Just One Kiss - J. Saman Page 0,30
me to stay?
I can’t even with that right now and he clearly wasn’t looking to start another heavy chat, so I take my place on the opposite side of the sofa, setting my computer on my lap. Then I realize something. “Do you have WiFi?”
He looks up, but just briefly before returning to whatever it is he’s working on. “Yup.”
I shake my head. “I really wish I had thought of that earlier. I could have FaceTimed using that.”
He frowns. “Sorry. I hadn’t thought of it either. Yes, I guess you could have.”
I make a mental note to call Rina tonight using that, and then I open my laptop, log on and open a brand-new Word document page. My eyes drift out the window and then over to Miles who sits across from me, his back against the cushioned arm as he faces me, sketching away. I mirror his position, our feet about a foot or so apart.
Pulling the blanket over my legs, I offer him some. “I share.”
He grins, his hand moving a mile a minute. He reaches around his legs and takes some of the blanket, covering his socked feet, and then goes right back to work. I take the hint and do the same as images and words springboard to the front of my mind, my fingers taking over, typing away as words turn into sentences, turn into paragraphs and scenes.
I pick a little at the food, sipping on my wine while Miles drinks his beer, both of us lost in our work as the fire crackles and Betsy works on her bone, having decided to join us out here with it now that it’s warm.
Some untold time later, I move for the first time in what feels like hours, my back stiff and my ass aching. I realize I banged out well over two thousand words and though I haven’t read back through any of it, I already know I’m going to like it. But between the wine and the fire and the snow outside, my head grows heavy.
Shutting my laptop, I set it down on the coffee table, scooting myself down some and staring out at the snow. It looks like hell out there, but I’m in heaven here, warm and comfortable and… really happy.
Miles’s hand on my feet startles me and my head jolts over, catching his eyes and his smirk. He tugs them gently toward him, allowing me to stretch out beside him, and his hand starts to work, rubbing in the arch of my feet.
“Stop being so perfect,” I tell him on a yawn, my eyes closing on their own volition.
“You first,” I think I hear him whisper just as I start to doze. Wondering if I’ll have another steamy dream featuring my very own Superhero Miles.
Chapter Eleven
MILES
I watch as London’s breathing evens out and once I know she’s good and asleep, I release her foot and return to my sketches. Something I haven’t done in a while but am really enjoying. At first, I started with different objects I’ve always wanted to make. A chandelier I’ve had in my head for a while, but never started on. Some wine and champagne glasses because those are huge sellers, especially in the wedding market. A few ornate objects that I think would be fun and challenging.
Then it happened.
Then I flipped a page and stared at the blank white in front of me.
London was still typing away, lost and deep in whatever world she was creating, and I didn’t hesitate.
My hand started to move in a very old and familiar way, drawing the long lines and delicate slopes of her face and neck. The subtlety of the few freckles she has on the bridge of her adorable nose. The curve and swell of her heart-shaped lips that favor a hint of mischief and humor—especially with whatever she was writing. The arch of her eyes, bright and alive against the fan of her long, dark lashes.
Her eyes. My favorite part of her for so much more than just the exotic color.
They’re a book. An endless roadmap into London Canterbury’s mind and heart and soul as she wears so much of that on her sleeve. Something I’ve always loved and admired. Something I’ve missed so goddamn much in the years I haven’t been able to look into them.
I miss all the little things about her that I loved so much. Things I know I’m going to miss again once she leaves.
And my chest instantly hurts.
Watching as she