Page 41 of Take This Heart
“Need help? Looks like someone had a drink,” he teases.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, kissing him on the cheek. “You okay? I’m surprised to see you up.”
“I was just having a cup of tea. But Milo, do you mind if I show you something? I have an idea and it won’t take long.”
“Sure,” Milo says.
“Good night.” I lift my hand in a small wave.
Milo’s eyes slide over my face, pausing on my mouth. I swallow hard.
I stop by the kitchen, putting away a few of the dishes I’d left in the dishwasher, and when I go to my room, Milo has already been there. A glass of water sits on my nightstand. Two ibuprofen. And a little square of white paper, torn from what looks like his sketchpad.
Sleep well. You need your rest so you can hurl more insults at me tomorrow.
~M
I put my hands on my heated cheeks and try not to smile.
I wakeup feeling like I didn’t sleep at all. My hair is a nest on top of my head, and my shirt is doing this off-the-shoulder thing that makes me feel like an eighties chick. I smile, thinking of what Milo would say if he knew I’d made an eighties reference. I’d never hear the end of it. I’m in my underwear, but one glimpse down the hall shows my dad snoring, so there’s time to go make a quick cup of coffee andtoast. I’m too tired to brave Kitty-Corner Cafe today, and frankly too nervous about seeing Milo. I shuffle down the stairs toward the kitchen and then stop dead in my tracks.
Milo is on my couch. It looks like he’s just waking up, his long body stretching like a glorious panther.
And before I can slowly back away, his eyes find mine.
His dark lashes blink once. Then again.
And then he smirks.
“You slept over?” I ask.
Okay, it seems to be stating the obvious, but I’m not operating on all cylinders here.
He moves his arms behind his head. His voice is all morning gravel and cock-itude as his eyes travel down my body.
Oh shit. The only time I’ve ever regretted not wearing pants.
“Your dad fell asleep over there.” He points at the chair. “And the door wasn’t locked. I didn’t want to leave like that.”
I snort despite my mortification. “It’s Windy Harbor. No one locks their doors.”
His brow crinkles. “Oh. Right.”
“Okay, good then,” I mumble, turning around and marching back toward the stairs.
“Hey, Goldie?”
I pause at the bottom step, slowly turning my head.
He’s sitting up now, his hair mussed, T-shirt wrinkled, and smile warm.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
I stare at him. “You’re infuriating when you open your mouth.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t seem to mind last night.”
My mouth drops and he chuckles.
