Page 36 of Tourist Trap

Ever since Miles and I had our heart-to-heart and he apologized, things have been much less tense around the house. Most mornings, he sits with me, eating some super healthy boring person breakfast while I eat my sugary cereal, and when he’s not working late and I’m not with June or Lainey, he’ll sit with me on the deck chatting.

We’re…friends.

“Claire,” his voice bellows, and I roll my lips into my teeth, stifling a laugh. God, I’ve been giddy for this confrontation almostall day.“Claire, come down here right now.”

I should wait, make him hold out because he’s already mad, but I’m eager to see what he thinks of the fruits of my labor.

“Yes, Daddy?” I ask from the top of the stairs, looking down the railing at him like a kid who knows she’s about to get in major trouble.

His jaw is tight, and his shoulders are raised as he glares toward the kitchen.

That hasn’t changed, at least, my incessant urge to tease Miles just because it truly unsettles him. That’s my self-assigned job this summer: to rattle Miles Miller a bit out of the cage he’s made for himself.

Or, at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself is why I flirt incessantly with him. It’s definitelynotbecause I have a full-blown crush on my ex’s older brother.

No. That would be wrong. So, so wrong.

Right?

“Get the fuck down here,” he says through gritted teeth, a look of exasperation already on his face like he’s resigned to this fate.

I behave and make my way down, standing in front of him with my hands on my hips.

He’s still in his work boots, adding an inch to him, making him tower over my bare-footed face even more, and I fight the urge to wipe at the small spot of grease on his cheek. The backward baseball hat he wears to keep his messy hair back is the cherry on top.

No, I lied. Theglarehe’s giving me is the best part. It shouldn’t be so hot, but here we are.

“What the fuck is that?”

“What’s what?” I ask, tipping my head to the side like I havenoidea what he’s talking about. His glare deepens as I stand there, fighting the urge to grin. God, he really is too easy, isn’t he?

“That. On the counter.” He points to the four clear plastic containers with colorful tops. “What the fuck isthat?”

“Oh,” I say as if I’m just now understanding. “Those. They’re hermit crabs.”

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, attempting to center himself or find some modicum of patience.

I don’t think he quite gets there.

“And how did they get here?” he asks slowly.

“Oh, I saved her. And her sisters.”

“Her?” I shrug, then explain. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re girls.”

He gives me a slight nod like he’s trying to come to terms with…life in general before taking a deep breath and asking another question.

“How does one know this?”

“Google says the girls have dots on the back of their legs, but one’s been a little shy, so I haven’t gotten a good enough look to make an educated guess about if all of them are girls or not.”

Miles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, running his hand over his face. It smears that little dot of grease, and it takes a Herculean effort not to run my thumb over it to clear it off myself. “And when you say all of them…”

“Six,” I say before he can finish asking his question.

He nods, eyes still closed like he’s trying to find his happy place that is undoubtedly far, far away from here.

“Six hermit crabs,” he repeats.

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