“Do you need any help with the hedges, Amos?” Miles asked, hoping the old man would say “yes”. He needed the exercise and an excuse not to go back into that house and seek out Mrs. Cole.
Amos, however, looked quite offended by the question.
“I complain about my old bones, Mr. H, but I never said I can’t do my work.”
Shit.
“I know that you can do the work, Amos…I just need something to keep myself busy.”
“I only have this one pair of shears.”
Miles wasn’t too certain of the veracity of that statement, but he let it slide. Amos, like the intractable woman inside, clearly did not want him underfoot. It was humbling how much of a nuisance his employees appeared to think he was.
“Right. I’ll leave you to that then.”
Amos nodded and threw him a friendly grin before ambling away toward the front of the house. Miles sighed and stared at the closed back door. He supposed he could always re-listen to one of his audiobooks. Or play fucking Candy Crush again. The app that Vicki had jokingly installed on his phone had remained untouched for nearly two years. But in only four days, he had already reached Level 275. He would probably be a lot farther along if not for the infernal in-app purchases, which required a Wi-Fi connection. At least he hadn’t yet succumbed to using his precious, if spotty data, to purchase gold bars for boosters.
He hoped that by the time the Wi-Fi was restored, he wouldn’t have a bona fide addiction to the game. He didn’t want to wind up spending real money on a frivolous, time wasting app. The thought made him pause and he glowered before digging his phone out from his back pocket and swiping until he reached his sister’s number.
She answered immediately. “Seriously, Miles, you’re the only person in the world who still makes phone calls. Well, you and Tyler. You’re like old men stuck in young bodies.”
He chose to ignore that, “How much money have you spent on this Candy Crush game?”
“What?” The question floated to him on a tiny, incredulous laugh.
“You heard me.”
“I did, but it was such a ridiculous question it bore repeating. And because of that, I’m thinking you either, A—really, really miss your beloved baby sister. Or B—you’re bored out of your ever loving mind over there. And judging by your very offensive snort at option A, I’m going to guess that it’s the latter.”
His sister often portrayed herself as an annoying flake, but she was intelligent and perceptive. He sometimes wished Hugh had more of her smarts and she had more of Hugh’s ambition. Her flower shop was doing well, but with her business acumen she could do so much more. She had point blank refused to work for the family company. Preferring to do her own thing. And Miles respected her for that, even if he wished she were less content with just a tiny corner flower shop in Kensington. But his siblings were the way they were, and Miles loved them regardless.
“The electricity has been out for four days. And the bridge into town was damaged, and the transformer can’t be fixed until that’s repaired. We’re running on generator power, and Mrs. Cole has banned all non-essential electrical equipment, like the Wi-Fi router and television.”
“She thinks Wi-Fi is non-essential?” Vicki sounded gratifyingly aghast at that. “That’s positively medieval! You’re the boss, tell her you need Wi-Fi.”
He felt like a fucking teenager snitching on Mrs. Cole and also a little guilty because he knew that her rules were in their best interests, but cabin fever—combined with tedium—had led to this new low.
“She’s the boss around here,” he said, shocked by how sulky he sounded. There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a hastily stifled giggle.
“Is big, bad Miles scared of mean, old Mrs. Cole?” she mocked him in an annoying sing-song voice.
Hell. He was never going to live this down.
He made a very bad situation about a thousand times worse when he unthinkingly corrected, “She’s not old.”
This time the pause that followed was loaded and lengthy.
“She’s not?” Vicki’s eventual question was much too damned nonchalant for his liking, and he made a noncommittal sound.
He was starting to agree with her on the merits of text messaging. At least then, he’d have time to think before he responded. Ordinarily, he rarely voiced an impulsive word.
But he hardly recognized himself anymore. Lusting after his employee, speaking out of turn, adopting puppies, changing his breakfast routine…playing bloody match three games on his phone. He didn’t know what was happening to him and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Vicki, I have to go.”
“Wait, so how old is Mrs. Cole?”
“I’ll speak with you again soon.”
“Miles, tell me…is she like forty? Thirty-five?”
“Take care.”
“No. Miles—”
He disconnected the call with a huge sigh, feeling harassed. His phone beeped, and he gritted his teeth. He should have known she wouldn’t let it go. He lifted the device.