9. Chapter Nine

Miles showed up right on time. I hadn't pegged him for the punctual sort. I watched him climb out of his SUV from my kitchen window, check his phone, then peer at the funeral home.

I hadn't warned him about where I lived. I should have, but I'd wanted to see how he would react. I'd been through this plenty with new friends and dates. I'd seen a spectrum of responses, but I truly couldn't predict what Miles's would be.

A minute passed. He was still standing by his SUV, looking doubtful, so I went outside to the landing at the top of my stairs.

"Miles," I called.

His head whipped in my direction. "Daisy-daze!" He closed his door and started toward me. "I thought I was in the wrong place."

"Right place, right on time." I leaned against the wood railing, waiting for him as he climbed the steps. "I should've told you I live above a garage."

"That would've been helpful." He grinned, his gaze sweeping over me. "You might've mentioned the funeral home too. It's a pretty big landmark."

"Have you been here before?"

He cupped the back of his neck. "To the funeral home? Yeah, a few times. It's been years, though, and I can't say I'm sorry for it."

"I don't blame you. No one's eager to come back here."

Miles stood in front of me on the landing, his arms crossed over his chest. "Daisy Dunham. That's your family's place."

He wasn't asking, but I confirmed anyway. "It is. That's where I grew up."

"Must've been interesting."

I shrugged. "It was just life. I've never known anything else."

I showed him into my little apartment, bracing for his judgment or intrusive questions. I'd heard plenty over the years, from the time I was little into adulthood. People didn't like to think about death, but once they knew what my family did and where we lived, most found it impossible not to think about it, and it made them uncomfortable.

"How long have you lived in this apartment?" Miles asked, taking me by surprise. That was not the first question I'd expected to come from him.

"Not long. Just over a month. My older brother lived here before me, and my sister before that."

He nodded. "It was your turn."

"I guess."

His gaze swept over me, lingering on my bare feet. "You're not wearing black today. Only on your toes."

I wiggled my polished toes and tucked my hands in my jeans. I wasn't wearing anything special. Just old jeans and a slightly cropped red T-shirt. "Sometimes I like to acknowledge there are other colors."

"Red looks good on you. But I liked gothed-out Lydia-Daisy-Cupcake too."

"Lydia again?" I pressed my hand to my forehead.

"Suits you."

Then he was on the move again, checking out the kitchen, looking at pictures hanging on the wall, even peeking into my tiny bedroom. It didn't feel intrusive. This apartment wasn't really home yet. It was a way station until I figured out my next move. I was lucky to have had this after the implosion of my relationship, but the flip side was this place had become a reminder of that failure.

Miles swept his palm over the postage-stamp-sized island in my barely-there kitchen. "You moved here after your breakup."

"Yes." I wrapped my arms around my middle. "How did you know that?"

"Nick likes to talk, which is why I never tell him anything I don't mind being spread around."

"That was tragically uncool of him."

"Yeah, but in this case, I'm glad I know so I don't make any off-color jokes about spinsters or cat ladies…" He flashed me a wide grin before spinning away to continue his tour of my apartment even though he'd already studied every surface.

"I'm relieved you aren't joking about me dying alone, my face eaten by my pack of cats."

And more than relieved he wasn't giving me pitying looks and using that soft tone so many people spoke to me in the days and weeks following the breakup.

He finally completed his tour and took a seat in the big squishy armchair—my favorite place to park myself at the end of the day. "Tell me everyone I'm about to meet, then put me to work."

"Work?"

"Aren't I your assistant?"

"You're more of an observer."

"Daisy…" He shook his head as if he were ashamed of me. "Never turn down free labor. If that's not rule number one, it should be."

I perched on the arm of the couch. "Even if that free labor will just get in the way?"

"I'm a quick learner. If I get in your way, you can kick my ass. By the way, grazing-by-Daisy-dot-com is available. You should jump on that if you're sure about that name."

I blinked hard at him. "You checked if the domain was available?"

"Of course. I told you I'd be all in with you, Daisy. Are you still all in?"

I was all in a tizzy, flustered beyond words. "I—I'm all in, I just didn't know we were already starting."

"What do you think I'm doing here? Hanging out with you for fun?" He scratched his chin. "To be fair, I would have come to your sister's party for the hell of it, but I don't think you would have invited me."

"Considering you don't even know my sister's name, no, I wouldn't have."

He chuckled. "I should have asked. That made writing her card difficult, but I pulled through in the end."

"You got her a card?"

"Of course I did. I'm not going to show up empty-handed."

A breath whooshed out of my lungs. I was beginning to think I had no idea what kind of man Miles was. Everything I came to know about him contradicted my previous knowledge. I was always on my back foot, trying to catch up.

"Her name is Landry, and she's turning thirty. She's married to Tom. They have two kids named Edie and Hazel. I have an older brother, Beau, but he's in Laramie and couldn't break away from work to be here. We'll probably FaceTime him at some point. My mom's name is Whitney Mae, my dad is Seth. My youngest brother is Reed. He probably won't talk to you because he's fourteen and pretty much hates the world—us included. It bums me out, but I don't blame him. Being a teenager is the pits."

Miles had a line between his eyebrows by the time I finished listing everyone. I hadn't expected him to remember anyone beyond Landry but had wanted to give him the rundown anyway.

He tapped his temple. "All right, we've got Landry, Tom, kids Edie and Hazel, Beau in Laramie, Whitney and Seth are Mom and Dad, and emo teen Reed. Did I get it right?"

"Uh, yeah. You're good at that."

"Thank you. It's a skill I picked up from years of meeting my parents' friends and business associates. Paying attention to those kinds of details was drilled into me."

"Smart." I sucked in a breath, trying to cover how deep and husky my voice had sounded. "Now that we have that covered, let's put those big arms to use."

Miles carried almost all my ingredients and supplies next door. My parents were still working, and Landry's family hadn't arrived yet, so we had my family's home to ourselves for the time being. I directed him into the kitchen to set everything down, and he took instruction well. I hoped that continued if he insisted on helping me set up.

"This is nice," he remarked on my parents' recently remodeled kitchen. "Can I see your childhood bedroom?"

A laugh burst out of me. "What? No, you can't. Why would you even want to?"

"Why can't I?"

"Because it isn't anything like how I left it. Now, it's just a room. I took most of my things with me when I moved out and packed the rest away in storage."

"Your mother didn't want to keep a shrine to you?"

"No, she doesn't need a shrine. I'm here all the time. She can worship me whenever she likes." I put my hands on my hips. "Let's get started. We have two hours and a lot to do before everyone gets here."

"Put me to work. I'm ready."

I might have been mistaken, but I swore he flexed his biceps.

The even crazier thing was, I didn't mind at all.