Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(30)

Miller has embraced it.

As a friend, I remind myself. He’s a friend to you and to Chloe.

Grabbing a mental broom, I sweep those images of him and her out of sight. If I don’t, I won’t be able to make it through the next few minutes without flinging myself at him.

“You can set her down. She’ll wake up long enough to make it upstairs,” I say softly.

“I’ve got her,” he whispers, and that’s my cue to zip into action.

I scurry to the front door, unlock it, and hold it wide open for him. Then I race to the elevator and hit the up button. The lift arrives instantly, and we step inside, Chloe still slumped on his shoulder, slumbering. When we reach the third floor, I scramble down the hall to open the door to my apartment.

Miraculously, she remains in the land of nod. He carries her to her room and gently lowers her to the bed. I take off her glasses, set them on her nightstand, and tug off her boots. I help her out of her coat, a feat I somehow manage without waking her up. She lets out a small, soft sigh as I pull up the covers and tuck them under her chin, topping them with a white blanket covered in a ladybug pattern. Lindsay bought it for her when she was five. It was a birthday present, and she cherished it.

Chloe flips to her side, and I press the softest kiss to her forehead. Miller brushes his hand over her shoulder, a tender gesture that hooks into me once more. We leave her room, and in the doorway, we cast our gazes to the sleeping child at the same time.

Before the moment swallows me whole, I pull the door shut, and it clicks closed. I’m relieved to put that part of the night behind me. Pretty sure I can only withstand one full-body melting per evening.

“Wine and song?” I ask, since it feels exactly like wine o’clock right now.

“We’ll crack open a bottle and tackle our next tune.”

I pour two glasses of white and join him on my plush purple sofa covered in silver pillows and a teal throw blanket. I reach for my notebook so we can start brainstorming a song.

But he has other matters on his mind. “She still believes in Santa?” he asks curiously, reaching for his phone and finding a playlist. He shows me a list of Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra tunes, and I give a thumbs-up. He turns the volume low, matching the dim lights in my apartment.

“She does,” I say, answering the question as Billie croons faintly. “A lot of kids her age don’t, but she still does, so we do the whole routine.”

“Do you think it’s because she’s had a tough life? That she wants to believe in something?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

Kicking off my suede ankle boots, I tuck my feet under me. “Do you remember believing in Santa? How wonderful it felt?”

He nods, an easy grin. “It was magic.”

“That’s why. She likes believing and it’s a link to Lindsay and a happy time. I don’t think there’s any reason to dispel the notion until she’s ready.”

He lifts his chin. “What do you believe in? Baths? Knitting? Heartwarming movies? How much fun you have with me?” He smiles, but it holds a hint of nerves, like he’s keen for my yes, and worried he won’t get it.

“Of course I believe in you.” I lean back, sinking into the sea of pillows. He pats his thigh, a sign for me to put my feet up on him. For a nanosecond, I consider the risk. But we’ve been there, done that. I can handle my feet on his thighs. I oblige, untangling them from under me and dropping them on his legs.

Miller tugs on my right sock, yanking it off my foot.

“You’re stripping me,” I tease as I take a drink, enjoying the wine and how easily we’ve slid back into familiar, friendly territory. Even the naughty flirting can’t take us out of where we best belong.

“I want to check out your feet, woman.”

I laugh as he tugs off the other sock. “Why on earth do you want to see my feet?”

“I’m not afraid of feet.”

“You’re an amazing man. So fearless.”

“Watch it, or I might nibble on your toes.”

I hold up a finger. “That, I believe in. Your ability to resist my toes.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” He tugs my foot toward his mouth, baring his teeth as if to bite my big toe. I wriggle away, and he laughs, letting my foot sink to his lap. He switches gears, digging his thumbs into my foot, rubbing. Instantly, I moan in pleasure.

“I believe in foot rubs. And I believe in your friendship,” I say, because I want him to know no matter how much we flirt, I’ll stay on this side of the divide, since that’s what he wants.

And what I need.

He smiles as he kneads deeper into the arch of my foot. “What else do you believe in?”

I swirl the wine in the glass and take another gulp. “I believe in good wine. I believe in tea with honey.”

“I’ll drink to that too.” He grabs his glass and swallows, then returns to my feet.

I gaze at the window and the sky beyond, where a faint orange glow hints at snow. “I believe that when it snows in New York, wondrous things can happen that wouldn’t ordinarily occur.”

“Because of snow?”

“Definitely. Snow makes you believe that everything can be beautiful and perfect even for just a sliver of time. You look outside, and it feels calm and peaceful in this most crazy city.”