Page 116 of Tell Me Something True

Instead, he settled for shutting the fridge door so hard those many jars of condiments rattled and clanked.

Crossing his arms, he turned and leaned back against the useless fridge. “I’m hungry.”

Barefoot and bare-chested in a pair of gray joggers, his hair a tangled dark mass held back from his forehead with a red bandana, Toby sent him a I don’t give a shit glance. “Then head on over to Chef’s Café. They make great waffles.”

“So do you. Even better than the café.”

“There’s cereal in that last cabinet,” Toby told him. “Help yourself.”

Today was not his fucking day.

And it was barely seven a.m.

Miles slouched back against the fridge. “I could eat cereal at home.”

“That’s still an option. Don’t let me keep you from choosing it.”

Miles lifted himself up onto the counter next to the sink. “They have these new-fangled machines now. All you have to do is pop in a pod, press a button, and coffee appears.”

“The easy way isn’t always the best way.”

“Not in the mood for any of your Zen bullshit this morning.”

Toby lifted a shoulder. “Guess you should have showed up unannounced at the crack of dawn at Urban’s then. He also knows how to make waffles.”

“You know he only makes them on Sunday. And even then, only if Verity is the one requesting them.”

Verity was part of the reason why Miles hadn’t gone to Urban’s, where he might not get homemade waffles, but he’d probably score a couple of slices of toast.

He was crazy about his sister, but he was not in the right head space to handle her sharp tongue or teen-age attitude.

Besides, she was too intuitive. She’d know something was off with him and would badger him until he spilled the details.

“If I was home,” Miles muttered, “I’d be on my second cup of coffee by now.”

“If you were home, I’d still be sleeping. Instead, here I am, making you coffee while you slam my refrigerator door, sit your ass on my clean counter, and whine about not wanting to eat cereal. Not sure you’re the one with the right to bitch at the moment.”

Lips pressed tight together, Miles scowled at Toby. “I don’t whine.”

But, sweet Jesus Christ, the way those three words came out sure made it sound like he did.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tipped his head back to rest against the cabinet behind him. Toby was right.

Which only pissed him off even more.

He was there because the conversation with Tabitha in his car twenty minutes ago had twisted him around so much, he was no longer certain what was up and what was down.

Was no longer so fucking certain he was right.

Or that he was blameless in everything that had happened between them.

He’d wanted to believe Tabitha’s deceit, her inability to trust him was the reason why they hadn’t worked. Had told himself he’d given her everything, that he’d been some fucking paragon of integrity she’d taken advantage of.

That he’d been better than her in every goddamn way. More honest. More open. More forthcoming. More trusting.

Turned out, he was an even bigger liar than she was.

And a much bigger coward.

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