A heat-filled moment passes between us, laced with the emotion of unsaid words. I can’t think of a time when someone stuck up for me like that, and I don’t know what to make of it.
All I know is that it’s getting more and more difficult to remember that he and I are just friends.
Miles inhales a slow breath as if he’s trying to slow his pulse, then reaches up and gently brushes my hair away from my face. “You should’ve told me.”
I can’t look at him. I don’t trust myself. “It’s not your job to protect me.”
He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger, lets it go, then makes a fist and pulls his hand away. “What if I want it to be?”
I can feel his eyes on me, though I’m doing everything I can to not look up at him. Because if I do, every ounce of my resolve will disintegrate into thin air.
The bag of ice is sitting on top of his swollen hand, which is pressed against his chest, and I reach over and move it, just a little.
I don’t know how I manage to get the words out because I’mpretty sure I’m holding my breath, but I find a way to ask, “What are you saying?”
At that, he angles away from me, dropping down onto the stool. “I don’t know. I just—” He drags his hand across his forehead and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
I move an inch closer. “We talked about this—”
“I know, Claire.” He looks at me and shrugs, resigned. “I know. But when I saw that guy messing with you, it just”—he blows out a breath—“made me crazy.”
I think about everything I learned about him tonight.
The way he donates his time and skills to help make this city beautiful.
The way the women in his orbit trust him enough to ask him to be their plus-one.
The way he always says yes, always takes time, always helps.
He takes care of everyone—he can’t help it. It’s just who he is.
That’s all this is. Miles doing what he does—swooping in to help.
Maybe he’s just confusing that innate need with feelings... but the way he’s looking at me right now makes it really hard to believe that.
There’s a beat of silence, and I search my mind for a way to keep the moment from getting even more awkward and end up saying the only thing I can think to say. “Why didn’t you tell me the women I saw at your apartment that first day were your daughters?”
He half laughs. “You didn’t ask.”
“I actually thought you were dating women half your age,” I say. “And you didn’t correct me.” I go quiet. “I didn’t mean to be so judgy.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not,” I say. “And it’s also not okay for you to keep sending me mixed signals, so you have to stop that.”
“I know.” He looks at me, apologetic. “I swear it’s not on purpose. You just—” But he doesn’t finish the sentence.
I hear Gina call for teams to return to their tables.
I look up at Miles.
He looks back at me.
He narrows his eyes.
I narrow mine right back, thankful for the levity.
“Winner pays the next time we try a new cuisine?” He raises a single eyebrow.
