Miles closes the distance between us. He takes my hat off, fingers carefully running along my temples.
I freeze, then swallow hard.
He shakes snow from my hat and tosses it on the entry table. Then he slides my jacket off my shoulders, hanging it neatly in the closet. He drops to his knees to deal with my boots.
I haven’t moved. My brain’s too busy spinning on what him being here means to worry about basic necessities, like getting out of cold, snow-damp clothes.
“C’mon.” He straightens, then tips his head toward the kitchen. “I brought you back dinner.”
I sit at the kitchen island while he preheats the oven, then pulls several Tupperware containers out of the fridge. He pops the lids off and?—
“That’s way too much for me.”
“I’ll have some, too.” He transfers a little of everything into a large glass dish.
“You didn’t eat there?”
“I did. Just…” His eyes find mine and hold. “Still hungry, I guess.”
Something unsaid hangs between us, and it suddenly feels like a question of who will break first. Not if, but when. I have a feeling it’s going to be me.
The oven beeps, and Miles looks away first, turning to pop the food in.
When he returns, he braces his elbows on the counter across from me and leans in. Gracie takes the opportunity to jump up and rub against his face, but he straightens before she can headbutt him.
“How was the drive?” He rubs a non-existent smudge from the granite.
“You were right.” My shoulders sag. “It was slippery and stressful.”
His hand stills. “How bad?”
“Well, it was touch and go there for a bit.” I try to joke, but the line between his brows only gets deeper. “I made it, so…” I shrug.
His gaze flicks toward the front door, as if he can see the Bronco from here. “Do you have snow tires on it?”
My mouth drops open. “They make tires just for snow?”
“Yeah. You can take my truck, and I’ll bring yours?—”
“I’ll figure it out,” I cut in. “I just need to get used to driving in a Chicago winter.”
Help has always been easier for me to give than take. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
He rubs the back of his neck. I can tell he wants to push, but decides against it. Instead, he asks, “Did you talk to your family today?”
“Yeah. My mom told me to wish you a Merry Christmas.” I pause. “She also invited you to celebrate with us next year.”
“I’d like to meet them.” Miles looks taken aback by his own words and clears his throat. “So, this Boone guy… What’s his deal? Why’d he make you work on Christmas?”
A few choice expletives come to mind, but I bite my tongue. “He was a true pain today, but I also got the sense that he’s… I don’t know, lonely. And mad about it.”
Miles dips his chin.
“I have to believe it’ll be worth it.” I toy with my shirt sleeve. “I just hope it starts flowing soon.”
He reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. The touch catches me off guard, and so does the heat that skitters up my arm.
“I know it will,” he murmurs.
