Page 67 of So Not My Thing
I missed my bed. I packed and drove home, and when I stepped back into my place, I noticed the windows right away. His installer had gone with an expensive upgrade and rebuilt the worn casements with new freshly painted built-ins.
Nice.
But it wasn’t a surprise that Miles paid extraordinary attention to detail. From his plans for his club to the lyrics in his songs, his awareness of the small things other people didn’t consider made him stand out. As a client. And a songwriter. And as a person.
Ugh. I didn’t want to think about him right now. I’d avoided listening to his music all week, knowing that after our moment on the dance floor, his voice would have only served to pull me under, and I was already drifting too close to the deep end.
Still, in the early Friday evening quiet when the shops had closed but the restaurants and clubs hadn’t begun bustling, I couldn’t resist slipping downstairs to see what Miles had gotten done already.
Technically, I wasn’t supposed to enter the leased premises without notifying him in advance, but I wasn’t going downstairs in my official capacity; I was sneaking a peek as Gabi, the kid who’d grown up in Miss Mary’s kitchen, curious to see what it had become.
I entered through the kitchen as I always did, and it looked almost the same. They’d pulled out one of the double ovens that had been temperamental for Miss Mary, and I knew Miles planned to replace it. Other than that, everything was exactly where I was used to seeing it, even if the pantry and cold storage were empty.
I hesitated at the door to the dining room, not sure I wanted to see it stripped bare. But it was probably the best way to help me process the fact that things were changing for good. I took a steadying breath and stepped through it, then almost yelped when I knocked right into Miles who’d been standing with his back to the door. He caught his balance with a step forward and a mild curse before turning to see me.
“I’m sorry!” I said at the same time he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry,” I repeated. “I’m not technically supposed to come down here without twenty-fours notice in writing.”
“Did you do that with Miss Mary?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t need to do it now.”
The invitation caused a small flutter in my chest. Nerves? Excitement?
Stupidity. That’s what. “Thanks,” I told him, “but I’ll notify you from now on. I promise. I was just too curious to resist.”
He swept his hand around the dimly lit hull of the café. “Not much to look at yet, but it’s ready for them to do the sound-proofing on Monday, and by Tuesday you shouldn’t hear a sound no matter what time they start construction.”
I winced. “Yeah, Chloe said something about leaving you a note. It was nice of you to put us up for the week.”
He smiled. “It’s fine. She was right. No reason you should have to deal with the demolition noise.” He glanced over the bare walls, the wooden floor faded around the darker spots where the permanent booths had sat. “Does it feel weird to be in here?”
My eyes followed the same path his took. “It does. But it’s good for me. I’m not great at letting things go. This helps.”
“For what it’s worth, I found a place right around the corner. The Bywater Bakery?”
I nodded. Everybody in the Bywater knew it. Probably everyone in the city did.
“While I can verify that I know for myself no one makes a better chicken biscuit than Miss Mary, their coffee is just as good. Anyway, I set you and Chloe up with a permanent tab over there. Consider it a thank you for letting me lease this place.”
My eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “I know. That’s why I want to.”
“Well...thank you. But you don’t have to bribe me. You have an ironclad lease that keeps me from kicking you out of this place for at least five years. Unless you’re planning to start laundering money through here or something?”
“I’m not,” he said like he was taking my question seriously. “Not unless tourism dries up and people decide not to listen to music anymore. In which case I might have to turn to a life of crime. But I think we’ll be okay.”
“I’ll do an addendum to your lease that requires you to give me thirty days’ advance notice in writing if you decide to make this a crime front.”
“Good plan.”
I smiled at him, then crooked my head to the door behind us. “I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry for barging in. I’ll check with you first before I come down again.” I turned toward the kitchen.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out to grab my wrist in the same light hold he’d used on the dance floor. I stopped and turned back to him. “Last week, Miss Mary’s gumbo party.” He paused and it looked like he was drawing in a slow, steady breath. I tensed, knowing what was coming. “I didn’t imagine that. Right?”
