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

“I don’t think she has just the one toy boy, she probably has a guy in every village from here to Cape Town,” Charity said on a wobbly voice, keen to continue their game.

Miles smiled, his eyes and his expression inscrutable again. He looked more like the Miles Hollingsworth she had known these last three years. A little grim and a lot unapproachable, and Charity regretted the loss of the man who had been so kind moments ago.

“I think she met the man of her dreams when she was in high school,” Miles said after a long silence. “She married him just after university, and they have lived a long and wonderful life together. They have four children, twelve grandchildren, and three great grandchildren. And every evening they sit in their rocking chairs, hold hands, and watch the sun set. They talk about their day, the people they saw, and the things they did.”

“That’s very…” Charity struggled to find the right word and finally settled on, “romantic.”

“I can be romantic,” he said, but the contrast between the words and his grim voice and expression was frankly ludicrous.

“Can you?”

He sighed, the sound was heavy and despondent.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still in that fierce voice.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. Into your marriage, I mean.”

“You didn’t. It was just a question. And most people would answer it without all the drama.”

“You’re not most people.”

“No. I’m a total drama queen. As you just discovered.”

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me about it. About him.”

His face was stark, all angles and planes in the lengthening late afternoon shadows, and it gave him a vaguely sinister look. She smiled bittersweetly and, before she could overthink it, she reached across the table and stroked the bristled, sharp edge of his jaw.

“I feel…we’re…” She shook her head, trying to find a way to verbalize how she was feeling without adding to the confusion of what was happening, or not happening, between them. “I don’t know what’s going on here. With us. I work for you. And the thought of confiding something so highly personal to you, when I haven’t even told my family or friends about it, feels—I don’t know. I don’t know how it feels.”

“Why did you hate him?”

She hesitated, not sure if she should answer. Not after what she had just said. But in the end, the need to confide in someone after so long overwhelmed all else. “He was a monster.”

“And why didn’t you confide in your family and friends?”

“Because everybody loved that monster. They thought he was a saint. Especially for marrying someone like me. I was high maintenance, you see? Wild and carefree. While Blaine was patient and kind. Exactly the man my family thought I needed. The kind of man I thought I needed.”

He was distracted from his questions when Estie returned with a sunny smile on her face.

She deposited their desserts and tea on the table and offered Stormy a dog biscuit and an ear scratch.

Charity determinedly changed the subject to more neutral topics after that, delving into the limited and outdated town gossip she knew.

He allowed the subject change with nothing but a raised brow. He didn’t seem at all interested in the subject matter but nonetheless listened attentively and kept her going with the occasional encouraging grunt, while he dove into his cake.

They headed home soon afterward, and they both determinedly kept the limited conversation impersonal for the rest of the afternoon.

Miles was mentally, physically and emotionally drained after the day out. Despite their conversations and confidences of the day, Charity Cole still remained a mystery to him.

He felt like he was on the cusp of finding the key to decrypting the enigma that was his lovely housekeeper. But he had to tread carefully, she appeared to have been badly hurt by her husband, and Miles didn’t want to add to that damage.

He should leave her alone, and they should return to their respective neutral corners. But he found himself unable to stop thinking about her, about the indescribable vulnerability and pain that he had seen on her face when she had spoken of her dead husband.

She had tried so hard to hide it from him, but it had been there; between each labored breath, and in every tightly restrained movement of her body. He wasn’t sure how her husband had hurt her but his initial instinct had been that the bastard had cheated on her. And he couldn’t fathom how any man could treat a woman so poorly. His relationships—for lack of a better word—were usually only physical…but they were always monogamous. He believed that the woman he was sharing a bed with deserved to be treated with respect for however long their agreement lasted. That meant no fucking around. And he expected the same consideration from her.

He couldn’t even imagine cheating on a spouse. Someone you had promised to love and cherish above all others.