Closing the door after Lawson and Carlie, I drop my face into her neck and breathe her in. She hums, swaying in my arms.
“Bedtime, Captain,” I whisper against the shell of her ear.
“Talking to yourself, Miles?”
With a low groan originating from somewhere deep in my soul, I whisper, “Not at all.”
Chapter 22
LONDON
“Close your eyes,” I say to my crew who is sitting, waiting, at the table.
Every set of eyes closes, eventually.
I slide the tray of hot drinks from the station’s kitchen counter and walk it around to the long common room dining table. I place a steaming hot mug of my favorite drink, which is coincidentally also the nickname of my favorite person in said house and possibly my current existence...
I place a mug in front of him.
Then one for Davey.
Sandy and Owens get one each. Lastly, one for me. I set it down at my spot before ducking around the counter and grabbing the tin. I hold it behind my back and clear my throat.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
Miles cracks an eye and looks straight at me before dropping his gaze to the drink in front of him.
“Not coffee, then?” Sandy asks, picking up the mug and eyeing it like it’s plutonium, and not the best comfort beverage on the planet.
Davey sips his and cringes.
Oh . . .
Sandy chugs his. Owens tries it and tilts her head with a sound of appreciation before sipping the rest.
“What on earth is this?” Davey says.
I can’t tamp back my smile and chuckle as I let my gaze drift to Miles. “Milo.”
I bring the tin around me and set it down on the table in front of Miles. My crew hoot and holler, laughter and clapping echoing through the common room.
Owens whoops and doubles over.
Miles raises an eyebrow and picks up his mug before taking a huge mouthful.
I’m laughing as I ask, “Do you like it, sir?”
Davey spits his out, coughing on the remnants of his last mouthful.
I cackle and clap a hand to my mouth.
Miles holds my gaze as he drinks every last drop. I know I’m being a brat, but this was too much fun. I knew he’d take it well. Besides, what better way to introduce him to my favorite comfort drink? This stuff has gotten me through so much shit in my life. I wouldn’t be without it, so it should be a staple for 53.
London’s new rules.
The mug in Miles’s hand thuds to the table, and when he doesn’t bother to swipe the milk mustache from his upper lip, even Sandy is claimed by hysterics.
God, what I wouldn’t do to crawl onto his lap and kiss the Milo mustache from his face.
