He smiles to himself as he stands in my living room, looking around. “I never thought I’d get to see your place.”
“What?”
“I figured you’d be sick of me before I ever got here.”
“Oh, I am. And yet here you are.” I laugh as I wander into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
I open the cabinets. “Hmm. I have some whiskey.” I reach for a bottle I’ve had for ages, opening the lid and sniffing. “Whiskey doesn’t go bad, does it?”
“It does, actually.” He slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar, taking the bottle and sniffing. “It’s probably fine.”
I grab two glasses and watch as Myles pours them both. Even at my house, he’s serving me a drink.
He takes a swig and nods. “It’s fine.”
“Sorry I don’t have anything else.” I take a sip, savoring the malty burn on the way down.
“Well, I didn’t come in for the whiskey.”
“Right!” I place my glass down and wander across the living room to the corner behind the partition. I’ve set up my old sewing machine and there’s a rack of dresses I’ve been working on for his daughter. For some reason, not hearing from Myles for the past week didn’t stop me from working on them—it only made me more determined to create a beautiful dress. Maybe there was a tiny part of me that hoped he hadn’t given up on me, I don’t know. Whatever it was, every night after work I’d come home eager to create a new piece, imagining what it might look like on his daughter, if she’d like it. Ifhe’dlike it.
I wheel the rack over to him, feeling a nervous twinge in my gut. “I made some more dresses for your daughter.”
“Really?” He sets his glass down, frowning.
“Yeah,” I say with a hopeful smile. “Just because, well, if the other ones weren’t right, then—”
“Wait. Is that what you thought? That I didn’t like them?”
“Well, yeah.” I shift my weight. “You seemed totally bummed when I gave them to you.”
He steps past me, looking at the rack of new dresses. There’s another mermaid one, one with hearts and stars, one with tons of sparkly sequins and tulle and another one with multicolored flowers.
“Oh my God, Cat.” Myles turns to me, slack-jawed. “I can’t believe you made all these. They’re stunning.”
Yes! I worked my butt off all week, and it wassoworth it to see that look on his face. I want to punch the air, I’m so happy, but I settle on a beaming smile instead.
He gazes at me, opening and closing his mouth. “Come here,” he says at last, pulling me into a hug before I can protest.
Because I would have protested, believe me. I would have said,I can’t, Myles. I can’t stand to have your hands on me again, in case I lose my mind.
But I don’t say any of that, of course, and now I’m pressed against his chest, breathing in a lungful of him, feeling my knees go weak. I can hear his heart beating hard and it makes me want to unbutton his shirt and snuggle inside.
Fuck.
“I can’t believe you did this,” he murmurs into my hair. “The other dresses you made are perfect. I love them, that’s not…” He pauses as his voice breaks, and I find myself squeezing him tighter. “I guess… I never really told you much about my daughter.”
“It’s alright. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, I do.”
He releases me, and I take in the somber expression on his face as I perch on a stool. He sits too, exhaling wearily as he rakes a hand through his hair. I watch the way his tattoos peek out from the sleeve of his button-down shirt, trying not to be insanely attracted to him, sitting here in my kitchen. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s looking so vulnerable.
Jesus. What is wrong with me?
“Her name is Amber,” he says, staring down at his lap. “I don’t get to see her at all. Iwantto see her, but my ex—Nikki—won’t let me. I—” He pauses, his gaze flitting up to mine and down again. “Things with Nikki didn’t end on good terms. And whenever I try to speak with her, she just verbally abuses me and tells me I’ll never see Amber again.”
