I stop in my tracks, heart pounding, and whirl toward the door.
Surely it’s not... Does he even have my apartment number?
I nearly trip in my rush to reach the door, then fling it open to find Miller waiting there.
Like me, he’s dressed casually for the drive, in jeans and T-shirt. I just stand there, gawking at him for a minute.
His jeans look new, but his work boots are the ones he always wears. His moss-green shirt brings out the flecks of hazel in his brown eyes. It’s stretched at his shoulders and biceps, but otherwise loose, in a way that emphasizes how broad he is.
Obviously, I’ve seen him dressed like this before. I’ve worked with him for years! So why does this feel different?
His normal “dress code” at work is hardly different,though he usually has a flannel thrown over his T-shirt. So his look today shouldn’t take my breath away, but it does.
Maybe it’s because he’s here at my apartment. In my personal space, which I hardly ever share with anyone that I’m not related to by blood or marriage.
Or maybe it’s because I don’t usuallylookat him.
Of course, he sits catty-corner from me. I see him nearly every work day. But I don’tlookat him, because it would be creepy to just stare at your coworker.
Oh, shit.
I’m being creepy now, aren’t I?
I clear my throat and step back, gesturing him in. “Please come in. Sorry, I didn’t … usually people just text. It’s so many stairs. Do you want a drink? Not like a cocktail or anything. Because it’s nine. And you’re driving. Not that I wouldn’t trust you to drive after a single drink, because I would. Mostly because you’re a big guy and mass is in your favor. But like, water for the road. Or coffee. I could make coffee!”
Oh God!
Octavia Rosemary Ramsey! Stop talking right now!!!!
I snap my mouth closed, fight the urgeto apologize for rambling, force a smile, and gesture—again—for him to enter.
I am never opening my mouth again.
Miller steps into my apartment, looks around at the chaos without seeming to judge it. And then says, as if I didn’t vomit words all over him, “No thanks. I have a water bottle in the car.”
Then he smiles.
It’s a classic Miller-smile. The barest twitch of his lips. Amused, but also relaxed and kind somehow. As if I’m not a weirdo.
As if rambling about stairs and cocktails at nine a.m. and commenting on someone’s mass are all perfectly normal things to do.
And just like that, the weird tension that’s been knotting inside me since he offered to drive together to the wedding unspools. Suddenly, he’s just Miller. My work friend. Miller, who is quietly kind and thoughtful. And wicked smart.
And who definitely doesn’t deserve to have me acting like a weirdo around him.
I let out a sigh. I can do this. I can spend the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours with Miller without making things weird.
“Okay! Water bottle. That’s a great idea. I’ll grab one too.”
A few minutes later, we’re loading my luggageinto the back of his SUV. Yes, luggage. He has a single duffel bag thrown into the trunk, I have a rolling bag, a backpack, and a hanging bag.
He smirks as I carefully drape the hanging bag over my suitcase and his duffel.
“It’s just one night, right?” he teases me.
I lightly punch his arm. “Men always pack lighter than women. It’s a scientific fact.”
He slants me a look as he closes the hood of the trunk. “A fact?”
