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“Lots of moves.”
“Lots of moves,” she agreed. “The army, and then after, my mother couldn’t seem to settle. I never imagined she’d settle here. Or I would.”
She shifted. And because she did feel better, because she wondered, she asked, “Have you ever thought of living somewhere else?”
“I like it here.”
“If it wasn’t for the family business and all of that.”
“I’d still like it here.”
She’d been right about that, Morgan thought. She liked being right about that. “It’s the roots. They’re deep. I always envied deep roots.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to plant and grow them.”
He drove smoothly along empty roads, then the quiet streets of Westridge.
Just because she’d lost time—and so much more—didn’t mean she didn’t have time. She’d planted herself here, she thought, by need rather than choice, at least to start. But she’d planted herself, and could feel those roots begin to take hold.
She liked the quiet streets as much as she enjoyed how they moved and thrived during the day. She enjoyed the solitude of a walk in the woods as much as a lively, crowded bar.
She didn’t have a house she could transform into her home, but she had a home.
When he pulled into the drive, she didn’t have to remind herself to be grateful for it.
He took her fob out of the tray. “Keys.”
Reaching out, grateful for the hour he’d given her, she took his hand first, held it. “Thank you.”
She lost a beat, just one quick beat, looking into his eyes. Then drew her hand and the keys away.
When they stood on opposite sides of the car, she hit the lock button. “Good night, Miles.”
“Lock the door behind you.”
He stood, of course, watching until she walked to the door, until she unlocked it. She glanced back once, felt a tug she didn’t want to feel. Then stepped in, shut and locked the door behind her.
He’d been kind when she’d needed kindness more than she wanted to admit. Given the circumstances, she reminded herself as she walked upstairs, it wouldn’t just be unwise but a huge mistake to let herself feel anything but gratitude.
An attractive man, she mused, and an interesting one. An appealing one, she admitted. So wasn’t it natural she felt some attraction and interest and appeal? Absolutely, as long as she left it there. Right there.
She sat on the side of the bed, trying to ignore that flutter, that telltale flutter. And wished so much she had Nina to talk her through it.
Chapter Seventeen
He had Sunday off, and Miles intended to do little to nothing with it. No pressing work, no meetings—even family—no crises, small or large, on the horizon.
A handful of household chores, sure, but he could enjoy them when he didn’t need to squeeze them in.
He did his version of sleeping in, so rolled out of bed before nine, let the dog out. Then, because he’d had the foresight to install a coffee station in his closet, he enjoyed his first Sunday morning cup on the bedroom terrace.
As usual Howl patrolled the perimeter of the backyard, defending against any possible invaders. Sometimes he wondered what went on in the dog’s mind, and usually decided not a whole lot.
Trooping down to the basement and his home gym, he put in a solid hour, felt righteous.
He grabbed a shower, a long one. Sunday morning indulgence. After tossing a load of laundry in, he fed the dog, scrambled some eggs, toasted a bagel. With a second cup of coffee, he sat out on the back patio and read the paper on his tablet while enjoying breakfast in the summer sunshine.
And because of the sunshine, he hung the laundry out to dry.
