11

Beth

It's not often that I find myself unsure what to say.

Or feel so powerless in the face of someone sharing something real and honest and painful with me.

And I'm shocked that of all people, it's Milo who's opening up to me like this, and that it's the story of his childhood that's affecting me so deeply.

The way he's choosing his words carefully and taking his time makes me think this isn't something he shares with many people. So for him to be opening up like this makes me feel…Well, in all honesty, it makes me feel like an idiot.

And there I was, droning on and on about how I feel like an outsider with my family and how awful that was. It's not perfect, sure, but at least I have a family who loves me. I didn't lose one parent and get abandoned by the other. I wasn't shipped around from foster home to foster home.

Yeah, we moved a lot because Dad was in the military, but we did it as a family. We had each other to rely on. My parents rarely drank, have never touched drugs in their lives—as far as I know—and I have three sisters who, despite our differences, I adore and who I know love me.

And what family does Milo have?

None.

Well, except for his two children now.

As I reflect on what he just revealed, a few more pieces of the Milo puzzle slot into place.

"Is that why you settled in Comfort Bay?" I ask. "To give your kids the type of childhood you never had?"

He smiles softly. "It is."

"And is that why you chose a small house in a nice neighborhood over a mansion on the hill?"

"Bingo."

I force a smile.

Great. I'm not just an idiot. I'm the reigning queen of Idiotland. I've completely misjudged him.

I had Milo pegged as a one-dimensional, grumpy and arrogant guy with a questionable hairstyle when he's actually a very down-to-earth, smart, strong person who's overcome a traumatic childhood many people wouldn't even survive, much less come out of as a successful athlete, and now, a loving father.

He's handled this whole instant fatherhood situation in the most awesome way possible. He didn't shirk from his responsibilities when he easily could have, because, let's face it, he didn't exactly have any good parental role models growing up.

But that's not what he did.

He stepped up and didn't just take ownership of the situation, he's gone above and beyond.

Moving to Comfort Bay so that his kids can have a nice childhood.

Choosing a small family home filled with character over a soulless mansion.

Adopting Jonah, who isn't even biologically his child, so that he and Josie could stay together.

I'm…I'm blown away.

He gets up, comes over to my side of the table, and taps me on my shoulder.

"Hand it over," he says.

I lift my gaze to him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Your pity."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want you looking at me like that." He takes hold of my wrist and transfers my imaginary pity into his hand. He clenches his fist, holds it up in the air as he walks over to the entry. He opens the door. A gust of wind roars into the room as he throws the imaginary pity out and closes the door.

He strides across the room in that Christmas sweater that looks like it's practically glued to his sculpted chest and arms. Then my eyes slide down his body to those thighs encased in denim right now, and my mind fills with the vision of him in those deliciously tight white tights at Fraser's party, and holy heck, what is wrong with me?

I should not be checking him out right now.

But for the first time in a really long time, I'm genuinely attracted to a guy.

Yes, he's hot, and yes, that's part of it. But it's more than just physical attraction. I'm really liking Milo as a person.

He uses his outward demeanor the way I use my snark—for protection. Being prickly and unapproachable is a defense mechanism, a way to not get hurt again.

But underneath the image he projects, I'm seeing more and more of the man he is.

He's a lot smarter than I initially gave him credit for, and I like a man who knows words. I wonder if he's a reader, and if he is, what his favorite genre is.

He's a devoted Dad. If the major life changes he's made and the stream of pictures he sends me weren't proof enough, the way he ran back to kiss and hug Josie and Jonah one last time before we left was nothing short of adorable.

He's not afraid to make fun of himself…or for me to make fun of him as is more likely to be the case.

And he's a survivor.

By the sounds of things, he's all alone in this world, and yet, he's never let that stop him from achieving his full potential, working hard, and creating a good life for himself.

And nope, nope, nope…What am I doing? I cannot allow myself to see Milo this way.

I can't.

It's too scary, and I am one hundred percent not ready for the feelings he's stirring up in me.

Milo resumes his seat on the stool, picks up his fork, and points it at me. "I'm not sure where you want to start, but you promised me a grilling, so you need to deliver. My man bun and love of Mariah Carey's Christmas album are easy targets, so you can start there until you gain some momentum. Now go!"

It takes me a moment to adjust my head—and my heart—back to our usual back and forth ribbing.

But this is good.

This is what I need.

Teasing him about what artisanal shampoo he uses to wash his hair and asking if he's strapped for cash since the Christmas sweater he's wearing is so ridiculously tight he must've bought it from the children's department dials back the…whatever it is…simmering between us and creates some much-needed distance.

Well, as much distance as there can be between two people stuck in a blizzard, sharing a motel room.

Humor as a deflection tactic is my superpower, and I need to summon it now more than ever. Because after reading many, many romance novels where this exact scenario plays out, I need to have my wits about me and be on my A game.

I cannot—I will not—let this forced-proximity situation be the catalyst for anything starting between Milo and me.

I. Will. Not. Let. That. Happen.

After we finished dinner, we were able to diffuse the situation even more. Mainly by giving each other a wide berth.

I plonked myself down by the window and continued reading a new book since I packed several and I was not in the mood to read a sweet hockey romcom about a grumpy goalie and a snarky librarian who get trapped in a cabin in the mountains. I may work in a bookstore and not a library, and Milo and I are stuck in a motel and not a cabin, but it was still hitting way too close to home. A nice post-apocalyptic, dystopian, sci-fi romance is just what I need at the moment.

Milo took the couch. I half expected him to ask if he minded if he watched some sports game match thingy on TV. But instead he pulled out a book and started reading. When I asked him what it was, he lifted the cover for me to see it was Bill Reynolds' latest psychological thriller.

I smiled. So he likes to read. I had a feeling he did.

He then asked if it was okay if he put his feet on the coffee table, to which I replied I had no problem with that and to stop acting like such a weirdo.

He smiled the way he always does whenever I sass him. Why does he like my teasing so much?

I place my book on my lap and look over at him on the couch. He's untied his man bun and his hair flows down past his massive shoulders. It's really nice hair, too. Light brown with a few streaks of a golden, dark-blond. It's thick and silky. Maybe he really does use an expensive artisanal shampoo, and if he does, I need to get the name of it.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and boy, his socked feet are huuuge. I'd guess a size thirteen at least.

And it's all proportional, right?

He's a tall guy with big hands, big feet, big shoulders, big arms…My next thought takes a detour…southward.

I suck in a breath.

Loudly.

So loudly Milo hears it.

He swivels on the couch and glances over at me. "Everything okay back there?"

"Yep. Fine."

"Okay." He saves his place in the book and puts it on the coffee table. "I was thinking about taking a shower. Unless you want to use the bathroom first?"

"Nope. You're fine. Just leave the toilet seat down and no towels on the floor, please and thank you."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, giving me a mock-salute as he heads toward the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

My eyes slide over to the queen-size bed.

The one queen size bed in the room.

Ugh, I've been putting off dealing with that all day.

I'm pretty sure the sofa he was sitting on is one of those pullout ones, so I guess he'll just take that. I should probably chill out because there's a good chance that in real life, these situations aren't as awkward as romance novels make them out to be. Maybe in real life, the guy offers to take the couch and that's the end of it. Matter resolved.

After Milo is done in the bathroom, I walk in to find it…immaculate. Like, you wouldn't even know someone had just been in here. There's not a drop of water in the sink, the mirror is fog free—did he actually wipe it down?—the toilet seat is in its correct position, and there are no towels or clothes in sight.

"Well done, Milo," I say to myself.

I take a nice long shower, letting my thoughts stray from Milo to the other thing that's been plaguing me all day—Evie's wedding.

It's officially been canceled. They can't even reschedule for tomorrow. The wedding lodge is in no state for a wedding.

She messaged about an hour ago.

I'm devastated for her and Fraser. This wedding was exactly what they—not their mothers—wanted. Yes, it was a little last minute and on a whim, but they found a way to make it work. The stars aligned and they secured a great venue, found an incredible wedding planner, and then nature had to come along and ruin everything.

I step out of the shower, dry off, then take a long hard look at my night clothes. Obviously, I wasn't expecting to get stranded with Milo nor have any other company, so I packed my favorite Hello Kitty pajama set.

"Just pretend it's a normal evening," I mumble to myself as I put on the long-sleeved top and matching pants, dreading the teasing I'm sure I'll cop from Milo the second he sees me.

I fix my hair in the mirror and put on some lip gloss, which is absolutely something I do every night when I'm alone at home and definitely not an attempt to make myself look better for my new and unexpected roommate.

I place my hand on the door handle, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

This will be fine.

I'm ninety-nine percent sure Milo will have used the time I've been in the bathroom to get the pull-out sofa made up for himself.

I'll make a beeline straight for the bed.

If he happens to notice my pajamas, cue his jokes, to which I'll smile and say he got me, then dive under the covers.

We'll say goodnight.

Lights will go out.

And that will be that.

Everything will be nice and normal, despite the unusual circumstances.

I open the door, step out into the room, and everything is not nice and normal.

The couch remains, well…a couch. Milo hasn't set it up as a sleeping space.

And where is the man of the hour himself?

Why, he's made himself quite comfortable in. the. bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demand, taking a few steps closer to him, stunned by what I'm witnessing. Any concern I had about what I have on has vanished.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Milo, who is not only in the bed, but he's also lying under the sheets, hooks his hands behind his head, grinning from ear to ear. He casts a glance up and down my body. "I like your pajamas."

He sounds sincere. Where's the teasing? The mocking?

"Uh, thanks."

Still grinning, he tips his chin toward the sofa. "I'm sure you'll be fine on the couch. Yell out if you need a hand setting it up."

What?

What???

He can't be serious.

Step aside Cool Beth, and let Raging Beth take things from here.

I stomp over to the bed, get right up in his face, and grit out, "Leave this bed right now."

He watches me with that grin still on his face, his normally intense eyes brimming with playful mischief. It'd be nice seeing him like this if it didn't come at my expense.

"You said chivalry is dead, so here we are, living in a post-chivalrous world. Enjoy the sofa."

He moves to switch the bedside lamp off, so I lunge forward and catch hold of his wrist. "Are you for real?"

"I am." He pauses, our faces separated by barely a few inches. I can smell the motel body wash wafting off him.

Or is it coming off me?

We're so close I can't tell whose smell I'm smelling.

He lifts a brow. "Or…"

I let go of his wrist. "Or, what?"

"Well, I suppose I could share my bed with you. But no funny business. I don't want you taking advantage of me just because I'm a pro athlete with a soft spot for snarky bookworms."

Ooh, no fair. He's playing dirty. Any shot I had at making a rational comeback flies out the door the second I hear those words.

He…he has a soft spot for me?

Me?

No way.

I shake my head.

As nice as that sentiment may be, I'm no pushover. And if he wants snark, then here's a big ol' helping of the good stuff coming right up.

"Fine." I circle the bed and climb in on the other side. "But make a move and touch me, and you won't be able to have any children, mister."

Wow. I'm so off my game after that soft spot comment, I don't even realize my mistake until Milo kindly—and with that annoying grin plastered on his face—points it out to me. "You might want to update your reference, Beth. I already have kids, remember?"

I cannot give him the satisfaction of seeing my grimace, so I school my features and calmly reply with, "Any more children."

"Right." He folds his pillow in half and angles his body so he's facing me.

"What?" I say after a few moments of him staring at me in silence.

"Can I say something?"

"As long as it's not stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"Are you really the best judge of that?"

"Fair."

"How about you just say what you want to say, and I'll determine where it lands on the stupid-o-meter."

"Deal." He grins again. Or it's the same grin continuing from before. I can't be sure. He's doing a lot of grinning. "I had a really good time with you today."

He swings his gaze to me, like he's waiting for a score on his statement.

Ha. Joke's on him. I can barely talk, much less run numbers after that.

I suck in a breath.

That's a totally stupid thing to say…but I had a good time with you, too.

Oh, boy.

Did I say aloud or was I able to keep it to myself?

Milo's still looking at me expectantly, so, okay…maybe I haven't said anything at all?

His stupid soft spot comment coupled with the whole I had a really good time with you today has totally scrambled my brain.

And then, just when I think my thoughts can't get any more jumbled, Milo utters four words that send me into a complete tailspin.

"Can I kiss you?"