“Congratulations, Natalie.” Miles appeared in the open archway to the kitchen and leaned against it. “This is a beautiful place.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of it.” I poured batter into two muffin tins. I forgot how blue his eyes are.
“You should be.”
“Make yourself useful and pour us some coffee, huh? Then you can come sit back here while I put together the lunch menu.”
“You change it every day?”
“Not every day. It varies.” I stuck the muffin tin in one oven and pulled two trays of unbaked cinnamon rolls out of the fridge. Normally I had a pastry chef/assistant manager here in the mornings, but he’d asked for a long weekend and would be gone today and tomorrow, so I’d stayed late last night to make up the dough and get the rolls ready to bake. “I use a lot of local produce and ingredients, so I change up the menu based on what’s in season and available. Right now it’s strawberry season. And rhubarb! I’m making a rhubarb pie later today. You like rhubarb?”
“I don’t know.” Miles set a cup of coffee near me and leaned back against the counter, lifting his to his lips. “But I love to eat pie. Can I taste yours?”
I stopped unwrapping the plastic sheet from the trays and glared at him. Over the rim of his cup, his eyes danced with glee. “You better be talking about rhubarb or I’m kicking you out.”
“Sheesh. So sensitive.” He sipped again. “I like the photos on the wall in there. The ones with the text overlaid? Is that Skylar?”
“Yeah. I took those.”
He paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Shut the fuck up. You did those?”
Pride made me smile. “I did. I was shopping with Skylar at this old antiques barn last fall and I found this old magazine from nineteen thirty-eight that had all these dating tips for girls, like ‘Please and flatter your date by talking about his favorite subjects’ or ‘Never sit awkwardly or look bored on a date, even if you are.’ We were cracking up.” I stuck the two trays of rolls in the second oven and set a timer. “I’d always loved taking pictures, and I had the idea that it would be funny to create a series of modern photos with a quote from the advice on top.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten how you liked to take pictures. You used to make those slide shows of us.” He took another sip of coffee. “Those are great in there. Do you sell them?”
“Sell them?” I made a face. “Nah. It’s just for fun. But I found this other article from eighteen ninety-four on advice for brides, and I want to do another series. It’s unbelievable what people told women, like ‘Clever wives are ever on the alert for new and better methods of denying their amorous husbands.’”
Miles chuckled. “Amorous. Great word.”
“I wish I had a husband for that photo series but I doubt I could get Sebastian to do it.”
“Who’s Sebastian?”
“Skylar’s fiancée. They’re getting married this fall.”
He nodded. “So why haven’t you and the overly amorous Dan tied the knot yet?”
“Dan’s not overly amorous,” I said defensively. It was supposed to be a compliment to Dan, but it didn’t come out right. And it reminded me again about the lack of sexual heat in our relationship—in fact, we hadn’t had sex in two months. But this was not a fact I wanted to share with Miles.
“Ah. The fire’s gone out, huh?” He nodded knowingly and sipped again.
“No, there is still plenty of fire, not that it’s any of your business.” My tone had gone snappish. “I just meant that things are fine. Comfortable.”
“Comfortable?”
“Yes. That’s what happens when two people are committed and together for a long time, which you wouldn’t know.”
“Got me there,” he said easily.
But I was agitated. “Look, just because you make a living writing about your insane sexcapades doesn’t mean everyone else’s sex lives are boring.” With jerky movements, I began pulling out ingredients to make chicken curry salad, slamming things onto the counter. “Dan and I have great fire, if you really want to know.”
“Good.”
“Hot, explosive fire.” I plunked down a mixing bowl.
“Brilliant.”
I turned to him and saw an amused expression on his face. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m happy for you and your fire.”
Parking a hand on my hip, I cocked my head. “Did you come here at five in the morning just to make fun of me?”
“No. But not gonna lie, it’s for sure an added bonus.”
“What are you doing in town anyway?” I pulled a knife from the block and began carving up chicken breasts I’d poached yesterday. “Aren’t there enough women to torment in the metro Detroit area? Or perhaps you’ve exhausted that supply and you’re on to another city by now.”
“I’m still in Detroit. And I don’t torment women. I adore them.”
“Several at a time, I bet.”
He shrugged. “Occasionally. But hey, they all know the deal. It’s just for fun.”
Having only been with Dan, I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have sex with random people outside a relationship, but Miles’s sex life fascinated me in a sort of gawkerish way. “Yes, I know. I’ve read all about it.” I dumped a handful of chicken in a large bowl.
“You read my stuff?” He sounded surprised.
My turn to shrug. “Occasionally. I particularly liked the one about going to a sex dungeon for your birthday.”
“I didn’t even have sex there.”
“I know but you—did other stuff. Crazy stuff.” I shook my head as I recalled reading what he’d asked the dominatrix to do to him. I’d been shockingly turned on when I read his account of it, and secretly I’d reread it a dozen times. Did that make me a pervert?
“It was slightly crazy. And a bit painful.” He shuddered and adjusted the crotch of his pants. “Don’t ever tie anyone’s balls to a hook on the wall and then crawl around naked in front of him.”
I snorted. “Please. I don’t do that stuff.”
“What do you mean ‘that stuff?’ What’s wrong with playing around a little?”
“Nothing, if you’re into that kind of thing.” I tried to sound dismissive.
“Jeez. So judgmental.”
“I’m not judging you, Miles, I’m just saying I’m not into the freaky stuff the way you are.”
“I bet you’d like it. I bet there’s a little freak in you just dying to get out.”
My stomach flipped. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a normal person.”
“Normal people can be kinky, Nat. I’m telling you. You’re missing out.” His voice quieted. “And I bet there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that’s curious.” He paused, moving closer to me, his tone low and serious. “I’d like to reach that deep part of you.”
I went still, my skin prickling with heat. What the hell was going on here?
He burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”
Pressing my lips together, I focused on chopping chicken again, but my vision clouded for a moment and I nearly took off a finger. “Enough. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
To my relief, he moved away and leaned against the counter again. “I’m working. I’m writing a piece about sex in haunted places, and I remembered that old asylum up near here. I drove up yesterday and snuck in there to get some pictures last night. Then I hung out a little to see if any ghosts popped up.”
“Looking for a supernatural sexual encounter, are you?”
“Not necessarily, but that’d be awesome. I’d totally fuck a ghost if she was hot.”
Shaking my head, I pulled a jar of homemade curried mayonnaise from the fridge and poured some over the chicken. “Sick. And ridiculous.”
“What, you don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No. But I did have a psychic reading a few days ago.” Mixing the mayonnaise and chicken with a large wooden spoon, I shook my head a
s I remembered our vodka-fueled Sisters Night Out. “From Madam Psuka.”
“Oh yeah?” Miles sounded interested. “What did she say?”
“A bunch of bullshit about my life being upended by a stranger. A man.”
“Maybe it’s me.” Miles sounded happy about that.
I rolled my eyes, elbowing him aside so I could get to the plastic wrap in a drawer. “It’s not you. She said it was a stranger. She said I didn’t even know his name.”
He paused. “Bet you don’t know my name.”
“What?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, perplexed. “Yes, I do. It’s Miles…” But I couldn’t think of his middle name. What the heck was it?
He shook his head. “Miles is my middle name. Do you know what my first name is?”
I gaped at him. “Wait. Miles isn’t really your name?”
“Nope. It’s Edward.” He looked smug.
“Edward?” I repeated, as if it were the most preposterous name in the universe. “I don’t believe you.”
Setting his coffee cup down, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his license. “Look.”
And there it was. His full name, address, and vital stats right next to his grinning mug. I shook my head. Who the hell smiles in their driver’s license picture?
Edward Miles Haas.
That’s who.
Three
Miles
She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Fuck if I didn’t wish that were true. Maybe if we were meeting for the first time, I’d say the right things or make the right moves and she’d forget all about Douchebag Dan and hang out with me tonight instead. Naked.
Not that I wanted to trade our past or anything—I loved our friendship. Natalie was like my favorite book, which is Catch 22. It’s always there on my shelf, and even if I go a year or so without reading it, every time I pick it up, I’m reminded of why I connected with it so much in the first place. It’s smart and different and always makes me laugh.
“Am I supposed to call you Edward now?” She gave me an amused smirk and went back to her chicken thing, adding spices and salt and pepper before giving it another stir.
“No. It’s my dad’s name, and I don’t really want to share anything more than DNA with him.”
She nodded, understanding. “What are your parents up to?”
“The usual, since the divorce. Dad jetting off around the globe with the new wife and Mom medicating herself so she doesn’t have to think about her life too hard, which is pretty much the same thing she did even when they were married.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I’m used to it.”
“So you’re staying at the house?”
“Yeah. My mother usually spends summers up here, but she just decided to go on some quack spiritual journey in northern California, which I think is code for ‘I’m having so much work done I’ll need several months to recover before anyone can see me.’”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Your mom is so beautiful.”
“She doesn’t see that. She never has.” It struck me as I watched Natalie work that I could be talking about her, too. I don’t think she ever realized how beautiful she was. I don’t even think I realized it until that last summer I spent up here. But by then it was too late—she’d had a boyfriend, and I’d been dating a couple different girls, and by “dating” I mean fucking them in the back of my car or in their basement or in a bedroom at somebody’s party whose parents were out of town. If I couldn’t have her, I might as well have fun, right?
But I had said some pretty serious stuff to her that last night before I left. Did she remember that?
Natalie shook her head. “Yeah, some women are like that, never satisfied with their appearance and panicking more and more as they get older, trying to erase every wrinkle and fill every line.” She moved briskly, covering the big bowl of chicken salad with plastic wrap and pulling out several bags of green leaf lettuce. “I hope I don’t get that way.”
“I don’t see that happening.” I crossed my arms. “So tell me what’s new with you.”
She smiled at me, and my chest got tight. “I bought a house.”
“You did? With Douchebag Dan?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you big jerk. On my own. A woman can own property these days, you know.”
“They can?”
She stomped lightly on my sneaker before moving to the sink, where she began rinsing the lettuce. “Yes.”
“Well, congratulations. Where is it? I want to see it.”
“It’s on State Street. It needs some work, but it has a picket fence,” she said gleefully, rising up on her toes. “And cozy alcove bedrooms and a huge clawfoot tub and a huge herb garden in the backyard.”
“Sounds perfect for you.” Too bad the Douchebag will probably move in. I couldn’t believe she was still with that guy. She was way too good for him. Jealousy flared unexpectedly in my gut, a hot ball of fire. The kitchen will probably smell like this every morning—fucking awesome, like sticky buns are in the oven. Haha, sticky buns. I could give her sticky buns. Oh, shit. I adjusted myself a little in my jeans.
She glanced down at what I was doing, and her eyes flicked up to mine. “Nice.”
“Sorry. Anyway, I’m only around for a few days, so as soon as you’re ready, let me know. I can’t wait to see it.”
“A few days?” She turned off the water and dried her hands. “That’s a short trip.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to check out that asylum and catch up with you a little.” Because I’ve missed you. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.
But I wouldn’t say that to her. Clearly her life was going exactly the way she wanted it to, and the last thing I wanted to do was fuck up our friendship, which sometimes felt like the one constant in my life. If only she wasn’t so hot. It was distracting as fuck.
The timer went off, and she pulled the muffins from the oven. They were puffy and golden, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, smelling like heaven. My mouth watered. “Oh God, those look good.”
“You can have one. Let them cool first, though.”
A few minutes later, an employee arrived, a college student named Hailey, and the two of them went into full prep mode. I could tell I was in the way in the kitchen, so I went out to my car, got my laptop, and chose a table in the back to work at. Natalie brought my coffee cup out, refilled, and set down a plate with a muffin and a cinnamon bun on it, glaze dripping down the sides.
I looked up at her, unable to resist. “I really want to make a joke right now about glazing your buns, but I’m afraid you’ll take this away from me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will.”
“How about buttering your muffin?”
She put her hand back on the plate and I grabbed her wrist.
“No! I promise I’ll be good. A perfect gentleman.”
“Ha. I’ll believe that when I see it. Can I have my arm back please?”
I looked down at my fingers wrapped around her slender wrist, and felt my dick coming to life again. Letting her go, I sat back and smiled. “You can have anything you want.” Especially if it’s in my pants.
She sighed. “You know what I really want?”
“What? Sit on my lap. Tell me.”
She glared at me. “Do you have to be such a flirt? What happened to the gentleman?”
He got hard. I sighed. “Fine, a chair.”
“I can’t sit anywhere. That’s the thing—I’d really like a day off. A day of just doing nothing but relaxing. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“So take one.”
“I can’t, silly. Not everyone works from wherever they want to. I have to be here every day; that’s what being a business owner is.”
“Are you open every day?”
“During the summer, I am.”
“Can’t you delegate? What about a manager?”
She shrugged. “Not that I�
��m good at delegating, but I do have an assistant manager. I can’t afford to pay him for more hours or responsibilities right now, though. I have a pretty big house payment. And I’m still paying back loans I took out to open this place.”
“What’s a loan?”
She looked confused for a second and then she slapped my shoulder. “You trust fund babies. So out of touch with the real world.”
“Kidding, kidding.” I pulled the plate closer to me and looked up at her. “I do work for a living, you know. But is there something I can help you with? Do you need a loan from me to pay off the bank?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Thanks, but it’s kind of a source of pride for me that I’m doing this all on my own.”
“Amorous Dan isn’t helping?”
“Not at the moment.”
Was it my imagination or had her jaw clenched a little before she answered? I decided to redirect. “How’s your interest rate?”
She winced slightly. “It’s OK.”
“Well then, there’s pride and there’s being stubborn.”
Something flitted across her face that I couldn’t read—surprise? Anger? Whatever it was, it was gone a second later. “Thanks, but I’m OK.”
“Suit yourself. I’m happy to help out a friend in need.”
“I’ll remember that.” She patted my head like a puppy’s. “Enjoy. I better get back to work.”
“Do you mind if I stick around awhile? I don’t want to monopolize this table if you need it, but I have some writing to do.”
She gave me a smile soft and sweet as the cotton candy we used to share. “Stay as long as you like.”
Happy Crazy Love Boxed Set Page 28
