“Can we not do this right now?” He groans.
“I’ll just put these away and leave you two to your…” she says, gesturing at us, “that.”
When I glance at him, he’s already looking at me, smiling. My lips curve, too. I can’t hold back the burst of laughter, but try to hide it, burying my face in my hands.
Then I’m pulled into strong arms; Miles’s chest makes for a much better place to hide.
“Summer, can you give me a hand?” Tara’s voice cuts through my lingering giggles.
“I will—” Miles starts, but I tell him, “I’ve got it.”
Tara has always reminded me of my mom in that effortlessly caring, kind way. If she’s anything like her, she’s also got a reason for asking for my help instead of his.
With a small nod, he flops back onto the couch, and I round the island to meet Tara near the fridge.
She’s watching me with entirely too much amusement. “So,” she whispers.
“So,” I echo just as softly, though I’m not sure why we’re being so quiet.
“You’re good for him, you know.” She hands me the eggs, then opens the fridge and tilts her head, cold air leaking out of the open door.
I place the carton on the shelf and give her a questioning look.
She leans in and says even lower, “Be good to him, okay? He’s softer than he lets on.”
She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. Since night one, I’ve clocked that there’s more to Miles King than the controlled, charming captain most people see.
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, closing the door, then grabbing her purse. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
I pull her into a hug before she can make her escape. “I will.”
I return to the couch and squeeze into the space between the back cushion and Miles’s body.
He wraps his arms around me. “Wanna get ready?”
I nod, and he adds, “Wear athletic clothes.”
“Are we working out?” My distaste at that thought comes through in my tone.
He chuckles. “Trust me?”
“Yeah.”
Miles hands me a paddle, and I can’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, but there’s that smile tugging at his lips again.
“You brought me to play pickleball.” I sound as amused as I feel. This is more perfect than anything I could’ve guessed. Not the pickleball part—I’m still deciding how I feel about that—but the thought behind it. Another quiet way he shows he cares.
“You said you wanted to join my league.” He smirks.
“Iwasright? You are in a league—” I break off, laughing again.
“Nah.” He bounces a yellow ball on his paddle. “But I need to redeem myself. Can’t have you winning everything.”
I turn the paddle over in my hands. “You’re finally admitting I’m the undefeated ‘Scrabbler’?”
“Sure, Starling.” He tosses the ball up and catches it, still grinning.
