Eat My Dust #3
Something had changed between us. It wasn’t the same anymore.
I’d never seen him like this before—hurt.
And…I hurt him . While struggling with my own feelings, I hadn’t considered his.
And even then, I had no idea what I felt.
It was a confusing whirlwind of emotions.
I was pining after a man I’d known for barely a week.
Yet it had taken only that, a couple of incredible nights, for him to occupy ninety percent of my thoughts.
How silly was that? Had I lost my senses?
Because it certainly didn’t make any! I wanted him, and I knew I couldn’t—I shouldn’t—have him.
And now I wanted him even more. Because ‘want’ implies ‘lack’, right?
It wasn’t something I could explain. Was I having a ‘forbidden fruit’ syndrome?
Or was it because it was my mother who wanted him for me?
Or was it something more? I just couldn’t understand this phenomenon, but I tried to explain it to myself.
Somehow. Or was my mind deceiving me? No way I could have feelings for him, right?
Was that even possible? If it was, it would be utterly absurd.
Ugh, and he had always been so breezy about everything, even the date with Blake—well, okay, maybe not last night, but for the most part.
So why was he suddenly so upset and peeved?
What had he expected me to say? Did he really think I was about to fall at his feet and confess my undying love for him or something?
God, I’d known him for what, twelve days?
Though, at times, I thought…I felt I knew him better than anyone else in this house.
But it was ridiculous to think about it as anything more than just two weeks spent together under one roof.
Ugh, we needed to talk. There were too many things left unsaid, and perhaps now was the time to voice them.
***
Even though it was the end of July, the air was laced with a crisp coolness, as if October itself had crept in uninvited, soothing the earth from the unbearable heat.
It was nearly lunchtime when I, wearing a loose shirt and jeans, my hair in a messy bun, stood in the middle of the garden, inhaling this new summer fragrance.
A gust of wind stirred the dust, twirling the dry fallen leaves and tree blossoms, slowly scattering them like snow across the ground.
The sweet scent of late linden made my nose momentarily twitch.
Jo’s voice abruptly drifted from the terrace. “I hate that you have to leave,” she said, her tone slightly whimsical. Who was she talking to? I peered over the rose bush, walking towards her.
“You are leaving?” I found myself unexpectedly asking. My sister and Miles sat at the table, a mug of coffee in his hands. Both heads turned to see me standing behind them.
“Well,” Jo said defensively, “he promised he’d be back for the wedding, or—” She then narrowed her gaze at him “—someone will have to deal with me.”
“Is that a threat, Josephine Grant?” Miles smirked at my sister.
“Oh, it absolutely is!” she laughed, nodding at me. “Have a seat.”
“Um, sure.” I offered her a smile, stealing a glance at him and wondering why he had to leave. Was that anything to do with…me? A pang of anxiety shot through me at the thought.
Sensing that Miles wasn’t going to start the conversation, I decided to go first. “So,” I quietly asked, “where are you going?”
“Home.” His response was uncomfortably short and I hated that he didn’t say more.
“I’ll go grab something warmer to wear.” Jo suddenly pushed back her chair. “It’s so chilly today. Do you want me to bring you something?” Both of us shook our heads in response. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”
The gentle breeze danced with the loose waves of my hair then, as it grew stronger, it ruffled his strands too. Miles continued quietly sipping his drink, his heavy gaze fixed anywhere but on me. Seriously?
“Um.” I sheepishly cleared my throat “When will you be back?” Miles contemplated his response, his jaw visibly tensed, his brows furrowed, yet he still hadn’t given me an answer. “Is it…because of,” I said with a wince, “me?”
“No, Florence,” his reply was curt, “for once, it is not because of you.” The moment the words left his lips he let out a heavy sigh, perhaps regretting his sharp tone.
Miles set his mug on the table and, while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes briefly met mine, his expression softening for just a moment.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, his voice gentler now.
“And I’m not leaving because of you. It’s…
the anniversary of my parents’ passing.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
“But after I’m back, Florence, we really should talk.”
“Yeah,” I breathed, “we really should.”
Another gust of wind howled, whirling leaves and blossoms in the air, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Ugh!” I winced with an unexpected chuckle as a few drifted onto my face, tangling in my loose curls. I quickly shook my head, brushing them off. “What?” I asked as I met Miles’ gaze. His hand reached out, then stopped. “What is it? Something on my face?”
A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he murmured, “Flowers look good in your hair.”
“Oh,” I wrinkled my nose, grinning back. “Thanks, I guess.”
“What were your parents like?” I asked, hoping he would give me something more this time.
I truly wanted to know about him, about them, beyond his usual…
well, his standard response. While I still expected nothing, to my surprise, he furrowed.
Then, with a warmth in his voice, he said, “My mother had hair like yours. That’s pretty much what I remember about her.
And her laugh too,” he added. “It was infectious.” Miles glanced up at the heavy clouds gathering above us, murmuring, “I was six when it happened.” Finally, he let me in.
“Who do you look like more? Your mother or—”
“I’m all dad’s copy, just more handsome, really.” Miles cocked his brow at me, then chuckled, making me laugh in response.
“And who did you get your huge ego from?”
“Oh, that would be my gran,” he muttered, his expression bittersweet, filled with love and sadness.
“Oh, Miles,” I murmured with a gentle smile, “thank you for sharing this with me.”
“Florence, do you want anything to drink? Top up, Miles?” Jo called out from the house. “Or I’ll just bring the pot,” she quickly added.
“Thanks!” I glanced back at the piercing gaze emerging on the terrace—my mother.
“Hello to you two.” She beamed at the sight of us, clutching her cardigan tighter. “Rather windy today. Dominic says it might storm.”
“You’ll see, it will.” My father stepped out next, holding a newspaper. “Miles,” he nodded at him, then at me, “Florence.” Turning his face to my mother, he continued, “It’s the sky.”
“The sky?” Jo, wrapped in a blanket, reappeared with a pot of coffee and a few mugs.
“You know how they say,” dad explained, “red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.”
“Why were you up so early?” I asked, looking at my dad. The rich, dark scent of freshly brewed coffee instantly filled my senses.
My mother rolled her eyes, then leaned in to smell some of the stems in her garden. “Nothing says true commitment like men chasing a ball around the field if you’re ready to wake up at 7AM for that.”
“That, Elizabeth, is called football.” He adjusted his reading glasses, peering at her over the lenses.
“Did they at least win?” she asked sarcastically.
“They did.” Blake’s voice carried from behind. “Hi, everyone.” He offered me a slow smile, then nestled next to Jo. To my surprise, it didn’t feel awkward that he was here. What a relief that was.
“So, Blake,” Jo began, the corners of her mouth playfully spread in a grin. “How did you sleep last night?” Her question made me nearly spill my drink all over my shirt. Seriously?
“Um…I actually barely slept at all,” he said bluntly. Oh, God! Jo’s smile immediately widened, her eyes quickly finding mine, then crinkled with a triumphant glint.
“I couldn’t even imagine why,” she mumbled suggestively, making my heart tighten in my chest. Miles only cleared his throat, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.
“Yeah,” Blake stretched his neck, turning his head from side to side as he settled into his seat. “I woke up feeling like I ran a marathon or something,” he groaned. A what?!
Nearly snorting at Blake’s words, Miles coughed, “Sorry. Must be allergies or something.”
Seriously? I kicked him under the table. Was he thinking this was funny?
“Ouch!” my sister exclaimed, directing her gaze at me. “Did you just kick me?”
“Me?” I asked, flustered.
“Yes, you!”
“Oh, sorry,” I muttered, “that spasm…again.”
“You really should get that checked out,” Miles mumbled playfully.
“Yeah,” I forced a smile at everyone, then eyed him down, “I really, really should.”
A new wave of wind surged, rustling the tall trees. The sky quickly darkened with large heavy clouds above us. “I told you—” My father inhaled deeply. “—the storm is coming.” Then he mumbled something under his breath. “That bloody penalty was so unjustified.”
“But you must agree,” Blake remarked, “the match was beautiful.”
Suddenly, Jo’s demeanour changed, her brows knitting together in mild confusion.
“Wait a minute,” she whispered, then turned her head to Blake. “You watched football this morning with my dad?”
Blake nodded, sipping his coffee.
“Um,” she said, slowly shifting her gaze between Blake and me. I already knew all the questions popping out in her head. Not so gullible after all. “What time did you say the match was?” My body momentarily tensed with anticipation; a cold dampness clung to my skin. Oh, no! Oh, no!
“Seven in the morning,” my father responded to her question.
I felt heat flooding my neck, gradually spreading upwards, my cheeks burning uncomfortably.
“So—” She stared at Blake “—if you watched a match this morning…with my dad…” Then she glanced back at me, mumbling, “—who then…?”
I could swear my heart dropped to my stomach, and before I could think of anything better to say, I blurted out nervously, “Anyone want more coffee?” Sadly, no one did, and, for God’s sake, my own mug was practically full. Crap!
Jo’s eyes slowly roamed around the table, lingering on every face, searching for clues in each expression before abruptly snapping up at Miles, who was hiding behind the ceramic rim of his cup. “A top-up would be great,” he glanced at me, well aware he was doing me a huge favour to say that.
“Well, of course.” My voice nearly trembled as I nervously chuckled. “I’ll be right—”
“Hold on a minute.” Jo narrowed her gaze at him. “Miles?” she uttered, amused.
“Jo?” He said her name with the same amusement in his voice as she did. And as for me, I just froze, rooted to the ground, carefully observing how any second now the grand truth would be revealed.
“I wonder,” she pushed back, pressing her shoulders against her chair, arms crossed.
“Yes?” He offered her a confident smile, his eyes meeting hers as a challenge.
“You know,” she smirked, her words deliberate, “I’ve recently seen this print that says, ‘Eat my dust.’ Sounds a lot like a racing logo, wouldn’t you agree?” Oh my God! What is she, a bloody detective?
Miles leaned back in his chair, eyebrow cocked assertively. “I sure would.”
Huh. “So,” I mumbled, glancing around the table, thank God, no one else suspected anything , “I’ll go get that top-up.”
“Not so fast,” Jo said firmly as I was about to turn on my heel to leave. She offered a polite smile to the others, then turned sharply back to us. “Could I borrow you two for a minute?”
“Now?” I asked, feigning confusion.
“Yes, Florence,” she demanded sharply. “Now!”