“What happened?”
He longingly looked over the mostly empty board while he ran his hand over his head. “I’ve felt a bit paralyzed. The raging success of Silent Stones caught me off guard, as did Isabella. I think I’ve been so afraid to finish the next book for fear it won’t live up to the first one, or to Isabella’s expectations, that I’ve been playing it safe.”
“Aren’t you in charge of Isabella?”
“No, darling.” He let the darling stand instead of correcting himself and changing it to Aspen. “She is very much in charge of her story. I am only her medium. And she let me know that she wasn’t exactly happy with the direction I was going.”
I finally took a good look at the board and absorbed what was left. There were still several interesting bits of information, like how part of the story was going to take place in America in a Colorado mountain town, and there were more clues about her father’s death and evidence that he didn’t kill Lord and Lady Alexander. The most interesting plot point available was that Isabella’s captor, Dexter, was also the hero. Her would-be lover. I began to wonder how Isabella would feel about that. So I asked, “Is Isabella ready to love someone, especially her captor?”
Miles studied me for a moment before he spoke. “Why am I not surprised you asked that question?”
I thought back to what my mother had said about how eerily similar Isabella and I were. “Do I remind you of her?” I carelessly asked. Immediately, I felt stupid and presumptuous. It showed in my burning cheeks.
He lifted his hand as if he wanted to smooth my red cheeks, but instead he made a fist and dropped it. “I can hardly get over how much you remind me of her.”
After his admission, we stood locked in a gaze. I don’t think either one of us knew what to do with the truth that hung between us. My heart beat rapidly, not sure whether it should hope or if it should reinforce the walls it had been building for so many years.
Miles did me a favor and broke the connection by turning his focus back to the board. “You will find that it is very much Isabella who is holding Dexter captive, not the other way around. And I do believe she wants to love him, but is afraid to. I don’t blame her. The men in her past have shattered her trust. Like you, if you don’t mind me saying.” His ears pinked.
I don’t know why, but I liked that the debonair man could get embarrassed. “It is a well-known fact that I distrust men in general.” I kept my tone lighthearted.
“Can I ask you about your ex-husband?”
“What does he have to do with me helping you?”
“I believe getting to know you better will help,” he stated unabashedly.
“Um . . .” I wasn’t one for opening up, like my mother also pointed out.
A mischievous grin erupted on Miles face. “At least tell me whether you truly believe what you wrote to that woman. Are you better off without men?”
My cheeks were back to burning, along with the rest of my body. “I didn’t send the email.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had, but you didn’t the answer the question.”
I shifted my feet, deciding if this was one of those moments to be more open. Miles’s entreating stance convinced me. “It’s easier for me to believe I am. Like Isabella, I have built a fortress around my heart. Not because of what Leland did, but because I was so foolish to allow him to. It’s not men that I distrust, per se, it’s me.” That was enough of me being open. I shifted the focus off me. “I hope Dexter is a brave man willing to scale Isabella’s walls and get back up and begin the climb again each time she makes him plunge to the ground.”
“I believe he is.” Miles looked at me with such tenderness. “Is that what you wish for? A man willing to take any risk to win your heart?”
Why couldn’t he leave me out of it? He had to know how hard being open was for me. I shook my head, unsure. “I don’t know. No. Maybe.” I rubbed my neck. “I don’t want to hurt anyone the way Leland hurt me. I scaled walls for him, every time I was pushed down, until I finally learned it was safer on the ground. How can I expect someone to scale walls for me when I’m not even sure I know how to love a man, or want to?”
“Isabella has asked the same question.”
“What is the answer?” I begged to know.
“She’s been waiting for me to figure that out. It’s why I’m back to almost a blank board.” Miles stepped closer to me. Close enough I could share in his warmth. Close enough to make my pulse race. “I have a feeling that maybe together we can find the answer . . . for her, of course,” he stammered and took a step back.
I took a step away too. “I’m not sure I can help her or you. I can’t even figure it out for myself.”
“Perhaps if you look at it through someone else’s eyes, you’ll figure it out.”
“How do I do that?”
“Well, for starters, I was hoping you would be willing to read what little I’ve written so far. What I’ve kept, that is.”
“I accept,” I said quickly, with probably too much exuberance.
Miles chuckled at me. “That is not all. I need to immerse myself in this town. Sophie always hoped I would use Carrington Cove as a location for one of my stories. The way she talked of it always intrigued me, but I need to feel it all for myself. I think it will help to get the creative juices flowing again. And who better to show me around than you?”
My entire face must have said what I was feeling. Oh! As in oh, what will people say if they see us together? And oh, was it safe for my heart?
“Is that a problem?” Miles responded to the question written on my face.
“What about Henry?” Yes, Henry was a great excuse.
“He would come with us,” he said it like that solved everything.
What did I use for an excuse now? “Well . . .” I rubbed my lips together. “I suppose I could.”
He clapped his hands. “Brilliant. We’ll start tomorrow, after a dance video. My publisher is begging we put more up. After that, we’ll hit the town together.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. I was stunned at this turn of events.
Even more stunned when Miles said, “I knew from the moment we met, you would be good for me.”
But are you good for me, Miles?
Chapter Seventeen
I can’t say how odd it felt to have all four of us in the car dropping off Chloe for school. Not only were we doing it in style in Miles’s Range Rover, but it felt familial. Miles asked Chloe about what her day had in store for her while Henry happily pointed out everything from horses in a nearby pasture to the blinking school zone lights. Meanwhile, I uploaded a video of Miles and Henry dancing to Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly.” It seemed apropos. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering them both with stretched out arms as if they were flying, circling around the room. I captioned the video, “Cutest Copilot Ever.” Henry certainly was.
I tucked my phone away when I was done and reveled in the conversation. Chloe and Miles were talking about soccer, though Miles kept insisting on calling it football.
“Do you run the blind shot drill?” Miles asked Chloe.
“No. What’s that?”
“It helps with reaction speed. As the name indicates, you are blind to where the ball is coming from. You stand at the goal line facing away from your partner who yells right before she takes the shot, giving you time to turn, react, and adjust.”
“Ooh. I like that. Can we run that drill tonight at practice, Mom?”
“Sure.” I was loving being able to coach with Emma.
“I played for my University’s Football club. I would be happy to give pointers, if welcome,” Miles offered.
“Only if you admit the word soccer originated in the UK,” I teased him.
His laughter filled the car. “Remind me to google that.”
“Maybe you could come to one of my games?” Chloe asked. “We’re undefeated so far this season.”
“I would be honored. If that is all right with
your mum.” Miles glanced my way.
“If you have the time, yes, you are more than welcome to come,” I responded. It wasn’t often Chloe took to people so easily. For her sake, I didn’t want to push him away. That was a good story. One I was sticking to.
“Excellent.” Miles turned into her school. “I’ll plan on it.”
Once we dropped Chloe off, Miles turned to me. “So where to?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you are looking for?”
Miles turned out of the school parking lot. “Will it ruin it for you if I give you a brief synopsis of the book?”
Uh, no. I had been hoping last night for a copy of what little he had already written of his unfinished manuscript to start devouring it, but he said he wanted to go through it one more time before he shared it with me. “Honestly, I like to know what I’m getting into. I’m the worst movie goer; I always look up spoilers. And I admit to sometimes reading the ending of a book if I’m really worried how it will turn out.”
“Ugh!” He slapped his chest. “Direct blow to the heart. That’s an awful crime against humanity.”
“If I’m too nervous I can’t enjoy it,” I defended myself.
“Now I’m debating whether I should tell you or not. Your reading etiquette is atrocious.”
“Fine, don’t tell me, but just so you know . . . not once did I peek at the end of Silent Stones. I was too engrossed in the story,” I admitted.
Miles glanced at me when he stopped at a stop sign. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.” He focused back on the road. “I suppose for that I’ll share with you. But you must promise me you’ll correct your wicked behavior.”
“Write another fascinating book and we won’t have to worry about it.”
A rumble of deep laughter escaped. “You are cheeky. I’ll do my best. Well then, the book.”
“Wait. What’s the title?”
“That is an excellent question. It’s one my publisher and I can’t agree on. They are dead set on calling it Whispering Stones, but I don’t feel like when it is all said and done that it will encompass the story, and since my contract states the title must be approved by me, we are at a standstill.”
“What do you want it to be called?”
He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “I think I will keep that to myself for now. After you’ve read what I’ve written, perhaps you’ll have some suggestions.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“I don’t believe it. Are you ready for the synopsis?”
I nodded eagerly while Henry shouted, “Yes!” though he had no idea what for. It made Miles and me laugh.
Miles pulled off to the side in one of the nearby neighborhoods, put the car in park, and turned toward me. His eyes shone with excitement, like he couldn’t wait to share. I wasn’t sure I had ever known a man to be so passionate. Leland liked to pretend to be, but it never lived in his eyes, the way Miles’s love for his work lived in his. It was kind of endearing.
“I’ll try not to give too much away. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but a little information will help, assuming I am able to finish.”
“I believe in you.” I covered my mouth with my hand. I couldn’t believe I blurted that out. I didn’t like feeling so comfortable around him. It made me feel too vulnerable.
Miles pressed his lips together, holding back a bigger reaction to my slip of the tongue. “Thank you, Aspen. That means the world to me.” He moved on from it, knowing that’s exactly what I would want. And he gave me something to take my mind off it. “As you know, at the end of Silent Stones, Isabella has disappeared,” Miles began. “And Dexter, who you think is the villain, is actually her savior. The wrong person has found out that Isabella possesses her father’s journal and it has put her life in danger.”
This was good. I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear more.
“Dexter,” Miles continued, “has been keeping an eye on Isabella for many years unbeknownst to her, afraid something like this might happen. He knows he must act to protect her, but he doesn’t have time to gain her trust. So, for lack of a better term, he kidnaps her, but he makes it look as if she left of her own accord.”
“I bet she isn’t too happy about that,” I interrupted.
“Quite right,” Miles confirmed, “but she does come to trust him enough, or at least enough to begin to wonder if what he’s telling her is true. Her father didn’t kill the Alexanders.”
“I knew it,” I couldn’t contain myself.
Miles smiled, amused. “You are very clever. Can I proceed or would you like a moment?”
“I’ll gloat later; please continue.” I held my hands together, anxious to learn more.
“After some, let us call them unfortunate events that almost get Isabella killed, Dexter convinces her they need to come to America for her safety. He chooses ‘River Cove’, as I’ll be calling it, because of a trip he had taken here once as a boy with his parents. Not even Dexter knows how significant that is until they arrive.”
I wanted him to go into more detail but also didn’t want him to so I could savor the words he had written and would write.
“Dexter and Isabella pose as a couple on holiday in hopes of not drawing any attention to themselves. So, I need you to help me blend in, become a local. Help me see and feel what Isabella needs me to.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding during his captivating synopsis. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“For now.” He tapped on the steering wheel. “What do you think so far?”
“I’m hooked.”
“Music to my ears. So where to?” He faced forward.
“It’s still early; not much is open except places to eat, doctor’s offices, and banks.”
“Where would Isabella eat?”
“Well,” I thought for a moment. “She does love tea and out-of-the-way quiet places.” Just like me. “There is a little bakery that’s only open in the mornings in the older part of Carrington Cove. My dad used to take me there sometimes on Saturday mornings. The woman who owns it uses old family recipes and, you will be happy to hear, tea leaves, not bags.” Miles had complained that he couldn’t find “real” tea in the grocery store here. Except he called it the supermarket.
“I must meet this woman. Lead the way.”
“Take a left at the next light.”
Bernadette’s had a fair number of customers. Mostly locals who only came in to grab a sweet roll or two and a cup of coffee or tea before they headed off to work. She did have a cute nook filled with an entire bookcase of classics, with limited seating for those who didn’t need to rush off. It was weird how I could picture Isabella and Dexter sitting there making notes or casting furtive glances at each other across the table. Kind of like how Miles and I were doing while we picked at our blueberry scones and he jotted down notes for his book in his leather-bound notepad.
Henry gobbled down his raised donut. It looked as if he had dipped his mouth in a sugar jar.
Miles reveled in his Darjeeling tea with milk. “I may love America after all.”
“You didn’t think you would?”
He set his tea down with a longing sigh. “No. I miss misty mornings and old things. Everything here is so new. Even this place.”
I looked around at the old place that had seen better days and probably hadn’t been updated since the eighties, with linoleum floors and burgundy curtains. To me this was old, but when you lived around architecture and buildings that had survived for several centuries, I could see his point. “New can have a certain charm.”
“That is true, but we Brits love traditions, even ones that don’t make sense, like putting young Henry in shorts every day.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you if he has any pants. It’s only going to get chillier here.”
“You mean trousers, darling.”
“No, I mean pants.” I pushed back, playfully.
>
He ran his finger along the rim of his china teacup. “Sophie would have liked you. She loved to contradict me. Nudged me to be better.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I believe so.”
I had to turn from his smoldering look. Holy mother did he do that well. I picked Henry up and set him on my lap almost like a security blanket. “So, tell me why this little man only owns shorts.”
“For the aristocracy, it is a tradition that goes back several centuries, when young lads would be dressed in gowns until they were ‘breeched’ and put into shorts. They didn’t wear trousers until around eight years old. As much as Sophie didn’t like the rules of growing up titled and wealthy, she did appreciate tradition.”
“Would she be upset if Henry wore pants?”
Miles’s brow crinkled. “Hmm. That is a very good question. What do you think, Henry? Would you like some trousers?”
He puffed out his chest. “I’m a big boy.” He must have known on some level that getting trousers was a rite of passage. “Daddy wears trousers.”
Oh, my heart. I kissed Henry’s head.
“Would you like some trousers like Daddy?” Miles asked.
Henry nodded vigorously.
“Trousers it is.” Miles glanced up at me. “Does Carrington Cove have a children’s boutique?”
“They do.”
“Let’s add it to the list of places to visit today. Now, where to next?”
An unexpected tiny thrill ran down me with the thought we would be spending even more time together today. “I’ve been thinking about where Isabella and Dexter might stay, and I think I know just the spot.”
Chapter Eighteen
Miles looked around Carrington Ranch with wide-eyed wonder as he got Henry out of the car. I knew it was the right choice as soon as we turned into the entrance and drove far enough in to see some of the cabins that were available to rent in the summer. Miles had pulled over to the side of the road and jotted down several notes, not saying a word, but his furious scribbles said it all. I wondered if that mean Isabella was speaking to him again.
“Your friend Emma grew up here?” Miles set Henry down and took his hand.
My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked Series Book 3) Page 12