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“You’ve been calling them every day, haven’t you?” Sam asked, on a laugh, and Miles grinned.
“I speak with Bryan once a week but after a very brief, uninformative update, he starts talking about his fucking golf swing or his tennis serve. He knows I find both sports tedious and will do anything to avoid hearing about them.”
“Good for him.”
“Yeah, even my assistant won’t tell me anything other than ‘it’s all fine’.”
Sam laughed again. “How’s Tyler working out?”
“Swimmingly, if the amount of complaining Vicki has done since he’s started is anything to go by.”
“That’s my boy.” Sam nodded. “Listen, my fiancée, Lia, would have my balls if I don’t invite you around for dinner sometime. She’s been on me to give you a call since she heard you were in town. She’s keen to meet you. Charity, I know she’d love it if you joined us as well.”
The latter seemed tacked on as an afterthought, and Charity smiled politely and uttered a noncommittal sound in response to the invitation. She would not be joining them for dinner. How would that even work? She was on nodding acquaintance with Lia McGregor and on friendly but impersonal terms with Sam. And Miles was her boss. It would be awkward as hell. What would they talk about?
She was saved from a proper response by Stormy. The pup, emboldened by the fact that Trevor appeared wholly disinterested in her, ventured out from behind Miles’s legs and confidently trotted up to the bigger dog for a sniff.
When she couldn’t reach his butt, she went onto her hind legs in an attempt to make his acquaintance in the time-honored canine way. Trevor, realizing what was happening at his rear, turned smartly to face her.
Stormy yelped and fell over backward before scuttling back behind Miles’s legs.
Both Sam and Miles hooted at the pup’s antics but Charity was, once again, captivated by the way the laughter transformed Miles’s face. The lines and angles shifted attractively; previously smooth surfaces wrinkled and creased, the dimple deepened, his teeth, so white and straight, contrasted strikingly against the dark stubble.
She fell a little bit in like with her boss in that moment, and the consequences of that recognition alarmed her.
He and Sam were shaking hands again and Charity, still shaken by her revelation, automatically smiled when Sam told he’d see her soon.
“Let’s go, Trev,” he called to the dog and, with a final wave, took off at a breakneck speed over the dunes.
Stormy started to give chase but skidded to a halt and tumbled butt over head when Miles uttered a sharp, “No! Stay!”
He slanted a disbelieving look at Charity before lavishly praising the dog for her obedience and giving her a treat.
“I didn’t think she’d listen,” he admitted.
“I think your tone of voice shocked her into obedience,” Charity said, with a laugh.
“Too sharp?”
“It worked.”
“Let’s head back. I think she’s flagging.” He raised his eyebrows at her before lifting his shoulders with a sheepish smile. “And I know I’m flagging a lot.”
She liked that he was confident enough in his masculinity to admit to that.
“You’re able to walk a lot farther now than when you first arrived. It’s pretty impressive how fast you’re recovering.”
“Glad you’re impressed. I feel like it’s taking fucking forever to get back to normal.”
“You have to be patient.”
“Patience has never been my strength. I’m an instant gratification kind of guy.”
Somehow, she doubted that. It took patience to build a business from scratch into a multimillion-pound organization. He had to be patient to be a father figure to his much younger siblings and still keep their love and respect. It took a boatload of perseverance to maintain his good humor and affection while dealing with a mischievous puppy. And he had shown admirable restraint earlier, when he had so clearly wanted to kiss her, but had waited for her to make the first move.
It seemed to her that the only person Miles Hollingsworth did not have patience with was himself.
She considered that fact while they retraced their steps back to the land rover.
“Should we stop for lunch somewhere?” Miles asked, after he had maneuvered the vehicle back onto the road.
“I can’t think of any pet friendly places in Riversend,” Charity said.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to venture farther afield,” he said carelessly.
“I don’t see why not,” Charity agreed, not wanting their day out to end just yet. “The cleaning service will be at the house for a few more hours.”
“Then let’s see where the road takes us.”
The road “took” them to a quaint farmhouse kitchen style restaurant off the N2 just outside of Knysna. They provided under cover seating for pet owners and their four-legged charges in their courtyard. Charity took an instant liking to the place, which was a working farm with a thriving cottage industry eatery. The menu—outlined on a chalkboard at the entrance—was small and consisted of wholesome country foods. Sunday roast served daily, chicken pie and veggies, as well as lamb chops with mashed potatoes, and “farm fresh”—as the menu boasted—peas. Their dessert options were limited to milk tart or dark chocolate cake.
