Life and Other Inconveniences(116)

“So what?” I said, my voice sharp. “Stoningham was never exactly warm and welcoming, Miller. I was always Genevieve’s poor little orphan grandchild, proof of her royal goodness. Your family dumped me as soon as it was clear I wasn’t going to inherit a shitload of money. Courtney and Robert have never even met Riley, Jason won’t commit to helping with college, and now Genevieve told me she’s flat broke, so I wasted this whole summer, hoping for scraps from her table so my kid wouldn’t have to scratch her way through school the way I did. And Riley, the poor kid, loves that gorgon, and that gorgon is about to off herself because she doesn’t want to get old like a mere mortal.”

Miller stood up. “Okay. Two things.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “One. You haven’t wasted the summer. Your daughter is doing great and got to meet her great-grandmother. She made friends here and spent time with her brothers. You got to spend time with your sister. You got a job here. You met a nice guy who likes you a lot.”

I gave a begrudging nod.

“Don’t just nod at me,” he said, and I smiled a little, respecting him for not putting up with my tantrum.

“You’re right. I met a nice guy, and I also like him a lot. And his daughter.”

“Thank you. And two . . . I’ll pay for Riley’s college, Emma. The Finlays owe you that much. The company is doing great. If that asshole cousin of mine won’t step up, I will.”

I could probably love Miller Finlay. I probably already did. “You won’t pay for my daughter’s school, Miller. But thank you.”

“Personally, I’d like it if you stayed. I’m not asking you to marry me since we’ve been on all of one shitty date, but I’d like Stoningham a lot more if you were in it. And so would your sister. Your daughter could be close to her brothers. You’d be here for the gorgon, because you love her, no matter what you say.”

He was right. I always had, and I still did. No matter what she’d done to me after I got pregnant, no matter her harsh words that day and her seventeen years of silence, I loved my grandmother. She’d taken me in when I was alone, and if she wasn’t soft and loving, she’d made me . . . strong. Self-sufficient. Independent.

I was a London after all.

“Well?” said Miller. “You gonna admit I’m right?”

“Can you just shut up and stop being wise and calm?”

“It’s kind of my thing.”

“I like you better when you’re desperate and exhausted.” I sighed, then smiled. “You’re right.”

He knelt down in front of me, then looked at Hope. “Is it okay if I kiss your sister?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, of course, which he took as a yes.

This kiss was different. In the past, we’d been a little tentative, me too aware of his widower status, his sleeping child, my temporary status in his life. Those kisses had been nice, for sure.

This kiss was a man making a statement. Warm, hard, deep and perfect, his hands cradling my shorn head.

Hope laughed, and we broke apart. “Way to kill the mood, Hope,” Miller said, not looking away from me.

“Can you get away for an hour?” I asked, my voice husky.

“Hell yes.”

I scooped Hope out of her swing, took her hand and led her over to the courtyard, where Gerry was scrolling through his phone. “Just about to come get you,” he said. “Time for swim class, missy.”

“See you tomorrow, Gerry,” I said, then kissed my sister’s soft cheek. “Love you, angel.”

Then I followed Miller to his truck. We didn’t talk as we drove, and when he pulled into a motel, I waited as he got us a room. Number 101. My lucky number. At least, it was from now on.

We went inside, and the room was completely unremarkable in every way, except he was here. Miller locked the door, tossed his keys on the table and then took my face in his hands and kissed me, and it was even better than before, hot and hard, tongue and teeth, his hands sliding down my back to cup my ass. I pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and ran my hands up his ribs, around his back. His skin was sun-warm and smooth, and when I kissed his neck, he tasted like salt and sweat, and my knees wobbled.

Then he pulled my shirt over my head and gently pushed me back on the bed into a patch of sunlight and took off the rest of my clothes.

You forget how it is to be with another person when you’ve gone for so long without one. How his weight on top of you is so welcome, how the heat of skin against skin feels at once shocking and familiar. How you can feel languid and charged with electricity at the same time, sinking into the mattress and pushing up against him for more contact, your eyes fluttering shut while every nerve ending buzzes and hums. You forget the pleasure of giving pleasure, the smug sense of satisfaction when you find out what the other likes. The sweet shock of connection, the bliss of togetherness.

You forget what it is to rely on someone, to trust someone, to feel so full of happiness just because one person—your person—has chosen you.



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*

Miller drove me back to Rose Hill so I could get my car.

“I have a lot to think about,” I said.

“You do.”

“Thanks for being . . . yourself.”

“Look,” he said, leaning against my car. “If you need to go back to Chicago, I get that. My own life isn’t really under control, so I probably shouldn’t be giving anyone advice.”