“That’s debatable.”
He smirks, and I swear to God he’s enjoying this.
“Does that mean you’re quitting?” I ask, stepping closer. I stare up at him with wide-eyed innocence, and, not gonna lie, I’m kind of enjoying it, too. “Because you’re free to cut your vacation short and grab a flight home at any time.”
Hell, if a strict diet of hot dogs and beans is the key to winning this bet, I’ll start buying in bulk.
“I’d hardly call this a vacation. A vacation is Fiji. Or the Amalfi Coast. Cabo.”
“Like you’d know,” I shoot back. “You haven’t taken a proper vacation in two years.”
He arches a brow. “I take time off.”
“Yeah, to wine and dine socialites,” I snark, pulling a lighter from the kitchen drawer and handing it to him. “It’s hardly the same thing.”
Miles tilts his head, studying me.
Did I go too far? I shouldn’t have brought up the revolving door of women in his life.
It’s certainly not my business.
And the last thing I want is to sound like a jealous girlfriend. You know, since I’m not. His girlfriend. Or jealous.
Keep telling yourself that.
“I don’t remember you being this sarcastic when you worked for me.”
That’s because he paid me to keep it on the inside.
“I was raised to behave professionally in the workplace and to respect my elders.” I grin, suddenly energized. “But since I don’t work for you anymore…”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Did you just call me old?”
“Did I?” I ask, feigning surprise and clutching a hand to my chest.
Miles shakes his head and holds up the lighter. “I’m going to go work on that fire now.”
He steps past me, his bare arm brushing mine. It’s the slightest of touches—completely unintentional and far from sexual—but it’s skin-to-skin contact, and I erupt like a solar flare, heat radiating from every inch of exposed flesh. And like the lovesick fool I am, I stand frozen, the simple act of breathing my sole focus as Miles heads outside.
I watch him through the small window over the sink, mind racing.
This was a terrible idea. I’m in over my head. I won’t last two weeks.
Not without losing my heart entirely.
Miles crouches next to the firepit, which is already stacked with logs, lighter in hand. He works steadily, intently, and when a small flame appears, he fans it, gently coaxing it until it becomes a raging inferno.
He did the same thing to me when we met. Sparked an ember deep inside my chest and nurtured it day by day, until the heat of my longing burned so hot I thought it would consume me.
The fire dances wildly in the pit, licking at the sky. The flames are hot, bright, and ready.
I know exactly how they feel. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to get burned.
Chapter Eight
Miles
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I grumble, slowly turning my hot dog over the fire. A fire that, much to Lucy’s surprise, I built without the help of Google. She sits next to me, wrapped in an oversize cardigan, carefully monitoring her own progress as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
