Ellie
Two knocks were all it took before Miles opened the door. He was staying in a charming little Cape Cod nestled just a few blocks from town—white siding, bright red shutters, and a matching front door that looked freshly painted.
Whether he owned the place or was just renting it, I didn’t know. Either way, it was pretty. The landscaping was impeccable, with flower beds in full bloom, a variety of colors spilling across the walkway. I couldn’t help admiring it.
“Hi there,” Miles greeted with an easy, charming smile.
“Hi,” I replied, offering a polite one back.
He stepped aside to let me in, our arms brushing as I passed, and my stomach felt hollow. The scent of him hit me immediately—a blend of teakwood and crisp linen.
The interior echoed the same scent. Comfortable, minimal, with a masculine touch that didn’t try too hard.
After he asked me to come over, I’d spent the rest of the day going back and forth with myself.
Part of me wanted to cancel, to avoid what could easily become another awkward encounter.
But the other part knew I needed to do this.
Not to rekindle anything, but to set the record straight.
I didn’t want to continue seeing Miles romantically.
Coming back home was supposed to be a fresh start for me—the start of me becoming more aware, more in tune with myself, and standing up for what I wanted.
While I’d thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe I could overlook what happened at the bar, I knew deep down that I couldn’t. That wasn’t something I could file away or pretend hadn’t shifted something inside me.
The night in the limo had made me uncomfortable, sure. But the bar? That had left an impression. One I wasn’t sure I could get past.
I’d thought about giving him another chance when he apologized in the alley. But when we parted ways, I had time to think.
There was a tough coil in my stomach every time I thought about giving him another chance. My gut was telling me to end it.
Miles and I would be working right next door to each other, and I couldn’t afford for things to be tense every time I stepped outside the shop. I needed to make a choice and let him know now.
“You can put your purse on the entry table,” Miles said as he shut the door behind me. “And if you don’t mind, shoes off in the tray.”
I glanced down. A row of perfectly aligned shoes sat in a circular plastic tray.
A shoe tray?
All right then. His house, his rules.
I slipped my shoes off and set them beside his, placing my purse where he pointed. Then I followed him through the cozy living room and into a warm, inviting kitchen. The cabinets were a worn cream color, almost antique, and the butcher block countertops gave the whole room a rustic farmhouse vibe.
“It smells amazing,” I said with a small laugh, stepping up to the island in the center of the kitchen. I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on the counter as he moved to the oven.
“My famous chicken with risotto,” he replied, crouching to pull out a glass dish where the chicken sizzled in a rich, golden sauce. The aroma hit me like a freight train, and my stomach growled.
Mortified, I slapped a hand over it.
Miles laughed, setting the dish on the island. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”
“I guess I’m hungry,” I admitted, cheeks warming.
“Good,” he said. “There’s more than enough here for two. I’ll send you home with leftovers.”
He stepped toward me then—into my space and without hesitation—and leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek. It was casual. Confident.
The gesture made my spine go rigid. As he turned to open the fridge, smiling like it hadn’t even registered as a big deal, I knew I had to say something. Now. Before the line got even blurrier because I wasn’t in the market to lead the guy on any longer.
“Miles, can I talk to you about something?” I asked gently.
He turned to face me and shook his head. “Let’s eat first. Get that belly full. Whatever it is can wait.”
I pressed my lips together, nodding in acceptance. One meal wouldn’t hurt. It was good to at least get settled before having the conversation.
Salad, risotto, and chicken were plated and brought to the dining table, which he had set with flickering candles and wine glasses filled. Before I could open my mouth, Miles hijacked the conversation.
“Have you ever been in a hot-air balloon?”
The question was so absurdly random, causing me to laugh mid-bite. “No. I don’t know if I’d like it very much.”
“Why not? There’s nothing better than floating high above everything with the wind guiding you.”
“Adrenaline junkie, are you?” I teased.
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you could say that.”
I waved a hand in front of my face playfully. “This girl is deathly afraid of heights. Being out of control? No thanks. The idea of being at the mercy of the wind terrifies me.”
He smiled, nodded like he understood. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
Before I knew it, we were deep in conversation—talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. This version of Miles was relaxed, charming, and easy to talk to. And God, the man could cook.
A glass and a half of wine later, I stood to carry my plate to the sink. I set it down when I felt arms slide around me from behind, caging me in.
My whole body went still as Miles leaned down and pressed a kiss to my exposed shoulder.
I shifted, throwing my shoulder to subtly push him off. Here he was again, invading my space without asking. This was the reminder I needed to end this, for good.
Miles held tight and continued kissing up my neck like he hadn’t heard me at all.
“No,” I said, twisting in his grip until I faced him.
“Come on,” he muttered, a dark edge creeping into his tone. “Quit playing so hard to get.”
“I said no.” I shoved him away with both palms planted on his chest.
He straightened, and something in his eyes changed—darkened. Gone was the friendly charm. In its place was something hard, entitled… dangerous.
“No?” he said, tilting his head, eyes narrowing as he studied me.
“Look,” I began, trying to keep my voice centered. “I came here tonight to be honest. I’m not ready for a relationship. You and I, we can just be friends.”
His lips curled with disbelief. “Are you serious? You wait until after I cook you dinner? After I spend my night talking to you?”
“I tried to tell you,” I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. “But you shut me down.”
Tension filled the air, thick and heavy as it consumed us both. I saw it, a flicker of red-hot rage that happened so fast it didn’t allow me time to move before he acted.
Without warning, he lunged. His hand shot out and grabbed my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks as he forced me to look at him.
“You don’t get to play these fucking games with me,” he snarled.
“You’re hurting me,” I gasped through clenched teeth, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“I don’t get rejected. And I sure as hell won’t let some stupid small-town girl be the first.”
I ripped my face from his grasp. One thought slammed through my mind, and that was to run—run as far and as fast as I could. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I was so fucking stupid.
As I tried to back away, he grabbed me by the arms and spun me, slamming my back into the island. Pain shot through my spine, stealing my breath for a brief moment before I gathered myself to fight back.
“Let me go!” I screamed, struggling against him with everything I had. But he was so damn strong.
“Not until I get something in return,” he hissed. “I took you to an expensive dinner, helped you move, cooked for you. What have you done for me?”
Each word was punctuated by him shaking me, ramming me again and again against the countertop.
Spit flew from his mouth. His rage filled every corner of the room.
I was frozen. Terrified. My mind was screaming at me to move, to escape, but my body locked up, paralyzed by fear.
“Answer me!” he shouted, then shoved me away like I weighed nothing, tossing me like I was some kind of rag doll.
I stumbled, catching myself on the counter before I could hit the ground. That jolt brought me back, kicking me into motion and knocking the fear aside, even just for a moment.
I took the clarity and bolted for the front door, choosing to leave my shoes and grabbing only my purse.
The front door slammed open against the wall as I tore outside, the night air hitting me like a wave. I sprinted down the sidewalk toward my truck, fumbling for my keys.
My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped them.
I threw myself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, locking it with a click that barely registered over the pounding of my heart.
“Come on, come on,” I sobbed, trying to fit the key into the ignition with shaking hands.
The engine roared to life, and I slammed it into drive as I peeled away, tires screeching across the pavement.
My heart thundered in my ears. My vision blurred at the edges from pure adrenaline and raw fear. The tears came hard and fast—falling in a relentless cascade into my lap.
I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
I wasn’t sure if he’d even followed me out the door, I didn’t give myself the time to glance up.
I had to drive.
Drive until I was somewhere safe.
Somewhere no one could touch me.
Somewhere I could finally… breathe.