The Best Next Thing
She felt her lips part as her face bloomed into a smile.
“You’re really here?” She was still clutching the platter of canapés in her hands and, in a lightning fast move, he plucked the tray from her grasp and set it aside. He bridged the distance between them enough for her to feel the delicious heat of his body, and inhale the woodsy fragrance of his aftershave, mingling with the slight musk of his sweat…evidence of the long flight he had just taken.
“I’m here, sweetheart. Hat in hand, heart on my sleeve, wanting to know what the fuck is up with all those cat memes?”
She sobbed and launched herself into his waiting arms.
“You’re here! I can’t believe you’re here!” Her words were muffled against his neck, and she clung to him tightly, terrified that he’d disappear if she let him go.
“I wanted to be here in time for the party. But we had a weather delay at Heathrow. I’m sorry I missed it. I wanted to celebrate with you.”
“George knew all along, didn’t he?”
“He did. A driving service took me from the airport to the house, and George picked me up from there when he dropped Amos off.”
“I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Are you?” His arms tightened around her.
“Yes.”
“We need to talk, Charity. Are you expected at home tonight? George told me your parents are staying with you. Or…or, do you think we could…”
“Let’s go to your place. Oh my God, the house has been closed for months. Did you remember to have the utilities switched on? There’s probably no food stocked…”
“Charity,” he interrupted her panicked flood of words with an indulgent chuckle. “That’s no longer your job. Stop worrying about it. Everything has been arranged.”
“How? You’re so used to me taking care of ev—” The rest of her words were muffled by the delicious pressure of his mouth on hers. She parted her lips and happily welcomed his tongue home. She groaned when he palmed her face and tilted her head back to deepen the kiss.
He lifted his lips from hers and stared down into her eyes, a tender smile gracing his mouth.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much.” He released her and took a reluctant step back, putting some space between them. “Where are these platters you need me to haul?”
“Uh…you grab those two,” she said, pointing to the two on the reception desk, and lifting the third that he had taken from her earlier.
“What’s happening with the clean up?” His gaze travelled around the room. There were champagne flutes and paper plates adorning various surfaces. Confetti and streamers on the floor. A few helium balloons drooping in the corners.
“I have a professional cleaning service coming in tomorrow morning. One of Daff’s connections, they’re doing us a huge favor coming in on a Sunday. But the place has to be shipshape by start of business on Monday.”
“You must be terribly excited.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling boyishly at the corners, and she caught her breath at the welcome sight of that familiar dimple.
“Right now, I’m more excited about seeing you,” she told him honestly. His smiled faded, and she mourned its loss. Not sure why her words had made it disappear.
“Let’s get out of here.” He was so somber, and it scared her. Miles was a naturally reserved man, but a lot of his reticence had melted around her during their time together. She wanted that relaxed, happy man back.
She followed him mutely to the door, her movements stiff and mechanical as she juggled her purse and the tray to lock up behind them.
George was waiting for them outside. It was a lovely summer’s night and, despite the late hour, there was still a fair number of people out and about. George grinned when he caught sight of Charity and Miles. He looked insufferably self-satisfied.
“Nice surprise, right?” he crowed, his rugged brown face beaming beneath the streetlamp. “I had you fooled, hey? You didn’t have a clue what we were up to.”
“Nobody likes a gloater, George.” Charity chastised, but there was only warmth in her voice, and George chuckled.
“I following orders. Miles wanted it to be a secret.”
“Miles?” Charity mouthed at the silent man hovering beside her, and Miles rolled his eyes with a short shake of his head.
“He and my mother have spoken every day since she left,” he explained beneath his breath while George loaded the platters in the back of the SUV. “I can’t very well expect my mother’s long-distance boyfriend to call me Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Boyfriend?”
“I don’t know what else to call him. They’re—”
“I’ll take this one, Mrs. Cole,” George interrupted their hushed exchanged cheerfully, returning for the tray in Charity’s hands. She had asked him time and again to call her Charity, but for some reason, he always slipped back into the habit of calling her Mrs. Cole. It was funny that he found it easier to call Miles by his given name than he did Charity.