands me the cheese danish. Either he’s a mind reader or my face gives away more than I thought, because that’s the one I wanted the most.
“Thanks,” I say as I tear off a piece. “I’ll wash the sweatshirt and give it back to you once I’m back to normal.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t keep it,” I say and he looks at me, eyes greener than the sweatshirt I have on meet mine.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s yours. And probably expensive.”
“You think everything I own is expensive.”
“Because it is.”
He shoots me an exasperated look. “Red, keep the sweatshirt. I have plenty of them, and it looks better on you than it does on me.”
I look down and pretend to pick at my danish in order to hide my smile. “Okay, I’ll keep it.”
“Good.”
Silence falls over us. The only sound is the ice clinking in my coffee. The same coffee that his lips touched a few minutes ago. I’m not sure what to say or do right now. Our relationship has been changing so fast that my mind–and heart for that matter–can’t keep up. I keep trying to remind myself that Miles doesn’t want a relationship with me, but then the reckless romantic in me whispers then why is he here? Why is he carrying you to bed and buying you coffee?
I can’t answer those questions. I can only jump to conclusions. And I’ve been jumping the way kids jump waves at the beach. If being delusional was a sport, I’d be smiling on the podium with my gold medal.
“So, you like flowers,” Miles breaks the silence.
My heart pumps faster in my chest. A part of my dream is on display here and I can’t deny that it would hurt if he didn’t like it. I haven’t met anyone who despises flowers, but I’ve met a few who think my dream of owning a flower shop is childish. Though as much as I’ve trashed golf, it wouldn’t be fair of me to get discouraged about him not understanding my ambitions.
“I love them,” I say quietly. I train my eyes on the arrangement on my coffee table. “Since you’ve done so much for me lately, I suppose I can give away one of my secrets.”
He shifts so his body is angled toward me. I feel the weight of his gaze even though I can only see him in my peripheral vision.
“My dream is to open up a flower shop on Wave Way. A place where people can come in and get bouquets for their loved ones or just as a memento of their stay here. I’d grow a lot of the flowers and make all the arrangements myself.”
“That’s what you’re saving for,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s studying me. “You started working for me to save for that?”
I nod. “It might seem silly–”
He cuts me off. “It’s not at all. I think it’s a great idea. Coastal Cove could use a place like that. And you’re obviously great at it.” He gestures around the room. Warmth swells in my chest. I feel like I’ve had one too many sangrias at Hank’s. I can’t help but smile.
“You really think so?”
He returns my smile. “Of course. You’ll probably have to hire someone to work the counter though. Your people skills are severely lacking.”
I gape and throw my balled-up tinfoil at him. He catches it and throws it in the paper bag with ease. Unfair.
“Seriously though, Red, you would be an amazing florist and business owner. You’re organized and creative. I’ll be sad to lose you as my assistant when the day comes, but I know you’ll be successful.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
I take a bite of my Danish with a smile on my face. I don’t know why, but hearing Miles say he believes I could be successful makes me feel like I’m floating on a cloud of happiness. I sneak a glance at him. He’s eating a butter croissant, looking perfectly at home here on my couch. It’s a sight I wouldn’t mind getting used to.
I look down at his sweatshirt as I brush off the crumbs from the pastry. A thought pokes at my heart. One that I don’t like, but I know is right. Miles has been so supportive of me, while I haven’t even tried to like golf. It’s probably a hopeless cause, but as much as he loves it, I should probably at least try to understand what’s so great about it.
“Hey, Miles?”
“Yeah, Red?” The husky way he says my nickname makes heat pool in my abdomen.
“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.
“No, I was just wondering if I could come with you. I can ride in the golf cart, so I won’t be on my ankle.”
“You…” He blinks and looks at me like I just grew another head. “You want to come watch me play golf?”
I huff. “Don’t act so surprised. I can want to watch golf.”
“Yeah if you have a fever, or the real Ellie was abducted by aliens and you’re her clone.”
Frustration edges out all the fuzzy feelings I had for him moments ago. He acts like I can’t change my mind. Plus, he called me Ellie, when he’s been referring to me as Red. It’s an irrational thing to be upset about, but I am nonetheless.
“I’m not sick or a clone. I just want to see what all the fuss is about. I’m your assistant, I should know.”
“I agree,” he says, but he’s still eyeing me like I’m some kind of wild animal he needs to be cautious of. “It’s just you didn’t seem concerned with this until now.”
I toy with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, feeling self-conscious. How do I tell him I want to know what he loves because I care about him without scaring him off?
“I just want to know what’s going on before I get to the U.S. Open and look dumb for not knowing the rules.”
A small smile turns up the corners of his full lips. He’s looking at me like he sees right through me and my hollow reason. But he doesn’t seem scared, so that’s good.
“All right, Red. You can come golfing with me tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.”
I can’t believe I just willingly made plans that involve golf. Naomi was right. I have it bad.