13. Chapter Thirteen

I shoved a cup of coffee at Miles when he opened his front door. He took it without a word and let me into his house. I plodded into the living room, my sunglasses firmly in place. He closed the door and strolled after me, casually sipping his coffee.

It was eight in the morning. Saturday morning. Being awake and functional on this day, at this time, didn't make sense.

"You should know, I'm not a morning person," I intoned.

He grinned—big surprise. And he was bouncing on his toes, all vim and vigor. "You could have come over later but…"

"I know. I'm helping at the funeral home." I puffed out a breath. "We could have done this through email."

"But then how would you have helped me remove the backsplash in my kitchen?"

I shoved my free hand in the pocket of my hoodie. "I'm surprised you haven't done that yet. Smashing tile seems like something you would have done right away."

"Oh yeah, I did. And I hung some marble and glass subway tile a couple weeks ago. Thing is, I hate it, so I'm going to rip it out."

"You hate it?"

"Yeah. It's dated. I should have gone more simple."

"Shouldn't you have thought that through before going through the trouble of hanging the tile the first time?"

He sipped his coffee and rocked back on his heels. "This house is my hobby. One day, I'll get it right and sell it. I'm in no rush."

I squeezed my eyes shut behind my sunglasses. "But the waste…"

"I'm thinking we can remove the backsplash without destroying it. The thing about me is I do shoddy work. Chances are, it'll come off easily."

I couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled out of me. God, Miles just said anything on his mind. To be honest, it was an ability I was jealous of.

He circled his arm around my shoulders and spun us toward the kitchen. "Like that, Daisy-daze."

"What?"

He squeezed my shoulder. "When I can make you laugh and all your troubles fall away. It's nice."

I didn't know what to say to that, but he didn't wait for me to come up with a response. We entered the kitchen, and he showed me the backsplash, then went on to point out all he wanted to do. To be fair, the kitchen looked like it hadn't been touched in at least thirty years. It needed a lot of work I wasn't sure Miles could provide, but I would reserve judgment. Plus, he had enough money to hire someone to come in and redo everything he messed up, so the stakes were low.

Over the next hour, we carefully pried the backsplash off the wall, only breaking a few pieces. Miles was going to donate them to a friend's charity that built houses for the unhoused. That certainly softened my feelings about his casual, easy-come-easy-go attitude.

Once that was done, we ended up back on the deck. Miles ran inside to get drinks, returning with a big jug of pink lemonade and two glasses.

He poured it without a hint of smugness and handed me a glass before pouring one for himself and sitting beside me.

"You remembered."

He kicked his feet up on the deck rail and took a long pull of his lemonade. "Of course. I just saw you a couple days ago. Unlike Edie, I don't have issues with my memory."

I groaned. "Landry said Edie's been nonstop patting her head and rubbing her tummy."

His mouth hitched. "Smart kid. As long as she keeps up the exercises, she'll be good to go. Now," he set his glass down on the table between us, "we have our first event the weekend after next, and at this point, I'm not sure we're going to be able to sell this relationship."

I tucked my hair behind my ear. "Okay…how do we make ourselves more believable?"

"Let's play a game. Two truths and a lie. You know it?"

"Of course. How is this going to help?"

"We'll learn things about each other in a non-boring way."

"Talking is boring?"

He rubbed his chin in contemplation. "Not to you, it isn't. But why not spice it up even more? You go first."

"This was your idea. You should go first."

"All right. Here goes: I didn't finish college, I'm allergic to shellfish, and I crashed my first car the day I got it." He raised a brow in challenge. "Which one's the lie?"

I leaned over in my chair to peer closely at him. This wasn't as easy as I'd expected it to be.

"You crashing your car feels on brand," I said.

"Okay. What do you think is my other truth, and what's the lie?"

I tapped my cheek, mulling it over. "The lie is shellfish. I don't think you're allergic."

"Errr." He made the sound of a buzzer. "Wrong. Give me a shrimp and give me death."

"Wow. I guess it's a good thing I didn't put any shellfish in the food I've given you. I was experimenting with clam cupcakes…"

He pressed a finger to my lips, shushing me. "No, no, Daisy. Never mention that again."

Batting his hand away, I laughed. "All right, so you didn't graduate from college. Weren't your parents mad?"

"Nah. To be honest, I'm not sure they even realize I didn't graduate. They just stopped getting bills for my tuition my junior year and never asked why."

"Did you flunk out?"

He chuffed at my question. "I dropped out voluntarily. The social part of college was the only thing I enjoyed. Classes were torture. It might take you by surprise, but I have ADHD."

"No…" My mouth curved into a smirk. I wasn't surprised at all. Earlier, I'd noticed his medicine bottles lined up next to the kitchen sink. Even on good meds, Miles was still heavy on the H, moving, fidgeting, bouncing on his toes.

"You little shit," he muttered. "Ten years ago, I had no idea how to regulate myself. I was all over the place. I've figured out I need to be busy with a variety of work. Hence, the house, the job. No two days are the same, so I stay interested and focused."

"Good for you. College isn't for everyone. Beau didn't go at all, and he's doing well for himself in Wyoming. I went, got an English degree, and now I make my living building websites and making—"

"Meat cups." He beamed at me, clearly amused with himself. "Your turn. Let's see if I do better than you."

Meat cups.If he didn't stop saying that, I was bound to slip up and call them that myself.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, here we go: I've never touched a dead body, I was in a sorority, I don't eat cupcakes."

His eyes flared. "Wow. You want this game to be impossible for me, huh?"

"Did you need me to go easier on you?"

"Never." He got up from his seat and leaned his back against the deck railing. "Now that I think of it, I've never seen you eat a cupcake, so as much as it pains me, I'm going to say that one's true. The other two, shit, Daisy-daze, I'm stumped. On the one hand, there's no way you would have willingly joined a sorority, but how could you have never touched a dead body? I've touched a couple, and I didn't grow up in a funeral home."

"Above a funeral home," I corrected.

"Sure, sure." He dipped to squint at me. "Were you in a fucking sorority?"

"Is that your final answer?"

"Yes. No. Fuck, I don't know." He yanked at the side of his hair. "Fine. Yes, that's my final answer."

"Errr." I made the same obnoxious buzzing sound he had. "I wasn't in a fucking sorority, Miles. Come on."

"I could almost picture you in a sweater set with a ribbon in your hair." He threw out his arms. "How have you never touched a dead body?"

"I just…haven't. I've seen plenty, strangers and loved ones, but I've never felt the urge to touch one."

My sister's still form flashed in a memory that never went too far from the front of my mind, but I tucked it away for now. This wasn't the time to think about Quinn.

"Huh." He took his seat again. "See how this is more fun than a regular conversation?"

I laughed at that. "Sure. Should we go another round?"

"Absolutely. I'm going to win this time." He rubbed his hands together. "I had a crush on my brother's fiancée in high school, my favorite vegetable is green beans, I want to live in Denver forever."

"Hmmm…" I tapped my chin. "Green beans is true. I'm not sure about the other two. Denver is nice and all, but I don't know anyone passionate enough about this city to want to live here forever. Now, if you'd said Colorado as a whole, I might believe you. On the other hand, having a crush on your brother's fiancée…that's outrageous enough to be true."

"You're getting better at this. She wasn't his fiancée in high school, by the way."

I snorted. "I should hope not. Do you still…?"

He wrinkled his nose. "No. She's like my sister now. That would be gross."

"Is it my turn?"

"Yep. Go for it, Cupcake."

"Okay, here we go. My mother grew up in a commune of traveling musicians slash grifters called the Traveling Roses, my middle name is Edna, and I've always wanted to try living in another state."

"Whoa." His eyes flared. "The last one is truth. But the first two? This is tough. On the one hand, if your middle name is Edna, that means your initials are DED, and I would hope your parents are smart enough not to lay that on you, given…you know, their profession. On the other, I can't picture Whitney Mae as a grifter. She's too proper."

I stacked my hands in my lap, smug. "The middle name is the lie."

He clapped his hands. "I knew it."

"My middle name is actually Ethel."

That took the wind from his sails. "So, your initials are DED?"

"Yep. It never occurred to my parents that would pose a problem."

"Kids were assholes?"

"Of course they were."

He expelled a puff of breath and muttered, "Of course they were." Then he cocked his head. "All right. The Traveling Roses? For real?"

"For real. That's how my parents met, actually. My mama was performing at the Colorado State Fair with some of her cousins. My dad took one look at her and asked her to stay. She'd been looking for an excuse to get off the circuit, so she agreed. One of her other cousins is sort of a famous rock star."

He clicked his fingers. "I knew I'd heard of them before. I read an article…okay, a headline. Callum Rose from The Seasons Change is your relative?"

"Very distant, and it's not like I've ever met him."

He shook his head. "You keep getting more interesting, Daisy-daze."

"It's your turn." I nudged his leg with my toe. "Go on."

"I was a state champion wrestler in high school," he pointed to a scar in his brow, "got this from a wineglass my mom threw, intending to hit my dad, and I have another scar from a bullet."

I gaped at him, really hoping he'd forgotten the rules and had given two lies. "Jesus, Miles. I don't know which one I want to be the lie more." I puffed up my cheeks and slowly let the air out. "I'm going to guess the bullet is the lie. Right?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I was shot about a year ago."

"No you weren't. I don't believe you."

"I was. Want to see?"

"The scar you made up? Sure, show me."

He hopped up and turned away from me. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his athletic shorts and lowered one side, exposing most of his ass cheek. There, right in the middle of his smooth, golden skin, was a round, puckered dent.

My mouth went dry, my head fuzzy. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. "How is your ass so tan?"

Chuckling, he pulled up his shorts and turned to rest his elbows on the railing behind him.

"That's my natural glow, Cupcake."

"You can't just show me your bullet wound and expect a sensical reaction." I rubbed the throb between my eyebrows. "I mean…are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm all good now. I'll have a gnarly scar for the rest of my life, but no other lasting side effects."

I dropped my hand to glare at him. I couldn't explain it, but I was suddenly incredibly pissed off at him.

"How in the hell did you get shot, Miles Aldrich?" He opened his mouth, but I waved him off. "Wait, let me guess. Were you caught running out of some rich, married lady's bedroom by her angry husband?"

His eyelids lowered over sparkling hazel eyes. He was amused while I was all out of sorts.

"Not quite so harrowing. There was an incident last year at the grand opening of my friend Elliot"s building. A crazy old man was waving his gun around, and I put myself between him and my friends to distract him. It had worked. The guy got tackled by security, and I thought it was over, so I turned around."

He clucked his tongue. "Old man got a shot off before they got the gun away from him. Hit me right in the ass."

My throat was tight. I did not like this game anymore. "Did it hurt?"

"It didn't feel like angel kisses, that's for damn sure."

I couldn't explain my urge to strangle this man. My fingers curled around the wooden arms of my Adirondack chair, wishing it were his neck. This wasn't something you just dropped on someone during a game.

Miles took a step closer, worry furrowing his brow. "You doing okay?"

"I'm—" I focused on the rip in the knee of my jeans. "You're just so…casual about being shot. It's hard for me to wrap my head around."

"It's been over a year for me. I didn't feel great about it when it happened. I had to sit on a donut for a solid month after I got out of the hospital." He huffed a laugh. "But I'd go through it again, no question. If I hadn't been there to take the bullet, it would have hit Elliot, or his wife, Kit. Might've hit my brother or his girl. Much better it was me."

I lifted my chin, pissed at the people he'd named for no discernible reason. "I hope they'd take a bullet for you too."

"Eh." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter what they'd do in the same situation. I did what I thought was right."

"Of course it matters." I climbed to my feet to pace. If I didn't walk some of this fizzing anger off, I'd scream. "Surely your brother would have taken a bullet for you…?"

"It doesn't matter," he said softly. "No one can say what they'd do in a situation like that."

"Except you." I tugged on my hoodie strings. "You can."

"And I'm kind of banking on never having to go through that again." He nodded at my glass. "Drink some pink lemonade and chill, Daisy-daze. Everything's fine. My ass isn't as perfect as it once was, but I'm told women are into scars, so…"

Groaning, I whirled around and guzzled my lemonade. I was annoyed with Miles for being so nonchalant, but more annoyed with myself for reacting this way. We barely knew each other, yet my gut was churning at the possibilities of what could have happened to him. Add the fact he wasn't sure his friends, let alone his brother, would have done the same for him, and I was feeling like a crazy person.

"What do you think about hikes?" Miles asked out of nowhere.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. He was back to relaxing against the deck rail. "I go for a hike at least once a week."

"Want to go on one tomorrow?"

I turned fully to face him. I knew what this was. He was trying to distract me, and I was going to let him.

"With you?"

"Yeah. I invited myself along with Weston and his fiancée, Elise. If you come too, I won't be the dreaded third wheel and we can practice."

"Practice what?"

His eyes rounded. "Being boyfriend and girlfriend, obviously. We have to make sure our relationship is convincing."

"You want to fake it with your brother?"

"I do. Chances are, he'll be at some of the same events we go to. I can't have Westie blowing our cover."

"I suppose I could go for a hike tomorrow. If it's awkward or obvious they don't want me there, I'm going to slap you on your gunshot wound."

A wide grin spread across his too-attractive face. "Wow, you went from concerned to malicious at the drop of a hat. My mercurial little Cupcake."

I stopped my eyes from rolling, but just barely. "Do you think we could spend some time talking about Grazing? You know, the reason we're doing this in the first place?"

"Absolutely." He straightened, going from relaxed to business in an instant. "Tell me what you've been working on."

For the next hour or so, I showed Miles the website I'd been building, along with new branded socials. He had suggestions for elements to add, and created rough drafts of graphics he thought I needed on the fly. We bounced ideas off each other as easily as old coworkers. His enthusiasm bled onto me. My usual pessimism was brightened by his relentless positivity. We might've been faking our relationship, but this was real. I didn"t think it had truly hit me until that moment. Grazing was actually happening.

I was terrified. If not for Miles, I might have cut and run, but he never would have let me. He would've lassoed me by the ankles and done that dangling thing he'd threatened.

We worked for a while longer, then Miles tried to rope me into more renovation, and I packed up my computer as quickly as I could.

It wasn't until Miles had shown me out, the door clicking behind me, that something else hit me.

Miles never told me what the lie was.