Chapter 5 – Miles
FIVE
MILES
After spending the night trying not to think about Claire Donovan and our dip into the ocean, I wake up before the sun and go for a run to attempt to clear my mind. Then, I spend the rest of the morning tidying the house for the arrival of my new renter, despite my barely even touching most of the rooms throughout the week.
Finally, at noon on the dot, the doorbell rings, and I make my way to the front with an overwhelming sense of dread.
The truth is, I don’t want a roommate. I don’t want to share my home with someone else, not when this is the one place I can hide away from the tourists that will flood this town in the next couple of weeks.
But I do want my brother off my ass and to finally have this shit behind me, and this is the easiest way to get that done without having to ask for help. So, with my hand on the doorknob, I take in a deep breath before opening the door.
“Hey—” I start, but stop when I see the last person I expected to see.
Claire Donovan.
Claire Donovan is standing on my front step, her face clear of makeup, her hair pulled into a ponytail, a loose Atlas Oaks T-shirt tucked into the front of a pair of jean shorts.
Her pristine, bright yellow car is parked in my driveway next to my truck that’s seen better days, spots of rust spackling it all over. Between New Jersey winters and their salted roads and the ocean air, cars don’t have much of a chance around here unless you’re incredible about your maintenance, of which I am not.
It’s almost funny, the way they look next to one another, the perfect example of how different she and I are. She’s had that same car for years. I remember June calling me to help them on the side of the Parkway when Claire ran out of gas and seeing the yellow Bug a quarter mile away. After that, it’s how I always knew she was here, seeing it parked around town.
But it’s never been parked outside my house.
“Can I help you?” I ask, unable to mask my irritation.
Irritation because somehow, she’s prettier than normal, and annoyingly so. Her eyes are bluer than they were last night in the dark, the color of the sky on a clear, sunny day. Now that she’s smiling at me in broad daylight, I see her set of dimples for the first time in what might be a year. Then she lets out a laugh, that ringing, magical laugh she’s always had.
“God, the world really does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” she says cryptically, putting her hands on her full hips. She’s thoroughly entertained by something I don’t quite understand and don’t have the time for, since my renter should be here any minute.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, looking around to see if June is somewhere nearby.
Or maybe a camera crew for some idiotic prank show. It sounds like something Claire would sign up for.
“This is 14 Ocean Avenue, right?” My brow furrows as she reads out my address, and in the back of my mind, something starts to move, warning bells ringing out.
“Yes?” She lets out an entertained laugh once more, and my irritation grows. “All right, look, if this is some kind of joke, I?—”
Her laughter dies down, and her smile turns sweet before she cuts me off.
“I’m not here for a joke—I was sent here by Helen. She told me you have a place I can stay at for the summer.”
For a moment, I stare at her, trying to piece together the words she’s saying, before finally, it clicks.
I’m such an idiot.
How didn’t I see it the second she showed up at my door?
Claire is the renter Helen recommended. When Helen originally called, I didn’t bother to ask for a name since it didn’t really seem to matter, but now I’m seeing the catastrophic mistake that was.
“No,” I say instantly with a shake of my head, stepping back and starting to close the door. “No way.”
Her foot moves out, stopping me from shutting her out.
“Helen said you said I could stay here,” she explains, her voice taking on a pleading note that does something I very much do not like to my chest.
“She didn’t tell me it would be you .” Something I realize was probably intentional since Helen knows every thing about every one in this town and definitely knew that Claire used to be Paul’s girlfriend.
Claire must know that to be true as well, something that becomes clear when she says, “Probably because she knew if she told you it was me, you’d say no without even giving me a shot.”
“Well, she was right. I’m saying no.” I try to close the door, but she’s stronger than she looks. I could force it closed, but I’d probably hurt her in the process, and while I might be an ass, I’m not that much of an ass. Regardless of how frustrating I find her, I don’t want to hurt her.
“Please, Miles. You know me. I know you. This is kind of a best-case scenario because now you can rent to someone who isn't a total stranger, and I can move in knowing my new landlord isn’t a serial killer.”
I shake my head in the negative. No matter how she sells this, her living here would be a terrible fucking idea.
“No.”
She sighs, and a look of resignation comes over her face, while a sense of relief washes through me. She’s not going to fight me on this for once in her life. But then her face shifts, an alarming level of determination taking over, and that relief is gone.
I should have known it wouldn’t have been that simple.
“Come on, if you don’t let me stay here, my next option is staying with Old Man Rafferty, and June said that’s a bad idea.”
Instantly, I shake my head because everyone knows that Mr. Rafferty is weird. Over my dead body will Claire stay there.
“You can’t stay there; he’s a creep. He’ll probably watch you sleep or something.”
A smile plays on her lips, hope in her eyes, and I realize I fucked up.
“So you’ll let me stay here?” she asks.
I run a hand through my hair and let out a bone-deep sigh. “I don’t know…”
It’s a terrible plan, and not just because she’s my brother’s ex. Not just because when they were dating, I was never able to look at them together and not feel a soul-crushing level of jealousy. It’s why any time she was in Seaside Point last summer, I worked overtime, avoiding going anywhere but work and home.
The first summer they were together was torture enough. I couldn’t put myself through it a second time.
“I can pay rent through September upfront. All four months.”
I hesitate then because that kind of money upfront could shut Paul up, if only for a bit, while I get the rest of the money without him breathing down my neck.
But before I get ahead of myself, I remember Claire is flighty and irresponsible, just like Paul. Last night was proof enough of that. I doubt she has that kind of money just waiting around. “That’s almost six grand, Claire.”
Her eyes go wide, a clear hint of hope and excitement filling them.
“I’m good for it! We can go to the bank right now. I’ll get a check for you. Or cash, whatever you want. Under the table, official, I don’t care. Whatever you want. I just need a place to stay for the summer.”
“How do you have six grand just sitting around?”
She tips her head to the side, reading me, then smiles.
“Stripping. How do you think?”
My head jerks back, eyes going wide with shock, not because there’s anything wrong with being a stripper, but because I can’t imagine Claire being a stripper.
That voice in my head that was having highly inappropriate dreams last night pipes up. But she’d definitely do a damn good job. I shake my head, dislodging that voice before she laughs, crossing her arms over her chest.
“God, you should see your face. I forgot how uptight you are.”
“I am not uptight,” I lie, glaring when she rolls her eyes.
“You’ve been uptight since the first time I met you.”
“You were hammered, and you were nineteen. I was probably annoyed that Grant and I had to babysit you and June.”
“So you’re telling me you remember meeting me, huh?”
I remember every fucking minute I’ve been in Claire Donovan’s presence, not that I’ll be telling her that. “June puked on my shoes, and I had to throw them out. So yeah, I remember that night.”
“And you glared at me, fighting the all-consuming urge to give me a talking to, I’m sure.”
She’s not wrong; although if I’m being honest, that wasn’t the only all-consuming urge I felt that night. But that’s just another reason I absolutely should not let her stay here for the summer.
An entire season stuck under the same roof as her would be a complete disaster.
“Come on. For old times' sake? I start work tomorrow, and I don’t have time to be house hunting and making sure it’s a safe place and unpacking and getting settled. I obviously can’t stay with June because the place is basically a shoebox.”
“You took a job here without somewhere to stay?”
She shrugs, her blonde hair bouncing as she does.
“I knew I’d figure something out eventually. And look!” She waves her hands in my direction, her smile going wide. “I did! A safe place with a friend!”
“I’m not your friend,” I say, crossing my arms on my chest and leaning in the doorway. This all feels so surreal, like some kind of stupid prank Grant would pull on me.
“Oh, stop it, yes we are! Remember when you came to my birthday in the city?”
I remember the January before last, Paul calling me last minute and accepting the invite to the lavish restaurant only to be left with the bill, the last straw in my relationship with Paul and another reason why I ignored them both the following summer.
“Or I came down the summer before last to spend the Fourth with your mom?” she added.
I remember having to hound Paul for a month to convince him to come and him constantly telling me Claire wanted to party for the holiday. It took me threatening not to send his monthly rent payment digitally and instead hand him a check in person to convince him to come down to celebrate our mother’s birthday.
I also remember Claire coming with the most extravagant gift for Mom and being confused as fuck, because the woman didn’t seem disappointed not to be at some rave that night.
“What about all the times we went shell hunting together? You’re my lucky charm,” she says, and that one has me hesitating. “Come on, Miles. Please?”
I don’t respond still, and her face changes again. I always found that so interesting about Claire, the way her face shifts and changes at the drop of a hat, always so fucking expressive. She can’t keep a secret to save her life, but it’s entertaining to watch her try.
“At the very least, your mom loves me.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, confused.
Her cuteness fades, and she cocks out a hip, clearly sliding into another angle to get her way with such smoothness it almost startles me.
Trouble. So much damn trouble this woman is .
“How is she going to feel if I call and tell her I’m living on the streets when you have a nice, clean, open bed for me to pay to sleep in?”
I roll my eyes at her dramatics, but something tells me she would actually do it. And if she did, a few things would be for certain: Mom would be upset Paul fucked things up with Claire, absolutely overjoyed that Claire was here for the whole summer, and she would be beyond pissed I wasn’t giving her a place to stay.
Still, the idea of an entire summer with her…
“Claire—” I start, but she must sense my resolve weakening and keeps pressing.
“I’m very quiet,” she lies, and even though I know that’s a lie, she continues speaking before I can argue. “You’ll barely even notice I’m here! Plus, I’ll be out by September tenth.”
“What are you doing after?” I ask.
“After?”
“I want to make sure I won’t be conned into letting you stay indefinitely after September. Do you have plans?”
Am I actually considering letting her live with me ? I think to myself.
I think I am.
Because some petty part of me likes the idea of Paul’s ex living in this town he hated, with the brother he can’t stand, helping me buy back the house he wants to sell.
She shrugs and smiles, but beneath it, her normal, blissful confidence is gone. In its place is self-consciousness and doubt.
“I’ll go back to Evergreen Park, where my family is.” It’s a logical answer, even if she seems miserable over it. Regardless, I feel my jaw tighten with the knowledge as I run out of reasons to tell this woman not to live here.
She knows it, too.
“So does this mean you have a new roomie?” Claire asks, and I don’t miss how she makes it seem like I’m the one benefiting from this.
“You can really pay upfront?” She nods excitedly. “Can you follow the rules I put together?” She nods slightly less excitedly. “Can you promise not to make a huge fucking mess?”
“Pinky swear.” She puts a hand out, her pinky pointed toward me, the nails painted a buttery yellow that matches her car.
A pinky promise.
This is what I’m getting myself into: a woman who wants to secure a summer rental with a fucking pinky promise .
Her smile continues to widen as I hook mine with hers and hold it there.
I look at her, then where her little yellow car is parked, then back to her. “I’m not helping you with your bags,” I say begrudgingly.
“Oh, of course not. I would never expect you to be a gentleman.” She smiles like she finds this wildly entertaining as she skips to her car, opening the trunk before hefting a duffel bag over her shoulder. She lifts out another suitcase before walking back up the stairs. “Do you mind at least holding the door for me?” she asks.
I glare at her, and she smiles wider as she makes her way in. I lock eyes on her trunk and see two more suitcases, one of the two almost as big as she is, before I groan and jog down the steps, grabbing both and making my way up the stairs again.
“Well, look at you. You do have manners.”
It’s then I know I’m in for the longest summer of my life.