“I see.” Miles looks around, gaze sweeping over the property. His face is unreadable as he takes in the rainbow-colored bungalow with its ornate gingerbread trim, the upcycled kitchen utensil windchimes, and the pièce de résistance, a collection of rusted animal figures that fill the front yard. “You live here?”
“It’s my grandmother’s house.” I cross my arms in a pointed show of defiance. “I’m staying with her until I hit the road.”
No point paying rent on an apartment I no longer need.
“Ah.” He nods, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That makes more sense.”
I stiffen.
Gran may be an eccentric, free-spirited junk artist, but she’smyeccentric, free-spirited junk artist. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that I figured you for something more…reserved,” he finishes, eying a metal sculpture of two bunnies doing the deed.
My cheeks heat, and for the first time, I can sympathize with my mother’s tales of childhood mortification.
Stay weird, indeed.
Before I can come up with an intelligent response, the front door of the house opens, and Gran strolls out, wearing a lively floral blouse and a pair of blue topaz yoga pants the same shade as her hair. She pauses, lights a joint, and then, as if realizing she’s not alone, waves to us.
Miles returns the gesture, smile widening as Gran makes her way across the yard, joining us in the driveway.
“I didn’t know you had company,” she says, eyes dancing with mischief. She turns to Miles and gives him a slow once-over. “Aren’t you a scrumptious young thing?”
Kill me now.
“Gran, this is Miles Hart. My former employer.” I put extra emphasis on the past tense. “Miles, this is my grandmother, Celeste.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand.
“Likewise.” Gran ignores the proffered hand and takes a hit from her joint. Then she turns her head and exhales before returning her attention to Miles. “So you’re the billionaire with more money than sense.”
“Gran!” I shoot her aWhat the hell?look, but it’s too late. Heat scorches my cheeks, and I know from experience they’re now the exact shade of a chile pepper.
To his credit, Miles’s smile doesn’t falter.
“What?” Gran asks, flashing her teeth. “Only a fool would let you go.”
“On that, we can agree,” Miles replies smoothly. “Which is why I came to see Lucy today.”
“Took you long enough.” Gran snorts and holds up the joint. “You want a hit? Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”
His eye twitches, but he makes no move to accept. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“So is speeding.” Gran jerks her chin toward the shiny red sports car parked at the end of the drive. “But I’ll bet that doesn’t stop you.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ve got me there.”
“I’ll be in the hemp garden if you change your mind, sugar.” She gives him a saucy smile and sashays away, the smell of marijuana lingering in her wake.
“Wow,” Miles says, watching her retreat. “Your grandmother is really something.”
Understatement of the year.
But he didn’t come all this way to discuss my family.
“Why are you here, Miles?”
“I came to apologize.” He turns to me, eyes blazing with sincerity. “I was wrong to ignore your concerns.”
