The Best Next Thing

Miles lightly grasped her elbow. His warm hand on her naked skin sent goosebumps skidding up her spine. She had missed his touch. Thirsted for it. When he released his hold on her seconds after she had settled in the back seat, she disguised her disappointed groan behind a cough.

He rounded the back of the vehicle and climbed in next to her, but remained on his side of the long bench seat. There was a yawning chasm between them…and Charity was tempted to bridge the gap by scooting across the seat and snuggling against him.

She was on the verge of unbuckling her seatbelt and doing just that, when he dumped his briefcase between them. Leaving her with not only a chasm to cross but a mountain to climb.

In the end it was simpler to stay on her side of the car.

George was humming beneath his breath and seemed oblivious to the simmering tension in the back seat.

They sat in silence for the entirety of the drive. Charity wasn’t sure what to say. Now that he was here, she found herself uncertain, overwhelmed, nervous, and excited all at the same time.

She toyed with her phone, needing something to occupy her restless hands, and sent Faith a quick message. Her sister’s almost instant reply made her grin.

OMG! Duck! I mean DUCK! That’s so DUCKING fantastic! HAVE FUN!! Call me first thing in the morning!

She sent a second message to her mother to let her know where she was.

Her mother responded with a comical open-mouthed emoji, followed by:

Let us know how it goes. We love you, angel, and we want you to be happy.

After learning about Blaine’s abuse, her parents had been understandably mistrustful of the men Charity had dated since her return from Riversend. But they had also understood that Charity had had years longer than them to deal with everything. And she was ready to trust again.

In fact, she did trust again. She trusted Miles. And so much of her future happiness hinged on what they would say to each other tonight.

The car took the turn toward the house, and Charity’s tension ramped all the way to the stratosphere.

And—if his nervously tapping foot and erratically bouncing knee were any indication– so did Miles’s. His head was turned toward the window, where he appeared to be staring out into the darkness. Possibly to avoid eye contact with her.

They were at the house and parked in the garage less than five minutes later. Charity’s heart leaped at the sight of the familiar, brightly lit garage. When she had left here all those months ago, she had never dreamed she would see it again.

And now, here she was, so happy and grateful to be back in this large, open space. They hadn’t replaced the dying fluorescent lightbulb yet. It had been on her to-do list, but she had been so distracted by Miles and everything happening to her, that she had forgotten about it.

For some reason, the sight of that flickering bulb added to her sense of familiarity and homecoming.

The sound of the escalating, high-pitched barking from upstairs made her smile.

“You brought Stormy.” Her first words to him since they had left town.

“She’s a bit of a jet-setter these days,” he informed, still alarmingly grim, despite the adorable subject matter. “She even has her own pet passport. She’s been to Rome, Paris, Frankfurt, and Tokyo.”

The information delighted Charity, whose smile widened at the notion of the former stray living such a glamorous lifestyle. Miles may look like the sky was going to cave in at any moment, but Charity was so elated to be back in his company, that she refused to allow his surly disposition to affect her sunny one any further.

She preceded him up the stairs, and when she opened the door into the kitchen, she squealed when Stormy launched herself practically into her arms.

“Oh, there’s my good girl! Did you miss me? I missed you.” She hugged the dog’s excitedly wriggling body tight and planted kisses all over her endearing face. “Nobody brought me presents. Nobody. No socks, no boxers, not even a hankie…”

Stormy whined happily and licked her face enthusiastically.

“Ew…stop,” Charity giggled and, after one last squeeze, handed the dog over to Miles, who was lavished with the same sloppy kisses.

Miles grimaced but, wonder of wonders, a reluctant smile lifted his lips. Nobody could stay surly beneath such a determinedly adorable onslaught.

“Yes, okay. We’re all happy. No need to carry on so,” he admonished without heat, and put the dog down. Stormy turned her attention to George, dancing around his legs while he deposited two of the platters on the kitchen counter.

“Keep the third one, George. You seemed to really enjoy those smoked salmon mousse bites.”

“Don’t mind if I do. That Libby certainly knows how to cook.”

He continued to stand in the kitchen, making no move to leave. That was unusual for George. Unless he had some other task to perform, he rarely lingered after he dropped whomever, or whatever, off after an errand. He leaned against the kitchen counter, whistling a cheery tune, and helped himself to a canapé from one of the trays, while Miles and Charity awkwardly stood staring at each other and then the driver.