Page 65 of Enemy Crush
I pressed my lips tightly and nodded, but his eyes were soft and warm and a wave of emotion suddenly crashed over me, an onslaught of tears building.
My nod became a shake.
“Hey.” Miller’s voice was a quiet rasp and I don’t know what happened next or where he put his backpack or how we got to be sitting side by side on the front porch step with Hamish swishing around my legs.
I patted him (Hamish, not Miller), battling to keep myself from crying. And the only way I could do that was by talking. “It’s true. We’re broke. Our family is broke.”
Miller didn’t say anything, but he reached out his hand to stroke Hamish, but then it brushed against my knee. I leaned forward, our shoulders touching.
“My father’s business collapsed and they had a huge tax bill to pay and all our money’s gone. Dad moved to the city and had to get a job. Mom has to work in her salon just to makeends meet. They sold my Jeep and couldn’t afford to keep me at Brizendine. Mom’s been selling her designer bags online to try to make some extra money.” I kept going, not knowing if Miller was listening, or even cared about any of it. “And she told me I couldn’t let anyone find out. That’s why I haven’t tried to make friends. I hated the thought of living this lie. And that’s why I signed up for the potato harvest, because we desperately need the money.”
I was rambling now, but Miller was still there, a patient listener, unless I’d bored him to sleep.
“I guessed my friends would find out eventually,” I continued on. “It was bound to happen, but now they hate me. And all Mom cares about is her reputation.”
“Heyyyy,” Miller dragged out the single word, gentle and full of comfort. I momentarily tensed as his arm wrapped around my shoulder but I couldn’t resist the warmth of his touch and melted against him.
In Miller’s arms, it didn’t matter that my family were broke and broken, that I had no friends, and that my mother didn’t understand. Because Miller did. In some way, he knew what I needed.
Miller’s fingertips threaded through my hair, a spine-tingling caress that made me lean closer, my hand resting on his knee, his bare knee. His hand covered it, holding it there while the other pushed a stand of hair back behind my ear, brushing my lobe, trailing down my neck. Side by side, I tilted my head, gazing into his melty brown eyes and forgetting how to breathe.
It all intensified, the perfect moment, eyes locked and lingering, the inevitable about to happen, the movement slow but sure, our lips destined to unite, a heartbeat away.
But the door swung open and Mason’s voice interrupted us as he came bounding out. “Hi Quinn, I got this for you.”
In a flash, Miller’s arm disappeared from around my shoulder and we sat upright, suddenly two separate entities.
“Hi Mason,” I said, smiling up at him as I heard Miller let out a low groan.
“I meant to give it to you before but you’ve been doing the Spud Harvest.”
“Oh yeah, ooh that’s cute,” I said as he sat next to me holding out a pretty butterfly bookmark. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Miller growled under his breath.
“Thanks for the Squishmallow, too. I hang it on my backpack,” Mason said. “Stanley goes with me everywhere.”
“Awww, that’s so cool,” I said. “He’s really looking out for you.”
“Quinn and I are taking Hamish for a walk,” Miller said, standing up. “Can you grab me the leash?”
“Yep,” Mason said with a nod, dashing back inside.
Miller rolled his eyes. “You wanna go for a walk?”
I smiled, nodding my head. Mason returned with the leash and Miller attached it to Hamish’s collar. “There’s some food in my backpack,” he said to his brother. “We won’t be long.”
“See ya, Mason,” I said, waving as I followed Miller out the gate.
“Completely oblivious,” Miller said through gritted teeth as we set out down the lane.
“Ahh, he’s so sweet,” I said, playfully nudging his elbow.
“His timing is lousy,” Miller grumbled, moving Hamish’s leash to his other hand as Hamish sniffed along the side of the road. At least that’s why I thought he did. But with his free hand, he took hold of mine. My heart skipped a beat and then sped up. “Okay?” he asked.
I nodded, trying to process everything. I was angry with my mother, sad about my friends but I was pumped upover this thing, this development with Miller. If Mason hadn’t interrupted, would we have kissed already?
“I’m sorry about your family’s troubles,” Miller said, squeezing my hand a little firmer, “but you’re not about to sell your house, are you?”
