His face lights up with a grin. “Go sit while I heat them up,” he says.
I’m about to protest when he plants a kiss on the top of my head. It’s such a natural and domestic gesture that it catches me completely off guard. I’ve never had something so simple feel this intimate before.
“No, I want to help,” I say, resting my hands on his waist.
His abs tense beneath my palms before he slowly relaxes. Then his arms slide around my shoulders.
“Fine. You can set up the fruit and grab some yogurt and juice. I’ll make fresh coffee and heat up the pancakes.”
His arms tighten around me for another second, and instead of feeling trapped, I melt into the closeness.He smells like soap, clean laundry, and something distinctly him. Warm. Masculine. Comforting.
Before I can say or do anything stupid—like tilt my head up and kiss him—I step away and head to the fridge.
Maybe I imagined it, but I swear his face falls a little when I put space between us.
We make breakfast—or should I say brunch—together quickly.
Miles leaves the pancakes in the microwave a little too long, so they end up chewy before turning rock hard. The fact that he picked up my carandmade me food before leaving means more to me than it probably should.
I don’t want to think too deeply about what that says about me.
Miles and I are just friends.
“I thought it was going to take hours to get my car out of that snowbank,” I say as we sit down to eat. “Last night it looked really bad.”
Miles takes a long sip of coffee before answering. “I mean, yeah. There was a ton of snow around it. The plow trucks buried it pretty good.” He shrugs. “Luckily, the sun’s out, and I had a snowplow with me.”
I nod. It makes sense he had a snowplow around. Then it hits me.
“But you drove my car here. How did you take a snowplow with you?”
He closes his eyes briefly and mutters something under his breath that I can’t make out.
“I asked River to come with me.”
I stare at him.
Miles suddenly becomes very interested in shoving a huge bite of pancakes into his mouth.
“You told your brother I stayed here?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He sighs. “Yeah, but you know River. He’s cool.”
I laugh. River MacAllister can be called many things, but cool definitely isn’t at the top of the list.
“Fine,” Miles says, clearly entertained by my reaction. “He’s a grumpy old man. But he understood why you stayed here once he saw your car.”
My eyes widen.
He laughs again.
“Nothing bad. It was just completely covered in snow. I probably should’ve taken a picture.”
My phone pings with a message.
Absent-mindedly, I pick it up.
Easton: Are you snowed in? I was wondering if we could meet up for lunch tomorrow. I can come pick you up if you don’t feel safe driving. X - Easton.
