She has no idea.
“He’s a good one,” she adds.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tara.
She gives Summer a tight hug and then makes her way over to me to do the same, adding a whispered, “Be a gentleman,” in my ear.
Her sneakers squeak across the tile, soften on the wood entryway, then disappear with the clink of the front door closing.
Grace circles Summer’s ankles as she heads to her spot by the island.
I take the opposite side, folding my arms to match hers. She holds my gaze, but doesn’t say a word.
“Well, you don’t have to answer my last text about where to pick you up,” I joke.
Her head tips back with laughter.
“You’re funny.” Her smile falters, eyes widening as reality catches up. “We can’t go on a date now, though.” Her voice rises with each word.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is for the best. Safer. So why does that thought sit in my gut like a stone?
“And why not?” The question’s out before I can stop it.
“This is—I’m living here, Miles.” Her hand jerks between us, gesturing at the house, then at me. “This kind of complicates things, don’t you think?”
Part of me knows she’s right—this is the type of clean exit I usually take. But last night was… I’m not ready to let her go yet.
“It doesn’t have to,” I say, pushing my glasses back into place, even though they haven’t slipped.
“And what if things go south? Then I’ll need a new place to live. I can’t deal with that kind of stress while recording an album?—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, catching one of her flailing hands, then letting it go just as quickly. “Breathe.”
She takes a gulp of air and lets it out slowly.
“Here, let’s sit down.” I nod toward the living room, and we head for the couch. I barely hit the cushions before Grace hops into my lap.
Summer’s gaze drifts around the room. “I like your decorations,” she says, taking in the ten-foot Christmas tree in the corner.
“Thanks. It’s mostly Tara’s doing, but she let me hang some ornaments.”
Summer dips her chin, then looks back at me. Well, at Grace in my lap, but close enough.
She lets out a huff of breath and sinks into the cushions. “This is weird. You think this is weird, right?”
I hitch a shoulder. It’s definitely unexpected. But I can’t deny liking that she’s here. I’m just not sure I’m prepared for the fallout.
Then, as if she just thought it, she asks, “You didn’t know about this, did you?”
“What? No. Of course not. Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I had?”
“Yeah.” She sighs, the tension in her shoulders easing a notch. “Yeah, I think you would have.”
“I don’t need to ask if you knew.” I chuckle. “Your face says it all.”
Her lips tip up a fraction and, as if the gesture is contagious, mine do too.
She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the couch. “So what’re we going to do about this?”
