Or in a robe in the bushes.
“First of all, you’re a knockout,” he says simply, like it’s obvious. Then he looks at me like he’s judging a sculpture in a juried art show. “You could stop traffic with those eyes alone.”
Warmth spreads through my body like I just swallowed a heating pad. But then I return to my senses and hold up a hand. “Oh please. Stop right there.”
“What? I’m being sincere here,” he says. “I don’t know what your ex was thinking, but he screwed up letting you go.”
My breath catches in my throat, but I’m too caught off guard to respond. I search his face, but I honestly don’t think he’s flirting. It’s like he’s stating a fact.
He thinks I’m a knockout.
And he’s not looking at Colorado Claire, the made-up, perfectly groomed woman who put effort into her appearance. He’s looking at the dressed-down, casual, morenaturalperson I’ve started tobecome. It feels hard to believe, but I suppose we all have different ideas about what makes a person attractive.
I’m still pondering this when Miles grins. “Trust me. I can help.”
I grip the handle on the basket of muffins a bit tighter. “What’s in it for you?”
Without the slightest hesitation he points at my lap. “Baked goods.”
“Baked goods,” I repeat.
“Baked goods,” he says. “I’ll offer my services in exchange for baked goods.” He leans in. “To be honest, I really miss homemade food.”
I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably,” he says. “But at least you won’t be getting back out there alone.” He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t like that idea.”
I frown, trying to figure out why Miles would feel protective of me and also why I kind of like that he does.
“What do you say?” He sticks out his hand in my direction, and I stare at it.
I sigh, and for reasons that will never make sense to anyone, especially me, I slip my hand into his and squeeze.
“Deal.”
I feel like I should start with “Dear Diary” with the way I’ve been feeling lately.
It felt good to cross out “Try new foods I’ve never had or can’t pronounce.” It’s gotten me on such a kick that I’ve tried something new at least four times in the past week.
Plov with chicken in a cast-iron kazan? Yes, please.
Oodkac breakfast from the Mogadishu restaurant? Sign me up.
Haven’t tried Thai food. I heard it’s super spicy, so I’ve been avoiding it so far.
But there is just So. Much. Deliciousness.
I never knew.
It feels good to choose. And discover.
If only someone would discover my résumé.
After a week of visiting businesses and dropping off applications—with Miles’s help—I still haven’t gotten one single interview.
That doesn’t feel great. I feel... outdated. Obsolete. Past my prime.
It’s so close to the feeling I get when I think about how John so easily replaced me.
