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In fact, she did trust again. She trusted Miles. And so much of her future happiness hinged on what they would say to each other tonight.
The car took the turn toward the house, and Charity’s tension ramped all the way to the stratosphere.
And—if his nervously tapping foot and erratically bouncing knee were any indication-- so did Miles’s. His head was turned toward the window, where he appeared to be staring out into the darkness. Possibly to avoid eye contact with her.
They were at the house and parked in the garage less than five minutes later. Charity’s heart leaped at the sight of the familiar, brightly lit garage. When she had left here all those months ago, she had never dreamed she would see it again.
And now, here she was, so happy and grateful to be back in this large, open space. They hadn’t replaced the dying fluorescent lightbulb yet. It had been on her to-do list, but she had been so distracted by Miles and everything happening to her, that she had forgotten about it.
For some reason, the sight of that flickering bulb added to her sense of familiarity and homecoming.
The sound of the escalating, high-pitched barking from upstairs made her smile.
“You brought Stormy.” Her first words to him since they had left town.
“She’s a bit of a jet-setter these days,” he informed, still alarmingly grim, despite the adorable subject matter. “She even has her own pet passport. She’s been to Rome, Paris, Frankfurt, and Tokyo.”
The information delighted Charity, whose smile widened at the notion of the former stray living such a glamorous lifestyle. Miles may look like the sky was going to cave in at any moment, but Charity was so elated to be back in his company, that she refused to allow his surly disposition to affect her sunny one any further.
She preceded him up the stairs, and when she opened the door into the kitchen, she squealed when Stormy launched herself practically into her arms.
“Oh, there’s my good girl! Did you miss me? I missed you.” She hugged the dog’s excitedly wriggling body tight and planted kisses all over her endearing face. “Nobody brought me presents. Nobody. No socks, no boxers, not even a hankie…”
Stormy whined happily and licked her face enthusiastically.
“Ew…stop,” Charity giggled and, after one last squeeze, handed the dog over to Miles, who was lavished with the same sloppy kisses.
Miles grimaced but, wonder of wonders, a reluctant smile lifted his lips. Nobody could stay surly beneath such a determinedly adorable onslaught.
“Yes, okay. We’re all happy. No need to carry on so,” he admonished without heat, and put the dog down. Stormy turned her attention to George, dancing around his legs while he deposited two of the platters on the kitchen counter.
“Keep the third one, George. You seemed to really enjoy those smoked salmon mousse bites.”
“Don’t mind if I do. That Libby certainly knows how to cook.”
He continued to stand in the kitchen, making no move to leave. That was unusual for George. Unless he had some other task to perform, he rarely lingered after he dropped whomever, or whatever, off after an errand. He leaned against the kitchen counter, whistling a cheery tune, and helped himself to a canapé from one of the trays, while Miles and Charity awkwardly stood staring at each other and then the driver.
The reason for his dawdling became apparent seconds later.
“Charity, my dear, how lovely to see you.” Charity’s eyebrows raised when Enid Hollingsworth flitted into the kitchen. The older woman gave her a warm hug, enveloping Charity in a cloud of fragrant Chanel No. 5. Enid was dressed in a loose, colorful, patterned muumuu that floated around her plump frame, and her bottle black bouncy curls were held away from her face with a silk scarf. Her badly applied bright red lipstick stained her teeth and was smudged in the hollow above her lip.
Charity liked Miles’s mother. She was bold, brassy, a
nd loud. The complete opposite of her reserved, quiet son. There was no artifice about her. She dressed in off the rack clothing and didn’t seem at all affected by her son’s hundreds of millions.
The older woman beamed at George after releasing Charity, and gave him a smacking kiss.
“Hello, luv! I’m ready. My bag is in the hallway.”
“Where are you going?” Miles asked in some consternation, seeming surprised by his mother’s words.
“You didn’t think I tagged along to spend time with you, did you, my boy? I love you, but you have other things to take care of.” This, with a pointed look at Charity. “I’m staying with George. And we’re taking Stormy with us tonight.”
“But…”
“I’ll take good care of her, Miles,” George promised, with an almost lascivious wink. “Oh, and Stormy too, of course. I’ll have the pup back first thing in the morning.”
Enid picked Stormy up, planted a kiss on Miles’s astonished face and sailed out of the kitchen with an airy wave. George followed, carrying a large, brightly patterned hard-shell suitcase.
