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He nods and glances at the smartwatch decorating his wrist. “I wanted to stop by here and check in with you first.”
“Are you taking your mother with you?” I don’t know why I’m so inclined to ask personal questions, but I guess it’s better than bringing up what happened this morning.
“I’m not sure how she’s going to react, so I figured it was better for me to check it out before I take her on a tour.” He adjusts his mask and tucks a hand in his pocket. “I’ll show you the spare room before I go, so you can get settled in. Kinda weird that I’m doing this two days in a row, although I don’t remember much about last night, so maybe you found the spare room on your own?”
“You showed me. You were a gracious, albeit groggy, host,” I assure him.
“That’s good to know.” He leads me up the short staircase to the second floor. There are five doors up here. One is a bathroom; another is a linen closet with fresh sheets and towels. “That’s my mother’s bedroom. It basically looks the same as it did when I was a kid.” Miles motions to the bed with an old quilt that reminds me of the early two thousands.
He moves to the door across the hall. The hinges creak as he pushes it open. “I don’t think this room has been updated since I was a teenager.” He flicks on the light.
“This was your bedroom?” I soak up the space, trying to imagine a teenage version of the man standing in front of me lying on that double bed.
“It was. After my parents separated, I stayed here every other weekend through my teen years. I don’t think anyone else has ever slept in here.”
The comforter is hockey-player inspired. The pillows have the same pattern. Across the room is a dresser with a digital clock, but nothing else.
In the corner is a small desk and an old computer monitor, also circa the early two thousands. Apart from a poster with a motivational phrase above the desk, the walls are bare. It doesn’t look like much has changed in the last decade.
I wonder what young Miles was like. Was he studious? Did he have early-morning hockey practice on weekends? I glance at the bed again and because my mind is being a jerk, I picture the version of Miles I know lying on it in only his boxers.
When I speak, I sound like a squeaky toy. “This is great. Thanks.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure when the sheets were changed last, so we can grab a fresh set from the linen closet if you’d like.”
With the non-PG quality of my current thoughts, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be near a bed with Miles. “That’s okay. I can manage. What time did you say your meeting at the home is?”
He glances at his watch. “Crap. In less than half an hour. I gotta run if I’m going to get there on time. I’ll message later, though.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“Sounds good.” He turns his head and raises his arm, coughing once into his elbow, but his face is still covered by the mask.
“Oh no! Is it happening again? You need to get out of here!” Two allergic reactions back-to-back would be bad. I grab him by the free arm and drag him down the hall. Apparently I’m the biggest klutz in the history of the universe because I lose my footing on the stairs.
On the upside, instead of pulling Miles down along with me, he manages to snag me around the waist with his free arm. We land in a heap on our butts, me between his long legs.
“I’m so sorry!” I try to scramble to my feet, but his arm is still wrapped around my waist.
“I’m fine, Kitty. I’m not having another reaction. I just inhaled a hair or something, and it made me cough.” For a moment, his arm tightens around me, and I swear I feel his nose in my hair, but then that could be because of the awkward position we’re in.
“Oh. Wow. I turn everything into a medical crisis, don’t I?” If my voice could turn colors, it would be red with embarrassment.
Miles releases me and I push to my feet, moving down a couple of steps so he has room to stand. “Well, to be fair, yesterday was freaky for both of us, so your concern is understandable. A repeat would not be welcome.”
He follows me to the foyer, and I step outside onto the front porch with him.
He unhooks the medical mask from around his ears and tucks it into his pocket. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, commanding my attention. “Thanks again for everything, Kitty. And especially for staying the night. Here and at my place. I realize we probably got off on the wrong foot, and I kept sticking mine in my mouth. There’s a good chance I’ll still keep doing that, the foot-in-mouth thing, but it’s not intentional.”
