Page 93 of Wild Then Wed
He steps closer, just a bit, like he’s testing the edge of a cliff. Miller doesn’t turn. Doesn’t shift. She just keeps fussing with a bowl of green beans. Either she doesn’t notice him or she’s pretending not to, which is honestly hard to tell with her.
Then he clears his throat and says, “Millie.”
She jumps—just slightly—and looks up at him. Briefly. Like a flick of sunlight through glass. Then her gaze drops back to the dishes as she says, “Ridge.”
His mouth curves. Barely. “Good to see you.”
She shrugs, placing a spoon next to the cranberry sauce. “Semi-decent to see you.”
I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.
There’s been tension between them lately. More than usual. Ever since theBrighton Brooks Kissing Debacle, as Miller’s referred to it—once, and only once, but with enough venom to salt the whole earth. Ridge couldn’t have picked someonelessfamous to make out with publicly?
She’s been icy toward him ever since. All sharp smiles and clipped conversations. And Ridge, to his credit or his curse, has been following her around like a heartbroken golden retriever.
“I like your outfit. It’s very…you.”
Miller doesn’t look up. Just folds a napkin with clinical precision and replies, “I’m always in a nice outfit.”
Ridge huffs out a laugh. “That’s true.”
Miller finally glances over at him then—slow, assessing—and lets her eyes drag down to his jeans and worn gray T-shirt.
She raises one perfectly shaped brow. “I guess the same can’t be said of others. We can’t all have my good taste, unfortunately.”
Ridge grins, stepping just a little closer—close enough that someone not paying attention might not notice, but I do. Ridge never moves without a reason, and Miller has always been his exception.
“You need help with anything?” he asks, voice lower now, like it’s just for her.
“Nope,” Miller says, popping theplike punctuation, still focused on adjusting the dishes around the cake box.
Then she scrunches her nose. “Get away from me. You smell like a cow.”
Ridge grins. “Be specific. Dairy or beef?”
“Whatever kind gets loaded into a trailer and driven straight to hell.”
Ridge just chuckles. It’s subtle, but I see it—his eyes flick toward her like she’s something he’s still hoping to figure out.
Before he can answer, Hudson walks in from the hallway and lights up when he sees Miller.
“Hey, Mills,” he says, giving her a one-armed hug that she returns with a real one. “You brought balloons and cake so you’re officially the best person here.”
“Finally. Some appreciation around here.” She pulls back and nudges his shoulder. “You washing your hands before dinner or just raw-dogging Thanksgiving like a wild animal?”
Hudson shrugs. “I rinsed.”
Miller narrows her bright green eyes. “That’s what people say right before they give everyone E. coli.”
Hudson just grins and backs away toward the sink. “Worth it for the brownies.”
Miller rolls her eyes but she’s trying not to smile.
Loretta and Mom walk in from the kitchen. Loretta’s dark brown hair is clipped back in her usual low-effort, high-impact style, loose strands framing her face. She claps her hands together, voice warm but commanding.
“Everything looks ready,” she says, scanning the table. “Go wash up before it all goes cold.”
Mom glances over at her with a smile. “And everyone tell Loretta thank you for making half this meal while the rest of us lounged around.”
