Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jif swiped a layer of pale peach gloss over her lips and caught Britt’s eye in the mirror. “Fine, yes, it is a date this time, but it wasn’t the last time, I swear.”
“Whatever,” Britt teased. “Where’s he taking you?”
“A picnic at River Park.”
Jif double-checked her outfit: dark jeans in case of grass stains or dirt, a blousy top to keep cool, more make-up than she usually wore in the classroom, because she hadn’t missed the way his eyes had settled heatedly on her lips at Mac’s, but for an afternoon in the park, too much would definitely be overkill.
“Is he bringing the dog?” Britt clapped. “What if he does that thing like Pongo in 101 Dalmatians, where he tangles the two of you up in the leash?”
Jif grinned. “He already did, actually. And he got under my skirt.”
Britt’s eyes rounded, and her mouth dropped.
“No,” she squealed. “Tell me everything!”
Jif quickly filled her friend in on Nix’s behavior at the restaurant after she’d left Pierce’s party.
“Good choice on the jeans this time.” Britt’s voice shook with laughter.
“Right?” Jif lifted her jewelry box lid, and her hand hovered over the teardrop diamond earrings Jordan had given her.
Without the necklace, they’d dress up her outfit the perfect amount for a date night, but with a pang of melancholy, she passed them for the pearls tucked away in the corner.
She wouldn’t call herself superstitious, but wearing her ex’s jewelry on a first date might tempt fate in the worst possible way.
She didn’t miss Jordan; honestly, probably never really had. She’d been serious about him—more serious than he’d been, of course—but with a little time and distance, she could admit her disappointment stemmed more from the perceived rejection than any dream of a happily ever after.
With that admission, she could lay his memory to rest and allow whatever unfolded with Miles to flourish.
Whirling from her mirror, she stood. “What do you think?”
“Shoes?” Britt prompted.
Jif pointed to a pale green canvas pair by the door.
“Then, you’re perfect. Is Colton thrilled you’re finally going on a date with someone who isn’t a teammate of his?”
“He whined like he had to convince a ref of pass interference when he heard you and Garrett were together,” Jif deflected, not answering Britt’s question.
She hadn’t told her family about Miles yet. Better to give it a couple of weeks—and dates—before getting their hopes up. Colton’s hopes that she’d finally get serious with a non-player; her mother’s hopes she’d finally settle down at all.
“It’s not enough to have the guys gossiping about my baby sister in the locker room, now I have to hear them gossiping about her best friend, too?” she parroted in an obnoxiously squeaky voice, nothing at all like her brother’s usual baritone.
Britt’s cheeks turned rosy. “The... the locker room?”
“I’m sure he meant it metaphorically,” Jif rushed to reassure her friend. “Garrett talks about you all the time, that’s all.”
“I guess.” Britt chewed her lip. “I never pictured myself as, well...”
Her gaze flashed around the room, and, with a groan, Jif filled in the blank. “Me.”
“No, that’s not what I meant at all.”
Jif feigned nonchalance. Britt wasn’t saying anything new; at least her friend didn’t whisper it behind her back.
“I never pictured myself dating someone like Garrett. Going to events and having my picture taken and everything else.” The pink in Britt’s cheeks deepened as she spoke.
“I sometimes wish we’d met in another life.
He’d be the grumpy Medieval Scholar, and I’d be the doe-eyed ingenue who stumbled into his academic sanctuary, his Fortress of Solitude, his Sanctum Sanctorum. ”
“Wow! Does Garrett know about your Professor/Student kink?” Jif smothered her laughter. “Who’d have thought, especially since you’re a teacher.”
Britt swatted Jif, her ears and neck turning red, as well. “Oh, shut up. I meant a life where he isn’t quite so famous.”
Jif swooned onto the bed. “I do say, Professor Johnson...”
“I swear, I do not want to explain this conversation to Garrett the next time someone uses his last name.”
Jif tipped her head to the side as the low rumble of an engine and tires rolling over gravel drifted through her open window.
“Saved by the bell, but we’re not done discussing this.”
“Oh, we absolutely are,” her friend shot back, but her blush faded, and she laughed when Jif waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Sliding her feet into her shoes, Jif slipped her bag over her head and rushed to the front door, anticipation squeezing her chest.
By the time she reached the driveway, Miles had climbed out of his car, cane in hand, and limped slowly toward her with a bouquet of flowers.
Massive, bobble-headed sunflowers nestled among deep purple blossoms, hardly the dozen red roses she usually received, but the novelty intrigued her, and a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Sunflowers were just so... happy!
He passed them to her with a gruff, “Here. These are for you.”
Jif gathered them close and buried her nose in the bundle. They didn’t smell, but she sniffed anyway. “Thank you. They’re perfect.”
Miles waved toward her front door. “They probably need to be put in water.”
She’d wanted to save him the effort of climbing her front steps, but now she shifted her feet, torn. Take the flowers inside before they wilt, or risk them dying during their date. Miles pressed his lips into a thin line, almost displeased. What did he want her to choose?
“Britt’s inside. I’ll leave these with her, okay? Give me a sec.”
He didn’t argue, so she must have chosen correctly.
She dashed back up the stairs and shoved the bouquet into her friend’s arms. “Can you put these in water for me?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Jif ignored Britt’s confusion and whirled around, rushing back down the stairs.
“Thanks,” she called over her shoulder, then, slightly breathless, she lurched to a stop in front of Miles.
He frowned slightly, and Jif reconsidered. Would it have been better to bring them? The silence stretched out awkwardly until Miles cleared his throat.
“We should go.”
“Okay.” She walked toward the car, but their hands bumped together as both of them reached for the door handle at the same time. “Sorry. I thought...”
She trailed off as Miles’s frown deepened, but he wrenched the door open, and she slid in. He slammed it closed again, then made his slow way around the front and maneuvered himself back in.
As the engine fired to life, Nix draped his head over the back of her seat, whuffling in her ear as he sniffed.
“Stop it, Nix,” she admonished, but with no bite in her tone.
His damp mouth left a trail of drool up the side of her neck, and she pushed him away as she shivered. She’d had worse make-out sessions, sure, but... A small chuckle escaped. She liked Nix better than any of those guys, anyway.
From the driver’s side, Miles raised an eyebrow.
Jif shook her head, not wanting to explain. Not sure he wouldn’t tease her for her observation.
She’d have to apologize to Britt later. Her friend had been vulnerable enough to share her vision of meeting Garrett in another life, and Jif had laughed at her.
What if she’d met Miles in another life?
Maybe she’d need CPR after being knocked off her surfboard by a rogue wave.
Maybe he’d have retired from firefighting and gone back to school to be a trainer for the team.
No, if her brother hated the idea of her dating his teammates, he’d blow a fuse if she went beyond the players into the organization.
She turned slightly in her seat to watch his profile as he drove, eyes tracing over his strong nose, his deep-set, stormy eyes, his strong jaw, and the way his hair brushed the collar of his fire-engine red shirt.
She couldn’t understand the long sleeves, much too warm for the brilliantly sunny weather, humid with the first hints of true summer, and sure to hold until this evening.
Her eyes lingered on his chest, printed with a bright yellow firefighter shield logo of some kind.
Those other ideas might intrigue her, but she actually liked their story. She wouldn’t change a thing, given the option.
She turned away before her gaze could drift any lower, skipping over the cane tucked between the driver’s seat and the center console.
She didn’t mention it. Or his limp. He might discuss his injury with her kids, but she didn’t want to overstep the fine line between asking and prying, especially if he hadn’t freely shared already.
“Sorry. About back at the house. I didn’t want you to have to...” She trailed off as his frown returned, but a moment later, his face shifted, more sad than angry.
“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate you thinking of me,” he replied tonelessly.
Like rote lines, the words were a gimme play—predictable and wholly unlike Miles. He said what he meant, even the hard things, the things she’d rather not face.
She chewed her lip, unsure how to respond. She’d never had a date get off to such a poor start. How could she ever salvage it?
“Okay.”
She shifted in her seat, glancing out the window, and the brittle silence returned.
He huffed, and Jif darted her gaze back to his. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I don’t like other people noticing when I’m... not my best.”
Jif grasped his hand, resting on the gear shift, even though he drove an automatic. “I get it.”