His expression turns unreadable, like he’s deciding just how much of himself he wants to let me see.
My gaze drifts to his hands. They’re not ridiculously big, but they’re bigger than mine. Rough. Calloused. The hands of a man who works hard for a living. A man who builds things.
“What?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. There’s no way I’m admitting I’ve been sitting here daydreaming about his hands.
“Oh, I forgot to ask.” He smiles, a little too pleased with himself for my liking. “Do you have anyone in Charlotte you need to let know that you’re stuck in town because of the storm?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this your way of asking me if I’m seeing someone?”
His smile disappears. “What? No.”
The answer comes out so fast, I almost believe him.
“I was just curious if you lived with your parents and needed to let them know.”
He turns away, grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard, and starts serving the food. It smells so good, I’m half tempted to let everything slide and not call him out on his bullshit.
But I love bickering with him way too much.
“Really, Miles? I’m a grown-ass woman.”
He turns around with two plates in hand, and I inhale sharply at the sight.
The man is unfairly attractive.
A kitchen towel hangs over his shoulder, his tight jeans molding to his thighs and every sinful inch between them. I drink him in like the tall glass of water he is.
“Like what you see, sugar?” he says, that damn smirk on his lips.
I roll my eyes as I take a sip of my wine. “You’re insufferable.”
He laughs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He takes a sip of his wine before grabbing a forkful of chicken.
“What’s with all the nicknames?” I ask, grabbing veggies with my fork. The earthiness of the artichokes hits my tongue, while the freshness of the tomatoes brightens everything.
Damn, this man can cook.
“I just want to see which one sticks.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I frown. What exactly does that mean? Is he also thinking about me nonstop?
We keep eating in comfortable silence. Honestly, I’m enjoying the food too much to keep talking.
By the time I finish the last bite, exhaustion starts settling into my bones. The weight of the week is finally catching up to me.
“You and I both know one time wasn’t enough. But that’s a conversation for another day.”
He drops this bombshell casually as he picks up our plates and loads them into the dishwasher.
“Have a good sleep, Penny. I’ll see you in the morning.” He throws a wink my way before disappearing upstairs.
A few seconds pass before I realize I’m sitting there with my mouth hanging open.
Thank God he didn’t turn around and catch me looking like a boba. I would’ve been mortified all night. Hell, I might’ve even called Gio to come get me. I’d rather invade their family space than spend a night under the same roof as my—
Fucking hell, crush? What am I? Thirteen?
