Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
LOXLEY
“Lox?” I heard the whisper inside my dream. It sounded far away, but also right next to me, like it was being carried by a cloud. I looked up to the sky, but the clouds were empty, floating by peacefully. “Lox?”
“Hmmm?” I grumbled in my sleep, still caught in that fuzzy space between dreamland and reality.
“Wake up, it’s time to bake my pie.” It sounded like Miles, but was he crazy enough to pop into my dream and demand apple pie? “I got fresh butter because the sticks you bought earlier melted in my jeep.”
My eyes shot open like I’d just been splashed with cold water. I blinked a couple of times and then there he was, standing over me holding a grocery bag in his hand.
“What time is it?” I groaned, my voice thick with sleep. My head was still in the clouds, but the weight of my exhaustion was pulling me back to Earth. I reached for my phone on the coffee table, trying to check the time, but quickly remembered I hadn't bothered turning it on yet.
“One in the morning,” Miles nudged me. “Time to bake.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“Does butter smell funky after seeping into the fabric of a passenger seat?” Miles raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer like it was the most pressing question of the hour.
“Yes? So you are kidding me, right?” My voice was an octave higher than usual, a mix of disbelief and pure confusion.
“No,” he shook his head with the kind of seriousness that made me laugh. “It doesn’t smell funky. But it’s gonna be a bitch to get out of the seat. Also, remind me to apologize to my brother tomorrow for… well, for everything.”
“So, no? You’re not kidding?”
“Exactly!”
I blinked, still trying to wrap my sleep-deprived brain around the conversation. First, he had the nerve to ask me to bake at one in the morning. Second, he went on about butter stains. And third, his brother? What? None of it was making sense.
I had been waiting for him to get home earlier, but he didn’t show up at his usual time, and I guess I must've dozed off without realizing it. I glanced up at the wall, where Miles had hung a rustic wooden clock just to see if I was in some weird time zone.
“Why are you home so late?” I scooted over on the couch to make room for Miles to sit down next to me.
“Well,” he began, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint, “I had to weave quite the story to explain how both my patrol car and my jeep ended up in town. My brother—of all people—stopped by the station with my keys, but the guy wouldn’t tell me where he found them.
So, before I could even ask, Linc—" he paused, waving a hand like he couldn’t quite believe it himself "—Linc interrupts and tells him he borrowed the jeep and lost the keys.”
“Linc,” I repeated, finally snapping into full focus. “He’s the guy from earlier? In the parking lot?”
“Yeah, I consider him one of my best friends,” Miles continued, “And he had no idea why he was lying for me, but he did. That led to me feeling guilty about not having a beer with him the other night, so when he offered to grill me a steak at his place, I said yes. I’d have called you, but—" he paused dramatically, "there’s no landline here, and your phone is off. Not that I have your number.”
I raised an eyebrow and made a mental note to scribble it down on the notepad in the kitchen, so that if I turned my phone on and he had another emergency pie request, he could at least call or text.
“Are you drunk?” I asked, squinting up at him, half expecting him to pull a flask from his back pocket.
“No!” He jumped up, laughing while somehow also acting like I’d accused him of something truly scandalous. “I’m still in my uniform. I don’t drink in my uniform.”
I blinked slowly, considering that logic. “Why else would you think I would wake up at one in the morning and bake you a pie?”
“Did you not hear the part about the butter stains?” He gave me a dramatic, exasperated look.
I giggled, feeling the sleepiness start to fade just a little. “I’m super sorry about that,” I teased, “But…” I stood up, stretching with a loud, exaggerated groan as I tried to shake some feeling back into my stiff legs. “I’m going to bed.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Miles laughed, his hands quick to catch my waist before I could escape.
He pulled me backward until my back was pressed against his chest, and my breath hitched at how close we were.
I could feel his heartbeat, so steady and strong, right against me.
It was one of those moments where everything seemed to settle into place, and the world outside disappeared.
But I couldn't afford to catch more feelings than the current crush I so clearly had.
Trying to distract myself, I pushed back with my hips, hoping to get some space between us. “Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?” I joked, trying to keep it light, even though the sudden closeness was making my head spin.
Miles’ breath hitched, and he growled into my ear. “Watch it,” he warned, his voice dropping lower. “I can’t be—”
Before he could finish his sentence, I burst into laughter, ducking under his arm and making a run for it. The sound of his laughter followed me, and just as I reached the hallway, I felt his hands grab around my waist again and lift me off the ground.
“What the—” I yelped, my feet leaving the floor in a flash.
Cradling me effortlessly, Miles spun toward the kitchen as if he were carrying me off to some romantic adventure, but instead, he called out, “Alexa, turn off the lights.”
The room immediately dimmed and he turned back toward the hallway, taking slow, measured steps toward my bedroom. His boots thudded softly on the floorboards, and I could almost hear him smiling.
When we got to the door, he kicked it open, making my heart skip another beat. It was the second time that day he had carried me into my room, and I realized I could absolutely get used to it. Though, unlike the first time, he set me down gently and turned my lamp on.
“Don’t play games with me,” he said, his grin still present. He pointed at me like I was naughty, but it didn’t make him seem any less silly. “Apple pie. Tomorrow. No excuses.”
I bit my lip, giving him a sly look. “What if I run again?”
“Then I’ll just catch you again.”
I smiled, curling up under the covers. The soft sound of his boots fading across the wooden floors filled the room as he headed toward the door.
I could almost hear his smile in the way his steps echoed.
And for a moment, I thought, maybe, just maybe, that not only was he helping me, but maybe I was helping him as well.
“Do you like my hair color?” I asked, my voice casual as I watched Miles stuff his face with apple pie for breakfast.
I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after he laid me in my bed.
Instead, I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning with thoughts.
I couldn’t shake the feeling of gratitude—like I’d somehow ended up exactly where I needed to be.
Maybe it was fate, I thought, though it seemed a little too cliche.
But Miles? He was something else. Something special.
The kind of guy who made writing love songs feel as easy as baking apple pie.
Not that I was in love with him, but I knew someone was eventually going to fall hard for Miles Brooks.
And when that day came, I hoped they could see in him what I saw so easily.
I hoped they felt that same instant sense of peace and trust that I felt the night he helped me on the side of the road last week.
Miles looked up at me between bites of pie. “I mean, it’s blonde,” he said, casually waving at my messy, sleep-rumpled hair. “I like blonde.”
“My natural color is more like yours,” I replied, smiling at the way he was picking through his second piece of pie. “A darker, dirtier blonde.”
He leaned back in his chair and gave me that mischievous grin. “I like dirty too.”
I shook my head, fighting off the grin that threatened to break out.
Once I had realized sleep wasn’t going to win the battle, I got up, grabbed the apples and butter off the floor, and started baking.
The rhythm of peeling and slicing apples, mixing the butter and sugar, was like second nature.
My mom’s recipe came flooding back, and before I knew it, the pie was a masterpiece.
When Miles finally walked into the kitchen, the smell of fresh pie greeted him.
So I slid a plate with a generous slice in front of him, along with a steaming cup of coffee, eager to see his reaction.
Baking the pie was like writing a song. I wanted him to love it as much as I wanted the world to love my music.
The thought of him enjoying it made my heart feel a little lighter.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I finally said, swatting at him playfully.
“You started it,” he whined, but I could hear the grin in his voice.
“Well,” I tried to get the conversation back on track before I did something crazy, “I ordered some hair color and I’m gonna try to do it myself today while you’re at work. So when you come home and see a darker blonde sitting on the couch, don’t shoot.”
“My gun or my…” he trailed off.
“Neither!” I laughed, throwing my hands up in surrender. “I’m nervous, though,” I admitted, shrugging. “I haven’t had a different hair color since they made me bleach it when I was eighteen.”
“The thing I hate more than anything,” he spoke softly, his voice turning serious, “is the fact that a group of people, probably men, told you, a grown woman, what she can and can’t do. Honestly, it's a really good thing I don’t know who these people are.”
I tried to laugh it off, but the words hit harder than I expected.
I took a deep breath, looking down at my coffee for a second, gathering myself.
Seeing him care so much meant more to me than he would ever know.
Just being around him was making me feel stronger, more confident in myself.
I didn’t have to explain who those people were, because I knew.
And I wasn’t going to let them, or anyone, hold me back anymore.
“Get dressed,” Miles said, his voice suddenly back to his usual playful self as he stood up from the table. He rinsed his plate and turned away from the sink. “You’re riding into town with me and bringing my jeep home.”
“Oh,” I teased, raising an eyebrow as I stepped closer to him, waggling my finger. “You sure do hate when those big, mean music moguls tell me what to do, but you have no problem making your own demands.”
He smirked, shaking his head like I was missing the point.
“You’re the reason the jeep spent the night at the Piggly Wiggly, Lox.
I’m only making the demands I need to make to fix the situation.
” He grabbed my finger from the air, holding it for a second with a teasing smile.
“And just for the record,” he added, “You like it.”