Page 13 of The Single Father Upstairs

His head bobbed as he fell forward, and his face was dangerously close to mine. I breathed in his scent, making my poor bear dizzy.

“I get it. I’m mean.”

Miles lay his head on my shoulder, and I closed my eyes because this was what I’d been missing and maybe yearning for without knowing it. I’d pushed away those emotions since Kipp left because I had to parent Indigo. She was my number one priority, and I couldn’t think of my own needs.

But this man awakened those long-buried feelings, and it scared me.

“Are y-you listening to me?” He tried to break free of my gasp.

“Yes.”

“You’re so so good-looking, and that’s not f-fair.” He shook his head. “Nope. That’s very very bad, and it should be l-l-l ummm legal, no, the other one. Ill-Ill-illegal.” He grinned as if he was so proud of himself for getting that out.

Despite my annoyance, I was pleased he was stroking my ego.

“You’re at the wrong apartment.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to confuse me. I’m on the second floor.”

“No. This is the third floor.”

He peered around, but with his human eyesight, I doubted he’d distinguish the difference between the two floors.

“This isn’t my door.” He slapped my chest. “What did you do with my door, you fiend?”

I couldn’t take him inside, and he’d wake everyone up on this floor if I didn’t get him home.

“It’s my door, but I’m going to show you yours.”

He made a silly face and clapped. “Oh, goody.”

I couldn’t point him to the stairs because he’d fall and fracture his skull and it’d be my fault. Placing a hand under his elbow, I steered him toward the stairs. But I changed my mind because he was so unsteady on his feet. Instead, I slung an arm around him and gripped him with my other hand.

Miles chortled and asked why I was cuddling him. “Do you like me?”

“I’m taking care of you.” But as I spoke, I was inhaling the aroma of his shampoo.

Don’t let him fall. My bear was worried I’d let him go and he’d tumble head over heels down the stairs.

Miles didn’t stop talking as we descended. It was the kind of honesty that came out of a person after their brain was mesmerized with alcohol. Everyone in the building was mean, apparently. They sniffed him in the hallway as if he was a suspicious package and then wouldn’t say good morning. Mrs. Munro had looked at him for eleven seconds without blinking. Jon liked him, but Jon “didn’t know what time of day it was,” which was a pretty good assessment of Jon.

“And you,” he said as he fumbled in his pocket for the key.

No way was I putting my hand in his front pocket, so we might have been there all night if he hadn’t pulled it out. After a few tries, he finally got the door open.

“You’re the meanest, because you looked at me as though you wanted to commit a crime. And then you left. Who sniffs someone and does that?”

I went very still. “What?”

Miles wobbled toward his couch.

I got him a glass of water as he punched the cushions on the sofa and told them none of them were big enough or soft enough.

“Drink this.”

“I don't want water. I want you to tell me why everyone in this building acts like I’m different.”

“Drink the water first before I'll evaluate the tenants’ crimes.”