She glanced at Miles, slowly rubbing his stubble, an act which conveniently hid his expression.
“Oh wow, Paulson. That’s kind of you, but I have plans this weekend.” She unclipped the mattress paperwork from the clipboard and stapled it together. “Maybe in the fall, when I’m in New York for interviews.”
Miles stopped rubbing his jaw and pierced her with a questioning stare that melted into something else. He glanced away. She could have sworn he’d smiled at the prospect of her coming to New York.
“Here’s my number,” Paulson said, handing her a triple-thick business card. “Next time you’re in the City—bar crawl. And you’re welcome to stay at any of our hotels. I’ll comp you.”
“Thank you.” She took his card and glanced at it. She walked him to the door and thanked him for bringing Casper home. Miles walked to the front desk when he heard the door shut.
“He seems nice.” She shrugged and ran her thumb over Paulson’s card. It had been a while since she’d handled triple-thick card stock. This was premium paper.
“Nah, Paulson always wants something,” Miles said.
“I think you’re a little hard on him. He’s more self-aware than you think. He knows he’s exuberant. It’s hard working for his dad.”
“Oh, come on.” Miles groaned. “Like all nepo babies, Paulson had the easiest road to success.”
“I don’t know. I get the impression Paulson’s father has expectations, and Paulson didn’t get a choice.” She picked up the mail Paulson had left on the front desk and flipped through it. Paulson had not only saved Casper, but he’d kindly brought in the mail.
“Agree to disagree.” Miles stuffed his phone in his back pocket and smiled at her. “I’d love to stay and psychoanalyze Paulson Carter, but I’m heading out to visit a property.”
“The corporate retreat?”
“Ayuh.” He smiled. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
“Ooh! I hope you get it.” She knocked on the wood counter for good luck and held up crossed fingers.
He crossed his fingers and pointed them at her.
“And I hope you get a quiet, warm, sunny afternoon,” he said as he headed out the door to the circular driveway. “No more surprises.”
Chapter Twelve
Miles
Friday, June 9 – One Week Until Opening Day
It was dark out.Darker than the inside of my pocketas Sam liked to say.
“Dammit, Casper.” Miles scanned the road as the Mail Jeep crawled ahead at fifteen miles per hour, its bright headlights illuminating the pine-lined roadway. A white dog should stand out in his high beams.
“Have you seen13 Going on 30?” Anna asked through his AirPods, ignoring everything related to the missing dog.
Miles rolled his eyes. Another rom-com. Perhaps he should reconsider seeking advice from two former child actors who had left normal lives in their rearview mirrors during middle school. Their rom-com tips hadn’t worked so far. Avery still referred to Miles as a friend. For a guy who kept people firmly in the friend zone, Miles should know how to wriggle his way out of it without a rom-com’s help.
“Yes, I’ve seen it.” He stopped and pointed a flashlight into the woods. “But I don’t see the correlation. I don’t dance and haven’t held onto her beloved childhood dollhouse all these years. I met Avery when she was nineteen, not thirteen. I don’t know if she had a dollhouse.”
Anna Catherine let out an exaggerated stage groan.
“First, didn’t you learn about symbolism in that fancy college? The dollhouse signifies Matty never forgot Jenna. Show Avery you never gave up on her.” Anna said. “And second, we need to fix this whole ‘I don’t dance’ thing. You gotta let loose a little.”
He admitted Anna had a point and before ending the call, promised to give it some thought. Convincing Avery he had never forgotten her would be so much easier with a tangible item like a dollhouse. Words were more challenging, and his only option.
He paused just inside Montressa’s driveway, removed his AirPods, cut his engine in case the dog barked, and shined his flashlight where Paulson had found Casper before filling Avery’s head with ideas about dreamy top-shelf hotel bars. In Miles opinion, he’d picked the wrong one for Avery.
“Casper! Casper!” Avery’s voice echoed from farther up Montressa’s driveway.
Miles started the Mail Jeep and drove on, gravel crunching under his tires. A few seconds later, he pulled up beside Avery, leaned over, and slid open the passenger door.
