Miles narrows his eyes at me. “Careful, Lucy. If you’re gonna dish it out, you’d better be ready to take it.”
My smile is growing so much that it’s hurting my cheeks. “You realize that most people are not perfect, right? That many of us do leave our clothes on the floor after a shower.”
“Yeah, but it’s not exactly a great indicator of working hard, is it?”
I roll my eyes. “Who cares? Wash the clothes when you’re able to get to it. This isn’t a health-hazard bathroom. The floor is clean under these clothes. The sink and counters are clean. Besides, this looks like as many clothes as I would toss out in a single day. So, it’s not like they’ve been sitting here for fourteen weeks.” I shrug but then realize this really does embarrass Miles. This is his dirty secret? That he doesn’t keep everything perfectly clean? I shake my head. “Miles, this is what normal people do. Not Willa, but I’ve never thought my sister was entirely normal.”
Miles grins at that.
“Watch this.” I bend down and scoop up the clothes, tossing them into the dirty basket, and then I open the drawer and sweep the bottles of soap and deodorant into it. I line up the water bottles and granola bars.
“Ta-da! You’re not a Messy Marvin if you can pick it up in thirty seconds.”
“Why are you being so nice?”
I plant a hand on my hip and stare at him. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this or not…but I’m a nice person.”
Miles smirks at that. “You know what I mean.”
“What did you think I was going to say? Honestly? Miles, you do realize this is no big deal. Some peoplelivein houses.”
Miles shakes his head slowly. “I think it’s because I had it ingrained in me that I needed to have it all together. The early mornings, the clean living space, exercise, business…”
“Do you mean your parents?”
“No, not so much them as most people in the business world. Professors, guides, friends. My mentor.”
“Listen, not to disparage all those people’s advice, but I hope you realize you don’t always have to have everything together. You don’t have to do it all.”
Miles looks so surprised by that. “But doesn’t that mean I’m more of a failure?”
I laugh. “There’s no life scale on who’s failing or not. There’s not some prize out there for meeting a stranger’s standard of ‘put together’.”
He stares at me for a minute. “How did you get so smart?”
“I grew up with a mother who demanded perfection. I learned that perfection’s an illusion that’s different in each person’s mind. And if we live our lives trying to meet other people’s standards of perfection? We will never be happy.”
Miles steps slowly toward me and pulls me into a hug. “You’re very wise for someone so small.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re a size-ist,” I mumble against his chest. Although I’m starting to gain an appreciation for his big frame and the way he can envelop me completely in a hug. It’s nice.
Very nice. And he smells good. And this is different because we’re not wrestling or being silly. He’s hugging me because we’re both recovering perfectionists.
Who are about to share a bed.
TWENTY-FOUR
Miles
There are certain moments in my life when I wish I were a practiced liar. I wish I could navigate awkward situations with ease.
But nope. I just stood there and nodded when Grandma said something about us sleeping together and her getting to use our guest room.
Yes, of course. Just me and my wife sleeping…in bed…together.
Which brings me to another dilemma. What does Lucy sleep in?
What am I going to do if she walks out of my bathroom wearing some lacy pajama set? A barely-there tank top and booty shorts? Because only a fool wouldn’t realize how attractive Lucy is, and my mama didn’t raise a fool.
