Page 105 of Holding On To Good

With a huff of resignation, she pushed her bike up to the house, put down the kickstand and carried the pastry box inside.

Miles’s house was small and sparsely furnished with bare walls, high ceilings, and original oak floors. The main rooms were lined up in a row—living room to dining room to kitchen—and separated by wide, arched doorways. She heard the shower go on as she passed the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom and two tiny bedrooms.

In the kitchen, she set the bakery box on the center island, then made coffee. By the time he joined her—hair damp and slicked back and wearing a pair of jeans and the red OSU T-shirt she’d given him for his birthday—she was sitting on a stool at the counter, halfway through both the morning paper and her first much-needed cup of coffee.

“About time,” she said, sliding to her feet. “I’m starving and I have to be at Kat and Ian’s in half an hour—which means you get to drive me there as it’s a ten-minute bike ride. You took so long, I thought maybe you’d tried to drown yourself over that humiliating scene,” she continued, getting plates down from the upper cabinet to the right of the sink. “You know, the one where the woman you hooked up with last night ran out of your house like an escaped kidnap victim and then accused you of being the worst kind of creeper?”

Shutting his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if she was just sooo hard to deal with. “Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to treat your favorite sibling? I got up early, rode my bike all the way to St. Honore’s—which as you well know, is two miles in the opposite direction of your house. And why would I do such a generous, selfless act at the ungodly hour of six a.m., you might ask,” she continued, pouring him a cup of coffee. “Oh, only because I wanted to have breakfast with my brother on his day off. That’s all.”

He took the offered coffee. “Thanks.” Sipped, then inclined his head at the bakery box she opened. “What’s all this?”

“I told you. Breakfast.” She put two sausage/egg/cheese croissant sandwiches on a plate and handed them to him. Helped herself to the bagel with lox and cream cheese. “You’re welcome.”

He eyed the sandwiches warily then peered into the box which still held two donuts, two raspberry Danish and his favorite, two huge, thick chocolate chip cookies.

“What do you want?” he asked with a sigh.

Since she’d just taken a huge bite of her bagel, she held up her finger for him to wait a moment. Chewed. Swallowed. “Nothing. God. It’s not a bribe which I’m sure you’re just dying to point out to me is illegal and immoral and blah blah blah.”

While he didn’t look convinced, he did finally pick up one of the sandwiches. “I never blah blah blah about the law,” he said before taking a bite. Spoke around his mouthful because he didn’t have her good manners even though he was one of the people who taught them to her in the first place. “I might yada yada, but never blah blah blah.”

“This” —she gestured grandly to the food— “is a gift. From me. To you. Enjoy.”

“A gift,” he repeated, taking another bite—so glad his bone-deep skepticism didn’t affect his appetite any. “For me. For absolutely no reason.”

“Fine,” she admitted, tossing up her hands—a mistake as she was still holding her breakfast and capers and a piece of smoked salmon went flying. “I’m sorry!”

He frowned. Grabbed a paper napkin from the box and bent to scoop up the mess. “No problem.”

“I’m not talking about that. Though if you’d get a dog, you wouldn’t have to clean up dropped food. People who have dogs are happier, have reduced anxiety, decreased blood pressure and lower stress levels all of which you could use. Plus, a dog would make this house feel homier and less like a bachelor pad and if you had someone to come home to, you might be less inclined to picking up strange women to ease your loneliness.”

“If I get a dog, will you swear to never, ever again bring up what happened earlier?”

“Uh… no. My point,” she continued, “is that I’m not sorry about the food on your floor, I’m sorry about last weekend.” And as she sincerely was sorry and as she really did want him to know that, she took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I tried to go to Jeremey’s party and I’m sorry I didn’t call you or Urban right away when I got stuck but mostly, I’m sorry for scaring you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Always,” he assured her gruffly. “For anything. You know that, right?”

She smiled. Yes, she knew that.

But it was still nice to hear.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. Took a sip of coffee. “Speaking of last week,” she said oh-so-very-casually. “You weren’t exactly super friendly with Reed. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to apologize.”

In the act of throwing out the napkin, Miles looked at her over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. “You want me to apologize to Reed Walsh?”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. As if she had no interest in anything that had to do with Reed.

As if she hadn’t thought about him almost constantly for the past five days.

“Well, you were rather rude,” she said.

Miles leaned back against the counter. Crossed his feet at the ankles, the very image of confident, composed male. “Was I?”

She nodded. Set her bagel down and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “You told him what was going on was none of his business—”

“It wasn’t.”

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