Miller taking off my shoes and my dress for me.
“Oh my god. I’m going to be sick.” I slap a palm over my mouth, trying to suppress a gag, right when the doorbell rings.
I start, eyes wide and swinging around my townhouse like the walls have suddenly turned invisible and I’ll be able to see who’s standing there so I can respond accordingly.
It’s probably fucking Scott. Ready and waiting on the porch with a ginger ale he’ll only give me in some sort of display of toxic masculinity that proves I really do need him after all.
Like I’m not capable of walking down the street to the convenience store and getting my own.
He wouldn’t even bring Canada Dry. He’d bring Schweppes.
I might not be capable of making it down the street—he’d be onto something. But I am capable of going back to my room, putting on a sweater and sweatpants so I can tell him to, kindly, get the fuck off my porch.
“Scott, I’m not interested in your—” My bravado dies when I pull the door open.
It usually does, about halfway into my first attempt at standing up to him in any given conversation.
But he’s not the one standing on my porch.
“Oh,” I breathe.
Miller’s mouth catches on something that’s not quite a smile. Faint lines digging in around the corners of his eyes, darker than usual under an overcast morning sky. His tattooed hand comes up, adjusting the top of the hat turned backwards on his head before he tugs absentmindedly at the waves peeking out around the nape of his neck. The muscles on his arm contract when he rubs the back of his head, his other hand lifting a cardboard coffee tray, weighed down by two foil bags and perspiring iced coffees.
“Pretty girls have given me warmer welcomes in the morning.” He forces a grin.
“Oh,” I say again, blinking too much before I give a small shake of my head. “Sorry, I just thought you were—”
“Your shitty ex?”
I nod with a weak smile. “Seems like something he’d do. Show up and tell me about all the things I did wrong last night and all the ways I brought shame on the Paleontology Department.”
“I was there. Don’t remember you doing anything wrong. And I don’t think you brought shame upon the dinosaurs.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, and a flush rises under the stubbledusting his jaw. “They should, uh, give you a raise. I learned a lot about asteroids and things that happened sixty-six million years ago.”
Sniffing, I pull open the door in invitation. “Too bad you weren’t around a few months ago. I could have used you on the hiring committee.”
He frowns before taking a tentative step off the porch and back into my house. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I just—” I chew on the inside of my cheek, waving a laissez-faire hand. “Lost out on a job. To my shitty ex, actually. It’s not a big deal.”
Miller nods slowly and in disbelief. But he clears his throat, holding up the tray again. “Thought you could use, uh, some—”
“Help?” I finish flatly.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t think the likes of you would need my help with much of anything. But I thought you could use some food and something to drink that wasn’t, you know—”
“Champagne?” I finish again, kinder this time.
“Yeah.” He smiles, dimples popping and chasing away the pink on his cheeks. “That.”
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I say softly, “Well, thank you. For this. And for that. You know ... helping me last night. I’m really sorry. I don’t usually make a habit of embarrassing myself or the people I’m with, and I don’t—”
“You didn’t embarrass me,” he finishes this time, jaw tensing with a swallow. “And you didn’t embarrass yourself.”
“Then how come I feel embarrassed?” I ask quietly, the backs of my eyes starting to burn.
“Alcohol can do that to a person,” he says dryly, tipping his chin towards the tray again. “Here. Take it. I don’t know what you like. I just grabbed what I thought might ... help the most.”
I smile, taking the iced coffee and one of the foil bags with a tentative hand. “Thank you. Do you have anywhere to be? We could ... sit.”
