The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

She gaped for a few seconds before she could disguise her reaction.

“Of course, I’ll have that ready for you in a few minutes.” She started to turn away from him, but when he sat down on one of the bar stools beside the marble-topped central island, his action was enough to stop her in her tracks. She turned her head to pin him with her unnerving gaze, for a second, before angling her body back toward his.

She folded her hands primly at waist level and pursed her lips.

“I’ll bring your pancakes to the solarium,” she told him with pointed emphasis. “Would you like bacon with it?”

“Bacon. Yes.” He nodded and very nearly complied with her implicit command before stopping himself. “I don’t mind waiting here. In fact, I think I’ll eat here in the mornings. Mealtimes needn’t be extravagant affairs. Not when I’m the only one here.”

“But…” For a moment she looked set to argue, and he braced himself in anticipation. But she hesitated, and he could see her mind ticking over before she nodded curtly. “As you wish, sir.”

Miles was disappointed that she had backed down. He had been looking forward to sparring with her. He eyed the straight line of her spine as she started on the batter for his pancakes and wondered at his sudden bizarre urge to pick an argument with her. He curbed the immediate impulse to goad her but it was still there…just a breath away.

Fortunately, George chose that moment to interrupt. The man came stomping into the kitchen by way of the back door. He had a raincoat thrown over his upper body and brought the noise and cold of the storm in with him.

“Cats and dogs out there, Mrs. Cole,” he said jovially, as he swung the coat from his shoulders. “Are you sure you want to head out in this mess?”

“Head out to where?” Miles asked, and George’s head jerked at the sound of his voice.

“Aah, good afternoon, sir. I didn’t see you.” The man looked confused to find him sitting there, and Miles was annoyed that everyone seemed so flustered by his presence in the kitchen. It was his house, wasn’t it?

“Head out to where?” Miles disliked repeating himself, but since George was still gaping at him, he clearly needed the prompt.

“To town. For

supplies,” Mrs. Cole replied for George, calmly stirring pancake batter.

“Supplies?” Miles was momentarily confused by that statement. Why would she need supplies? He was the only one here. He didn’t need an army’s worth of food. “We don’t need supplies. I’ll eat what you eat.”

Mrs. Cole coughed and deliberately diverted her eyes to the pancake batter. Miles felt his face go hot, and he frowned. He wasn’t used to being put in his place with a look. That was usually his go-to move.

“After the, uh…pancakes,” he said, the words sounding lame and unconvincing even to his own ears.

“My groceries are low, sir. I’m afraid they wouldn’t last a week if I were to feed you as well.” The emphasis on the possessive pronoun was clearly there to serve as a reminder that the food in the house had been bought with her own money, for her personal consumption, and his face went even hotter.

He forced the chagrin aside and nodded coolly.

“Yes, of course. It was a thoughtless suggestion.” It pained him to admit as much.

“I usually have the pantry stocked in advance when I know you’re coming.” Another jab. Mrs. Cole disliked being surprised.

Got it.

“Fortunately for me, you’re adaptable,” he said, with a grim smile. “It comforts me to know that I can show up at any time of my choosing and depend on you to have this place up and running in no time at all.”

Translation: My house. I can damned well come here whenever the hell I like.

She injected a fair amount of frost into the smile she sent his way—message received—good to know they understood each other.

“Of course, sir. As soon as I have the supplies, everything will be in order.”

“I’m glad you’re here, George, then I won’t have to repeat myself.” Miles diverted his attention to the older man, who had been watching his frigid exchange with Mrs. Cole with interest. “My stay this time will be somewhat different. I have been…ill, and I’m here to recuperate. I won’t be leaving the house much, and as such I won’t be requiring your services too often. That said, I would prefer you remain accessible for the duration of my time here. Clear?”

George nodded smartly in response to Miles’s question.

“Mrs. Cole.” She had been busy pouring the batter into a hot skillet, and her back stiffened even more—how was that even possible? —and she cocked her head in a manner that indicated she was listening, even though she kept her eyes on the pancake. “Meals will be informal. I will eat breakfast in the kitchen. And lunch and dinner in the living room instead of the dining room. I would prefer heartier breakfasts than boiled eggs and toast. Feel free to surprise me. I came here for solitude and rest. As such I would prefer not to have the cleaning service visit too often while I’m here. Since I won’t be using the entire house, I’m sure you can manage. Understood?”

“Understood.” She flipped the pancake expertly as she said the word. They were all silent for a moment while she finished the pancake and slid it onto a plate before starting the next. “Will you be needing anything from town, sir? The weather service says the rain will continue for the rest of the week. And that means we probably won’t be able to do another shopping run for a while.”