Chapter 15
MILES
When my alarm goes off in the morning, I nearly pull a muscle in my hurry to silence it before it wakes Abby. Her head is resting on my bicep and the twist and stretch I have to do to get to my phone is enough to make me consider going to yoga class more often.
It’s five in the morning, the time I usually wake up to get ready for the gym.
But the girl whose name has been tattooed on my heart for over a decade is sleeping on my arm, and I would miss the second coming of Jesus if it meant she could sleep a little longer. I can skip a day at the gym. I reset my alarm and roll onto my side, rolling Abby too and drawing her against me.
Seeing her so sick last night was a punch in the chest. I don’t remember her migraines being like that in college— is it because they weren’t that bad, or is it because I had my head so far up my own ass that I couldn’t see past the hockey puck I worshipped?
In the last week, I have found myself wishing more than once that I could go back in time and slap the ever-loving shit out of my younger self.
I suspect, based on something she said last night, that her ex-fiancé didn’t take care of her like that. That fact alone makes me want to find his address and punch him until he loses a tooth. But maybe I should be grateful to that idiot. His fumble is the only reason I’m here holding her now.
The feel of her in my arms is so right. I was such an idiot for letting her go eleven years ago.
While I held her last night, sometime before I drifted off, it occurred to me that whatever is happening between us isn’t nothing anymore.
Spending time with Abby is becoming the best part of my day.
She makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years.
More than that, though, she’s a delight to be around.
She lights up every room she’s in with her smile, her laugh, her charm.
I’m thinking about her all the time, finding reasons to see her again. When we aren’t together, I’m replaying all the moments that we were. I’m starting to think of how I’m going to stay in touch with her after this, after she leaves, after I’m done with my job in Mexico.
After dinner the other night, I knew I wanted to take her on another date. After taking care of her last night, I never want her to be alone for another migraine again. I’m beyond just wanting time with her.
I want her.
I’ve been hopeful that she feels the same way, so when she asked me to stay last night, I felt certain I couldn’t be the only one. Maybe she did just want my company, but I think it’s more than that.
I hope it’s more than that.
I can’t fall back asleep, so I hold Abby, enjoying the feel of her in my arms until my alarm goes off for a second time. This time, I let it go and silence it when Abby starts to stir.
She stretches, turning in my arms until she’s lying flat. I’m still on my side, facing her. If I thought she’d let me, I’d lean in and kiss her. I’d kiss her lips, her nose, her forehead, her cheeks…
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she croaks, squinting at me.
“How am I staring at you?”
“Like you might eat me.”
“Because I might.” I snap my teeth at her, biting the air.
“At least wait ’til I’ve had coffee?”
“I can go get you some coffee,” I say. “Are you hungry? How’s your head?”
Now that the suggestion to get up and get moving is on the table, I’m feeling antsy. My leg vibrates with the effort to keep so still.
“Mmm…no pain. Maybe a little lightheaded, but I think some caffeine and electrolytes will do the trick.”
“Let me get it for you. Just tell me how you like your coffee because I think in college you liked eighty percent creamer, twenty percent coffee, and I am assuming your tastes have changed.”
A laugh bursts out of her—and fuck, it makes me so happy to see her being herself again. Her migraines steal her life from her, but she has it back today.
“Just a couple sugars and a little bit of cream or milk. If you get it on the side, I can fix it myself. And yes, something to eat. Anything. Carbs. I’m starving.”
I plant a kiss on her forehead and dress, making quick work of getting caffeine and food for Abby.
I check in on a few work tasks while I hunt and gather things for the woman waiting for me in bed.
The marble guy’s daughter is still sick, so the countertops are still delayed.
The painting is done. We’re waiting on the custom tile Doug and Marissa chose.
I gave my guys the day off, knowing there wasn’t enough for them to do and the new custom cabinets aren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.
Supposed to. But an email in my inbox tells me otherwise.
“Why the fuck were these delivered today?” I mutter to myself, piling a plate with fruit and pastries for Abby. Well, that’s annoying. I’m going to have to go to the house today.
When I get back to the room, Abby is sitting up in bed, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, her face a bit dewy, like she put some kind of product on it. She looks beautiful, but frankly, she could smear her face with mud and I’d still find her beautiful.
She happily accepts the tray of goodies I’ve brought—coffee, fruit, cheeses and meats, pastries, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It’s for both of us, but she gets first dibs.
She digs in, eating like she hasn’t seen food in weeks.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey, so I—”
My phone starts to ring. I don’t recognize the number, but that’s not uncommon
“Sorry, one sec.” I stand and move to stand near the window so I’m not taking the call in her ear. “This is Miles.”
It’s the cabinet guy, confirming everything was delivered today.
“Sí, pero la fecha de entrega era manana.”
He tells me this is better; an arrival a day early is better than a day late. He would normally be right, but I took the day off today and I hadn’t intended to go in to work. Now I have to.
I glance over at Abby, who is staring at me, slack-jawed.
“Sí, está bien. Gracias. Adiós.”
I hang up. There’s nothing for it. I have to go in today.
“Hey, so—” I start but Abby interrupts.
“You speak Spanish?”
“Yeah?”
She continues to stare at me, her mouth open in a surprised O. “What the hell? Since when?”
“When I got into construction, I noticed I was having trouble communicating with my Spanish-speaking coworkers, and then when I became a foreman, it got harder because I wasn’t just socializing.
I would have to rely on someone else to translate, and I’m too impatient to wait for a translator, so I learned Spanish.
Took a few classes and made the effort when I was on a job to actually talk to the native speakers, and here we are.
I’m not totally fluent, but it has made my life a hell of a lot easier working here in Mexico. ”
“Wow,” she half whispers.
Did I impress Abby? I square my shoulders, feeling taller.
“Well, hey, I have to go in to work.”
“Yeah, it’s…it’s Monday, right?” She shrugs. “I figured you would be going in.”
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. But something came up and I need to swing by. I don’t know what your plans are for the day, but would you like to come with me?”
Abby pauses mid-bite, a smile creeping over her face. “That actually sounds really fun. I would love to see what you do for work.”
“I’m going to go shower and change, and I’ll let you finish eating and do the same. We’ll leave in an hour?”
She gives me a thumbs-up, mouth full of croissant, and I nab a slice of bacon and a Danish before disappearing back to my room.
An hour later, Abby meets me in the space between our rooms, wearing tiny jean shorts, her tanned thighs fully exposed.
Her purple tank top hugs her breasts, her torso, more tanned skin exposed—shoulders, arms, neck, spaces that haven’t had my mouth on them in too long.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to stick my hand in her back pocket and steal a kiss from her.
She dons her sunglasses, smiling up at me. “All right, show-off. Let’s go see where you work,” she says.
The ride is about half an hour, following the coastline. Abby’s face is glued to the window, pointing at everything with the kind of wonder that new, beautiful places tend to induce.
Eventually, a row of expensive houses comes into view, all in different phases of build.
Some finished, some just started. The exterior of Doug’s house is finished besides the landscaping, the white house with peach shutters standing out between two half-finished houses given the near-finished state of it.
“Holy shit,” she says as I help her out of the truck.
The house is two stories and wide given the four-car garage. The delivered cabinets are in front of the garage, waiting to be put inside.
The outside of the house isn’t landscaped yet; that won’t happen until next month. I’ve got my landscapers chomping at the bit, especially since they were supposed to do this work a couple of weeks ago, and now they’re going to have to wait even longer.
“How much is it costing him to build this?” she asks.
“I can’t believe you’re asking that before you’ve even seen the inside.”
“I just wanna know what I’m getting into.”
“A couple million.”
She turns to me with her jaw slack, eyes wide. “Imagine having that kind of money,” she says, half to herself.
“Yeah, imagine,” I say.
“Oh, god. I sometimes forget you played for the NHL. You probably have all kinds of money. Why do you work?” she asks as we walk up to the front door.
“Because I would get bored dicking around all day.”
“I’m sure you could find something to do with your life of leisure,” she says.
I open the door for her, and the immediate gasp that leaves her mouth is satisfying. It makes me feel like a kid whose teacher just said, “Good job!”
“Holy shit, it’s so big.”
“Heard that one before,” I say, and when Abby glares at me, I wink at her. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“Those ceilings go on forever,” she says. She hasn’t moved much past the door, as if she got stuck, overwhelmed by the vast space of the house.