The Best Next Thing

His smile widened, and put Stormy down, to envelope his pleasantly round mum in an affectionate hug, planting a big kiss on her cheek in the process.

“I’m always happy to see you, Gorgeous. You know that.”

He stepped away from her and gave her an assessing once over. Gratified to note that she looked hale and hearty as well.

“Hello, Mrs. Cole,” Vicki’s cheerful greeting instantly distracted Miles, and his head swiveled to see Vicki smiling up at the taller Charity. “I’m sorry we gave you no advance warning…I know you’re probably miffed we didn’t give you time to prepare for our visit. But we wanted to surprise him.”

Charity gave Vicki a stiff smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Hollingsworth. I trust you’ve been well?”

“Well enough. Much better than my brother, that’s for sure. There’ll be three extra guests, Mrs. Cole. For the remainder of Miles’s stay. I think you can put the Hulk in Hughie’s room.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck…FUCK!

This was so wrong. He hated that Vicki was treating the woman he loved like Mrs. Cole, the trusty housekeeper.

And yet…Charity had made it abundantly clear earlier, that that was exactly what she wanted.

“I was just preparing Mr. Hollingsworth’s breakfast. Are you all hungry? Or would you like to settle into your rooms first, and have me fix you something later?”

Miles glowered at her. Fuming that, without any trace of sarcasm or irony, he had gone right back to being Mr. Hollingsworth.

“Oh, I think we can settle in and get refreshed before having breakfast,” Vicki replied, oblivious to Miles’s impotent fury. She invited their mother over, with a wave of her hand. “Mum, come and meet Mrs. Cole. She’s a miracle worker. She can get anything you need. At any time of the day or night. I once needed an emergency…uhm…never mind.” She went bright red and cleared her throat, and Miles raised his eyebrows, wondering what dire emergency had required Charity’s assistance at any time of the day or night.

His mother eyed Vicki askance as well, before focusing her attention on Charity.

She smiled warmly and held out a hand in greeting.

“Why you’re just a baby,” she said wonderingly, and Charity coughed nervously before taking Miles’s mother’s hand. “I was expecting someone far older, the way Vicki was carrying on.”

“Mum,” Vicki’s voice was almost a whine as she darted an embarrassed look at Charity. Her eyes widened as if she had only now noticed the change in their formerly dour housekeeper. Charity may have donned her Mrs. Cole garb this morning, but there was no denying how much younger she looked with the short hair. And there was a softness about her that had been missing before. In the glow of her eyes and around the fullness of her lips.

“Wow, Mrs. Cole…you do look, uh, different.”

“She cut her hair,” Miles interjected curtly, hating how discomfited Charity seemed beneath all this scrutiny. “Now why don’t you show Mum to her room, while we fix some breakfast?”

“We?” Vicki’s eyebrows rose clear to her hairline, and Miles met her eyes levelly.

“Did you forget who used to cook all your breakfasts when you were a kid?”

Vicki darted another wide-eyed look at Charity. “Yes, but…Mrs. Cole usually…”

“Mrs. Cole no longer works for us.” Miles supplied curtly, and Charity made a soft sound of protest.

“I can stay a little longer to help out.”

Of course, she was fine with staying a little longer, now that his family was here to act as an awkward buffer. And she offensively assumed that Miles would be equally fine watching her waiting hand and foot on his mother and sister.

And pretending that they had never been lovers. And friends.

“That’s fine, Mrs. Cole,” he growled, hoping nobody could hear the underlying note of simmering resentment in his voice. “You said you wanted to leave by the weekend. No need to change your timeline because of this unforeseen hiccup. Mum, Vicki and I can take care of ourselves.”

Tyler—who had disappeared back down the stairs obviously to help with the bags—and George entered the kitchen carrying more luggage than seemed feasible for two women staying for a short time.

“Of course, we can,” his mother agreed firmly. “I don’t have any servants myself, despite this one’s constant nagging”—she pointed her chin at Miles—“I do all my own cooking and cleaning. There’s nothing wrong with my body or hands. And I’m uncomfortable having others do for me, when I can do for myself.”

“An admirable and attractive quality,” George interjected, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled at the older woman. She visibly preened beneath the attention, and Miles’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, stop it, George,” she said flirtatiously. “You certainly know how to flatter an old lady.”

“Old my arse. Fine ladies like you don’t grow old, they mature beautifully, like a full-bodied cabernet sauvignon.”

Miles’s jaw dropped when his fifty-five-year-old mother giggled and preened like a schoolgirl.