“Um . . .” I wasn’t one for opening up, like my mother also pointed out.
A mischievous grin erupted on Miles face. “At least tell me whether you truly believe what you wrote to that woman. Are you better off without men?”
My cheeks were back to burning, along with the rest of my body. “I didn’t send the email.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had, but you didn’t the answer the question.”
I shifted my feet, deciding if this was one of those moments to be more open. Miles’s entreating stance convinced me. “It’s easier for me to believe I am. Like Isabella, I have built a fortress around my heart. Not because of what Leland did, but because I was so foolish to allow him to. It’s not men that I distrust, per se, it’s me.” That was enough of me being open. I shifted the focus off me. “I hope Dexter is a brave manwilling to scale Isabella’s walls and get back up and begin the climb again each time she makes him plunge to the ground.”
“I believe he is.” Miles looked at me with such tenderness. “Is that what you wish for? A man willing to take any risk to win your heart?”
Why couldn’t he leave me out of it? He had to know how hard being open was for me. I shook my head, unsure. “I don’t know. No. Maybe.” I rubbed my neck. “I don’t want to hurt anyone the way Leland hurt me. I scaled walls for him, every time I was pushed down, until I finally learned it was safer on the ground. How can I expect someone to scale walls for me when I’m not even sure I know how to love a man, or want to?”
“Isabella has asked the same question.”
“What is the answer?” I begged to know.
“She’s been waiting for me to figure that out. It’s why I’m back to almost a blank board.” Miles stepped closer to me. Close enough I could share in his warmth. Close enough to make my pulse race. “I have a feeling that maybe together we can find the answer . . . for her, of course,” he stammered and took a step back.
I took a step away too. “I’m not sure I can help her or you. I can’t even figure it out for myself.”
“Perhaps if you look at it through someone else’s eyes, you’ll figure it out.”
“How do I do that?”
“Well, for starters, I was hoping you would be willing to read what little I’ve written so far. What I’ve kept, that is.”
“I accept,” I said quickly, with probably too much exuberance.
Miles chuckled at me. “That is not all. I need to immerse myself in this town. Sophie always hoped I would use Carrington Cove as a location for one of my stories. The way she talked of it always intrigued me, but I need to feel it all for myself. I think it will help to get the creative juices flowing again. And who better to show me around than you?”
My entire face must have said what I was feeling.Oh!As inoh, what will people say if they see us together? Andoh, was it safe for my heart?
“Is that a problem?” Miles responded to the question written on my face.
“What about Henry?” Yes, Henry was a great excuse.
“He would come with us,” he said it like that solved everything.
What did I use for an excuse now? “Well . . .” I rubbed my lips together. “I suppose I could.”
He clapped his hands. “Brilliant. We’ll start tomorrow, after a dance video. My publisher is begging we put more up. After that, we’ll hit the town together.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. I was stunned at this turn of events.
Even more stunned when Miles said, “I knew from the moment we met, you would be good for me.”
But are you good for me, Miles?
Chapter Seventeen
Ican’tsayhowodd it felt to have all four of us in the car dropping off Chloe for school. Not only were we doing it in style in Miles’s Range Rover, but it felt familial. Miles asked Chloe about what her day had in store for her while Henry happily pointed out everything from horses in a nearby pasture to the blinking school zone lights. Meanwhile, I uploaded a video of Miles and Henry dancing to Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly.” It seemedapropos. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering them both with stretched out arms as if they were flying, circling around the room. I captioned the video, “Cutest Copilot Ever.” Henry certainly was.
I tucked my phone away when I was done and reveled in the conversation. Chloe and Miles were talking about soccer, though Miles kept insisting on calling it football.
“Do you run the blind shot drill?” Miles asked Chloe.
“No. What’s that?”
