Just One Kiss - J. Saman Page 0,48
down here to collect Miss London.” He steps forward, extending his hand to Miles, holding something in it that I hadn’t seen before. “Here. With our many thanks for all that you’ve done for London.”
Miles reaches out, numbly taking what looks to be an expensive bottle of something. Miles is a beer guy. Miles is not an expensive scotch guy. Miles frowns at the crystal in his hands, but somehow manages a nod and a thank you.
The gift is rude while being polite.
Miles didn’t want a thank you. He doesn’t care about expensive alcohol. He rescued me because that’s who he is. And then everything else happened and now that thank you feels wrong.
Fucking Michael Bublé is still singing his freaking Christmas-loving heart out as Miles stares into me and I stare back. No. It’s all I can think. Just no. Not now. Not tonight. Not this soon.
Miles walks over to my phone that’s hooked up to his Bluetooth speakers and disconnects it all, a sharp silence slicing through the room that nearly has me jumping in place. He hands me my phone, his motions brusque and edgy. “You should go gather your things.”
Fuck.
“Miles—”
“I can do that for Miss London if need be.”
I shake my head. Words fail me.
“I have to grab something from my workshop that I left in there earlier.”
I shake my head some more. “Miles,” I try again. “Stop.”
“I want you to have it, London. Before you leave.”
And my heart starts to bleed. Tiny pinpoint needle pricks stab into it. It’s not a gush. It’s not a deluge. It’s a slow trickle, painful, agonizing, but slow. Mostly because I’m hoping this isn’t happening. That Fletcher will go, and Miles and I will at least have tonight. Or maybe…
“Come with me, Miles.”
His eyes meet mine and in them I watch as he shutters closed.
“Yes,” freaking wonderful fucking Fletcher agrees. “Of course. Mister and Mrs. Canterbury would be delighted to have you join us for the holiday tomorrow. I’m sure they would relish the opportunity to thank you in person. It would be my honor to drive you back home after. My services won’t be needed for Miss London as Miss Savannah will be heading back into New York and is planning to take Miss London with her.”
A grunt. That’s all Miles has got. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you go upstairs and get your things? I’ll meet you up there.”
A sob lodges in my throat as I leave Fletcher standing here like a lost soldier while I head upstairs and Miles scurries off toward his workshop for who the hell knows what. I don’t care. I want him up here with me so I can talk to him. So I can… so I can what? Tell him I’m not going back to New York?
Is that even rational? Is it even wanted?
Talk about presumptuous. Didn’t he just say today that he can’t keep me?
And what am I even thinking, giving up my apartment in New York and moving out here where I know no one? Where I’ve written the best opening six chapters of a book I’ve ever written?
Where the guy I want hasn’t asked me to stay?
On shaky legs with my thoughts scattered, I make my way into the bedroom I initially slept in —the guestroom. My suitcases are still in here. I only moved a couple things into Miles’s bedroom, but the majority of my things are here.
I pack them all up. It doesn’t take me long. Just a few minutes. After all, I’ve only been here a couple of days. Not long at all. Not long enough to form the type of attachment to a man that I seem to already possess. Not nearly long enough to uproot one’s life and relocate.
Especially for a man who is not exactly putting up a fight.
Tears cling to my eyes, burning the hell out of my nose, but I won’t do it. I won’t become that girl. Not right now, at least. That moment can come later in private.
Somehow, I find myself in his bedroom. I find myself tucking away all the things I brought in here. And like a juvenile, I spray his bed with my perfume.
Because I want the motherfucker to smell me tonight when he goes to sleep and I’m not here and he didn’t say much more than he had to collect something from his workshop before I leave.
Before I leave!
Noise behind me has me staring straight ahead, drying out my eyes before I