“Yeah? Same here.” I grin.
She smiles, but there’s exhaustion in her eyes—the kind that goes deeper than just a long night.
“Come on, Sunshine. Let’s get you upstairs.”
She doesn’t argue. I guide her down the hall to her suite, her hand resting lightly in mine. She giggles when she drops her key card twice before I finally take it from her and open the door.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping off her heels the second we’re inside. “I think I’m officially done for the night.”
“Yeah, you and me both.”
She moves to the mirror, fumbling with the pins in her hair. I step behind her, watching her reflection as she tugs at the delicate curls. “Here,” I say softly, brushing her hands away. “Let me.”
She blinks, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Carefully, I remove each pin, one by one, until her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders. She sighs. “You’re good at this.”
“I may have helped my sister once or twice,” I remind her. “So I’m basically a certified hairstylist.”
That earns a chuckle—small but real.
When she’s ready, she changes into a soft cotton sleep set and crawls onto the bed, the night finally catching up to her. I hover awkwardly by the door. “I’ll, uh, head out?—”
“Miles?” Her voice is quiet, fragile.
“Yeah?”
Her eyes flicker open, hazy with sleep. “Will you stay? Just for a bit?”
She doesn’t ask for anything more. Doesn’t explain. But she doesn’t have to.
“Of course.”
I kick off my shoes and lie beside her on top of the blanket. She shifts closer, her head finding my chest. Her breathing slows, soft and steady against me.
Within minutes, she’s asleep.
I stare at the ceiling, one hand resting on her back, the other brushing her hair away from her face. There’s a peacefulness to her now that makes my chest ache.
If only it were that simple—just holding her and keeping the nightmares away.
I don’t know what happened to her, what she’s running from, or why that woman tonight sent her spiraling. But I know this much—whatever it is, she’s not facing it alone anymore.
Not if I can help it.
CHAPTER
SIX
MIRANDA
House hunting couldn’t be less fun. It’s a form of emotional cardio I did not sign up for—at least not knowingly. Unlike the gym workouts, which make me feel like I’m going to die but provide a beautiful payoff of happy endorphins, this kind of cardio leaves me in a constant state of stress. No endorphins in sight.
I’ve watched the house-hunting shows. I’ve scoured Pinterest boards and real estate sites. This experience is not what I envisioned, and I’m exhausted.
“You ready, Sunshine?” Miles asks as he pulls his truck into the drive of our final house of the day. “I have a good feeling about this one. It’s gorgeous.”
