Page 42 of The Perfect Putt

“Are you trying to get murdered?”

I blink at him, unsure how to respond. “What?”

He huffs, yes huffs at me, then comes over to where I flopped on the couch earlier.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” he says, setting down my coffee and the paper bag on the table that is just out of reach because of how I’m laying. I eye the cup longingly.

“I unlocked it when you said you were on your way.”

He starts unpacking the paper bag as he talks. “That was forty-five minutes ago. Anything could have happened.” My mouth waters when I see what looks to be breakfast burritos, alongside giant croissants and a cheese danish the size of my head. It’s glorious and I want to eat every single bite. I haven’t had anything since my s’more last night.

“It was closer to thirty-five. You drive really fast.”

I push myself to sit up. If he won’t give me the food I’ll have to get it myself. But–while he’s still lecturing me–he helps me resituate, placing more throw pillows behind my back.

“Either way, you’re alone and injured, something could have happened.” He hands me a foil-wrapped burrito and I smile. Not at him–he’s being ridiculous right now–the burrito. It’s warm and smells delicious.

“Nothing happened, and we live in Coastal Cove. Nothing ever happens here.” I take a bite and almost groan.

“That’s what they say at the start of every small town true crime documentary.”

I hold out my hand and he looks at it for a second. “Coffee,” I tell him. “It’s going to get watered down.”

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” He crosses his arms.

“I would listen better if you gave me coffee.” I smile sweetly at him.

His lip twitches. “Maybe I didn’t bring you any coffee because of all the sass you gave me over text.”

“You said you can’t have a tone over text, so how do you know I was being sassy?” Like he’s unable to hold it back any longer, a small smile stretches his lips. “Besides, I know that coffee isn’t yours. You don’t drink anything that tastes good.” I take another bite of my burrito.

“I’m a changed man. I started getting caramel iced lattes with extra drizzle.”

“Really?” I raise a brow and call his bluff. “Then drink it.”

“Fine, I will.” He picks it up and surprises me by taking a sip. What doesn’t surprise me is the way his face screws up into an exaggerated grimace. My head falls back on the arm rest as I laugh.

“Was proving your point worth it?” I ask him.

“No, not at all.” He hands me the coffee and I laugh some more.

He grabs the other burrito and sits at the end of the couch next to my feet. The sight of him in my living room, on my couch makes my stomach fill with butterflies. I thought him bringing me home was bad enough, but now he’s here in my sanctuary. Everything in here I bought because I loved it. When I moved, I told myself I’d rather sit on the floor than buy a piece of furniture I didn’t like. I slept on a mattress on the floor for a month before I found a bedframe at Buried Treasures that I loved and could afford.

So to have Miles in my space is strange. It’s like he’s waltzed into a physical representation of my heart. My greatest passions–the beach and flowers–are on display and not in a casual way either. I’ve never been a halfway sort of girl. So if he didn’t like some of it, it would be as if he didn’t like a part of me. I simultaneously want to ask him what he thinks and to ask him to leave.

It occurs to me that I haven’t thanked him for bringing all of this over. We’ve just been eating together in silence while I panicked over him existing in the same space as me.

“Thank you,” I say after I swallow a bite. “I was starving, and I don’t even own a coffee maker because I go to Coastal Coffee every morning. I would have been miserable.”

“It was either this or find you toppled over on the side of the road from hitting a pothole with your borrowed walker.” He smirks and I roll my eyes.

“I wasn’t actually planning on walking there.” I take another sip of my delicious coffee. “I could barely get a shower this morning, much less walk two blocks, even with Martha’s walker.” I take the last bite of my burrito.

“You showered?” he asks.

My face heats and it takes incredible effort not to choke on the bite I just took.

“Um–yes?” I wheeze out.

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