13. Ellie #2
“It’s disgusting,” Miles said, laughing again. “I’m sorry I brought you here. Someone told me it was top-notch, but I guess not.”
Disgusting? I looked down at my nearly empty plate, suddenly unsure of myself. I’d genuinely enjoyed it. Were my standards too low?
Just then, the waiter passed by and Miles reached out, grabbing his arm mid-stride and jerking him to a stop.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Buckwell?” the waiter asked, professional but clearly startled.
“Actually, yes,” Miles said, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders. “This was awful. I couldn’t even finish it. My date only did out of pity.”
The waiter’s gaze flicked to me, and I gave him a tight, apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said quickly. “I’ll remove these right away and inform the chef. May I offer a complimentary bottle of wine while you enjoy the rest of your meal?”
“That’ll do,” Miles replied, settling back in his seat.
The plates were cleared. I said nothing, but my appetite, once ravenous, had vanished.
I took the moment to glance around the room, taking in the exposed beams, giving it an industrial feel. Soft chatter and music filled the space.
A warm hand on my thigh caught my attention.
I flinched slightly, startled by the contact. But I forced myself to settle.
The fabric of my dress bunched as Miles’s hand crept higher on my thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, revealing more skin.
A buzz of heat rippled through me—not desire, but the prickling, uneasy warmth of nerves. My body went stiff as his hand reached bare skin, fingers sliding toward the sensitive inside of my thigh.
My breath caught.
I wasn’t turned on, I was uncomfortable. But instead of saying so, I took a shaky breath and forced a polite smile when Miles met my eyes.
I shifted, subtly pulling my leg away, hoping he’d take the hint without me having to say the words aloud. We were in the middle of a high-end restaurant. Everything about this place—from the gold-rimmed glassware to the silverware clinking lightly on china—screamed, Don’t make a scene.
Every instinct I usually had, the ones that told me to speak up, to say no, to walk away, seemed to vanish.
A man like Miles—wealthy, polished, and charming enough—was paying attention to me. I should’ve felt flattered, maybe even lucky. He’d rented a limo, taken me to a place where the menus didn’t list prices, and ordered expensive wine like it was tap water.
“So, Ellie. Tell me more about the traveling you did. I’m eager to know what a small town girl thought about the rest of the world.”
I’d briefly shared with Miles when texting about how I came to work at Petal Pusher, that I spent a while traveling.
“Well, I stayed on the East Coast for most of it—made my way as far north as Maine. Easily, my favorite place I saw.”
“Hmm,” Miles hummed as he turned more to face me, slightly tucking a leg on the seat of the booth and draping his arm along the back. “I can’t say I’ve ever been. I had a few friends stay outside of Bar Harbor.”
“I loved Bar Harbor!” I sat up straighter, perking up at the thoughts.
The scenery was beautiful, and it was great to see a different side of the country. I’m used to the small town that has horses and heat. The small towns in Maine fall more towards a coastal town, with open water and a cool breeze. “It’s been far too long since I smelled salt water.”
Miles smiled.
“So you just did the East Coast?”
“No. I went a little west, too. I didn’t really have a plan. I got in my car and drove wherever I felt drawn to.”
“What was your favorite part?”
I liked how interested he was in what I had to say. He gave me his full attention as I shared.
“The people. For my whole life, I only knew Faircloud. But there is so much more the world has to offer, and I only saw a small part of it.”
Thoughts like these were another reason I questioned my fate in Faircloud.
I had every opportunity to start fresh somewhere else and leave the bad memories behind.
“There is power behind freedom,” Miles said with a smirk, reaching out again and brushing a strand of hair from my face.
His pupils dilated, a hunger cast in his glare.
But for me, it still felt wrong.
Our next course arrived, Miles picked at his plate with a dramatic sigh, muttering about the taste after every bite.
I, on the other hand, thought the food was incredible. The steak was tender, juicy, seasoned with something warm and smoky that reminded me of my mom’s cooking.
At the end of the meal, he apologized again, saying he was “mortified” by how disappointing everything had been.
Then the bill came. He paid in cash and didn’t leave a tip.
I didn’t say anything, but that sat wrong, too.
Back in the limo, I let out a breath of relief, eager to get home, to shed the night from my skin.
But even in the quiet shadows of the ride back, Miles didn’t stop touching me. His fingers traced slow lines along my inner thigh, featherlight but persistent.
I tried to steer the conversation from topic to topic in order keep him distracted, with the hope he would catch interest in that over me. It was nearly two hours of dodging his touches, avoiding his gaze, and counting down the seconds until we parked in front of my apartment.
I wasn’t someone who moved fast. I didn’t give my body to strangers wrapped in expensive cologne and empty compliments. I craved connection. Slow burn. That aching kind of want that builds in the quiet, not something forced in the backseat of a limo.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said politely as we pulled up to my apartment.
“Who says it has to be over?” Miles replied, reaching for my cheek, his hand moving like he was going to pull me in for a kiss.
I jerked back, quickly stretching into a theatrical yawn.
“Oh boy!” I said, arms overhead. “I’m absolutely exhausted. All that food and the long drive really knocked me out.”
I shifted toward the door, trying to make my exit, but his hand wrapped around my wrist, holding me still.
“Don’t I get a little something for taking you out?” he said with a half laugh. “I mean, the restaurant sucked, but the company?” He made a dramatic flourish with his free hand. “To die for.”
I reached up, gently turned his face, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“That’s all you get,” I said softly.
When he turned back to face me, his expression shifted to something a bit colder. Disappointment cast along his features.
I scooted farther away, slipping my hand from his grip.
“I’ll text you later.”
His mouth tugged into a thin, strained smile. He gave me a nod but said nothing.
I pushed the limo door open and stepped out onto the curb, closing it behind me with a quiet click.
I didn’t look back.
Climbing the stairs to my apartment, I couldn’t get out of that dress fast enough. I needed a hot shower and a night to breathe—to let go of everything that night wasn’t.