Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jif, back turned to Miles as he followed her into the classroom, blinked hard, fighting back the knot gathering in her throat. “I have some paperwork for you to sign.”
Flipping through the pages on her desk, she unearthed the file with the district’s legal requirements.
“Most of what we need is covered by the contract with Genesis Therapy Dogs, but there’s a few things admin requires for each team. And I have a schedule for you, too.”
“You’ve moved.”
His voice rumbled through the space, filling it like a summer thunderstorm, too powerful to be ignored, and dangerous enough to need cover.
That same voice had rumbled her name, leaving shivers skipping over her skin. Had laughed for the first time in her old classroom, surprising everyone.
Had sent her away.
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, Kate retired last year, so I requested to move. Since I’m officially liaising with Abby, I figured the larger space would come in handy.
There’s a crate here, behind my desk, in case you—or anyone else—needs it.
For, like, a lunch break or...” She trailed off, then shoved the sheaf of papers at Miles.
He took them awkwardly, juggling the leash and his cane.
“Here.” She pulled out her chair. “You can use my desk.”
He sank slowly down but continued to gaze at her instead of filling out the paperwork.
Forcing herself to move away, she drifted through the room, pushing in a chair here, straightening a nametag there, tapping a pile of papers into a neat packet, and storing them in a tray.
Only the glide of his pen and the jingling of Nix’s collar as he scratched a phantom itch broke the stilted silence.
“Done.”
Jif ignored her skittering heart.
He’d had his chance, and she wouldn’t beg to be loved. Not anymore.
Maybe she hadn’t fully figured out who she was, yet, but she knew who she wasn’t, and the Jif who’d contorted herself into someone else to earn another’s approval—a man’s approval—wouldn’t be returning.
Ironically, Miles had never fallen for her ploys, anyway.
With a steadying breath, she marched back to her desk and scrawled her signature on the final, blank line at the bottom of the last page. “I’ll forward these to the district, and you should be able to start Monday.”
“You changed your name.”
She froze, the pen flying from her hand to slide across the desk and clatter onto the floor.
“Legally, yeah. Last month.”
“Why?”
His voice, edged with a demand, commanded an explanation, but she raised her chin and resisted her first impulse. She owed him nothing unless she wanted to tell him.
And she did. She thought, maybe, he’d even be proud of her.
But if he wasn’t, she didn’t need his approval, either.
“I got tired of pretending to be who other people thought, fitting myself to their expectations.”
“I see.”
Their gazes lingered a moment longer, then Jif turned back to the papers on her desk. “Does Abby want a copy of anything?”
He grimaced, and a stab of empathy pricked through the armor Jif had worked so hard to don. Did his leg hurt?
Of course it does.
He couldn’t be more than four to six weeks out of surgery, and he’d limped into her classroom using the same cane he’d had last year, sank slowly into her chair with a groan of relief when she’d offered it, and now shifted his weight uncomfortably as Nix waited patiently by his side.
“I doubt it. She already has medical records for all the dogs.”
Her eyes flew to his as he shared that particular piece of information. “Really?”
“Yes...” he began, then trailed off. “Oh.”
Jif rolled her eyes.
Abby should stick to dog training; she’d only be disappointed by matchmaking.
Jif and Miles would be professional; she wouldn’t allow herself to be anything less.
And if they couldn’t manage it, maybe Abby would consider replacing him with someone else. Not Suri, though. Maybe Willow.
Straightening her shoulders, Jif returned to the door, holding it open.
“Thanks for stopping by. I’ll call you if I have any questions. You will answer, right?”
He winced, but she didn’t have an ounce of empathy this time.
She’d called and called, left messages and texts. He hadn’t responded to a single one.
Slowly, hesitantly, he crossed the linoleum floor, Nix’s nails clicking along beside him, matching his ponderous pace. Stopping beside her, his hand flexed, clenched, reached toward her, then dropped back to his side.
“I’m sorry, Jif.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as his voice grated out, devastation evident in each syllable.
“I was in a bad place, and I pushed you away. After Tessa... I couldn’t believe you’d want to stick around. I thought I could set you free to get back to the life you’ve always wanted.”
“The life I always wanted,” she echoed, voice empty and barren.
It had been, once. The glamour. The glittering galas. The clothes, the jewelry, and the cars. The player on her arm and the perfect future lay out before her.
But not anymore.
Or maybe, all of those things with the right guy, if he came along, but she’d also happily live a very different life if it came with love, acceptance, respect.
Miles had taught her that, and though her heart hadn’t quite knitted itself back together yet, she wouldn’t take the lesson for granted.
“I had no right to make the choice for you. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process.”
Jif’s voice cracked as she replied, “Thank you.”
The silence spooled around them, fraught, until Nix yawned widely, a bare whine following as his jaws snapped together, followed by a full-body shake, ears and jowls flying, tail whipping back and forth.
“Stress, right?”
Miles nodded slowly but wouldn’t meet her gaze.
Jif tucked her laptop into her shoulder bag. “I’m about done here. We can walk out together. It really is nice to get a visit from Nix. I’ve missed him.”
She couldn’t admit to any more. Not even with his apology easing the last sting of rejection she still carried.
“We’ve missed you, too.”
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Not because she had any pride left. Everything in her yearned to believe his words meant more than their composite parts. But because he’d been the one to say no.
Consent was sexy, and without his, she wouldn’t pretend to hope.
“Let me lock up, and we can go.”
She crowded behind him as he made his slow way through the door, momentarily forgetting his pace had been reduced again.
Nix, sensing her close presence, spun to say a final goodbye, wrenching Miles around, too, and he staggered.
“Gotcha,” Jif breathed, catching his arm and steering him against the doorframe, ignoring the way touching his skin sent a jolt of electricity through her palms and raised goosebumps along her arms.
He gasped for a moment, jaw clenched, and eyes pinched, then took a shuddering breath. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” She’d stayed close, ready to assist again if he needed it, but now, as he opened his eyes, their storm-tossed depths almost drowned her. They shared air, both their chests heaving.
“Jif.”
“Miles,” she replied, her voice thick and barely audible.
“Give me another chance.”
Jif’s eyes flew open, and when had they closed? When he’d said her name, almost like a prayer, more breath than sound? When she’d said his, a broken plea, hope overwhelming her good sense, and all the hurt she’d carried since he’d made her leave. Could she really forgive him so easily?
Yes, yes, she could. Because she believed he’d never meant to hurt her; he wasn’t that kind of person. And he knew her in a way no one else ever had. The real her, the one who didn’t need to pretend. They both had work to do, but maybe they could do the work together.
“Okay.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Walk me out to my car, Miles. And then go get a drink with me.” Her eyes darted to his cane. “Well, maybe not a drink. You can buy me dinner, though.”
“Mac’s?”
She nodded. “Nix, come.”