The Best Next Thing

“You can?”

“Sure. But not tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, because of the cleaning service, right?”

The cleaning service would be in for their fortnightly visit tomorrow. And they would probably stay all day. Charity had already informed Miles that his breakfast would have to be a hit and run affair in the morning.

“I thought, if it’s a nice day, I’d take Stormy to the beach,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

“I have to oversee the cleaning staff.” She didn’t really have to, because they were employed by an independent company, and would have their usual on-site supervisor accompanying them. Charity always felt superfluous when they were here. They were so fast, efficient, and reliable.

In fact, she usually took the day off when they were scheduled to come.

“Let me know if you change your mind. Stormy and I would both enjoy your company.”

He left before she could reply.

Bacon, one egg—sunny side up—mushrooms, and toast. Aside from the hot breakfast awaiting him at his usual spot in the kitchen the following morning, there was no sign of Charity.

Miles tried not to be disappointed by her absence and sat to have his solitary breakfast. He didn’t know why he had expected to see her this morning. Perhaps because last night had felt like a breakthrough in their odd relationship. A tacit acknowledgment that perhaps they were ready to explore the limits of what they could say and do to each other.

But—if not for his plan to go to the beach—this day would probably have followed the usual pattern. Breakfast alone, spend time with Stormy, chat with Amos, try to engage Charity in conversation. And fail. Walk and lunch alone. Watch Charity clean the kitchen, offer to help. Get rejected.

End of part one.

Listen to one of his recently purchased audiobooks, try to convince Charity to watch some television with him. Fail again. Play with Stormy, swim, contact his siblings and mother, have dinner. Alone. Bedtime.

End of part two.

Rinse and repeat.

He had come here for the isolation and had resigned himself to the tedium that was bound to accompany that isolation. At least Stormy offered a welcome respite to that tedium. He shouldn’t want more. But he did. And he had since the moment he had set eyes on Charity stripped of her armor that first night.

But that wasn’t her problem, it was his. And he should respect her desire for solitude and let her do her job without interference. God knew, he was trying, but every so often—like last night—he felt like she enjoyed his company, that she was as intrigued by him as he was by her.

And the confusing signals were driving him fucking crazy.

At least today, thanks to the rare crisp and clear day with which the weather gods had gifted them, he was looking forward to something a little different. Stormy’s first visit to the beach.

He would drive himself, not something he often did, but he had been keen on trying out his Land Rover on some of the challenging off-road terrain. He sighed, put Charity firmly out of his mind, and finished his breakfast.

It’s just a day at the beach. You deserve a day off. Be brave…

Be brave.

She had been so proud of herself last night. Proud because she had borderline flirted with her employer.

How had she become this person? This timid woman, who considered a mild bit of flirting daring. She, who had once lived for her next thrill. Her parents had been so happy when their wild child had settled into her perfect life, with her perfect husband.

Now here she stood listening while Miles’s voice drifted farther away as he headed to the garage with Stormy. He was conversationally telling the dog all about the day he had in store for them, and Charity’s body leaned toward the closing door as she listened to him speak.

She had stepped into the kitchen just as he and Stormy were exiting through the basement door, and she had wavered. Part of her eager to go after them, but the other—terrified—part urging her to stay put and not risk opening herself up even further to him.

He was her boss, he was too disturbingly attractive…He could hurt her. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically.

Let him go.

…

No. Be brave, Charity.

“Do you two have room for one more?”

Miles sucked in a quiet, relieved breath at the sound of the hesitant voice behind him, and he schooled his features into rigid neutrality before turning to face her.

“A-always.” The word stumbled over his suddenly numb tongue as he took in the familiar, yet wholly unfamiliar, sight of the woman who had begun to occupy his every waking thought.

She was wearing a pair of snug, faded jeans and a black and red plaid shirt over a white tank top. She had a down jacket flung over one arm, and her unbound hair was streaming over her shoulders, down her back, to her waist. It was everywhere. A gorgeous curtain of silky, messy tresses. A slouchy red beanie futilely attempted to tame the mass, but all it did was give her a bohemian appeal. She was wearing red gloves and dark brown hiking boots on her feet.