Page 58 of Resorting to Romance

“Okay, Meeya. Go for it.” My smile feels so full it reaches into my chest and fills it with a warm bubbly feeling I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

Mila starts saying, “Mila March Mitchell,” but her lips are pursing and she’s enunciating every syllable so intentionally with the effort to get it right. “Mee-lah March Mitch-ell. Mee-lah March Mitch-ell.”

I start to imitate her and she bursts into another bout of giggles.

“No fair! You can’t mock me in the middle of this challenge.”

“I didn’t know there were rules.”

“There are,” she says, trying to make her face serious, but utterly failing.

Mila’s laughter only serves to fuel me. “April, May? Oh. There’s another winner. Mila May. It makes you sound southern.”

“Well, I declay-ah,” Mila says with a perfect lilt that reminds me ofGone With the Wind, a classic movie Summer made a bunch of us watch with her a few months ago. She’s obsessed with old films.

“You can’t just go using an accent like that on a man without warning,” I tease. Or at least it’s meant to sound teasing. My voice comes out deeper and slightly scratchy. She affects me. There’s no denying it. I just have to work around the fact—for her sake.

Mila looks up at me, her cheeks going suddenly pink. I stare down at her, unable to force myself to look away from her warm brown eyes and the light freckles dusting her nose, her rosy lips, the curve of her cheeks, the way her wavy hair frames her face.

I shake my head. “Okay. Not a month?”

“Maybe,” she teases. “You haven’t asked if it’s October.”

“Is it?”

She smiles up at me. “’Fraid not.”

“Hmmm. Food? Is it a food item? Mila Burger Mitchell? Mila Gummy Bear Mitchell?”

She puffs out a laugh and shakes her head.

“Mila Pizza Mitchell? That’s a fave. If it’s not your name, I think you ought to consider a legal change. Noah would be in heaven.”

“In that case, it should be Mila Snickerdoodle Mitchell.” She says it so matter-of-factly.

“Maybe so, but since it’s my turn to guess … and it’s obviouslynotSnickerdoodle … Hot Dog?”

She literally rolls her eyes. But her lips bend into an amused grin.

“Yesssss!” I turn to her, stopping in my tracks. “I nailed it! Mila Hot Dog Mitchell.”

“You’re ridiculous.” The way her mouth turns up and her eyes crinkle does things to me. Things I should avoid—especially with Mila.

“Hot Dog,” I insist, attempting to keep things light so my heart will get the message. “I obviously nailed it and you don’t want to admit how clever I am at figuring out middle names. I’m the middle name master. Say it.”

I grin down at her.

“You’re the middle name master.” She glances sideways in my direction, and her playful grin nearly levels me.

Okay, bad idea to ask her to call me that.

We turn onto the street where Sebastian’s is three shops up, situated between the bookshop and a place that does a travel and tour business, but also offers photography and dog sitting. Small island life at its finest.

“It’s Rose.” Mila’s face blushes softly again.

“Rose.”

I know my voice comes out with a reverent note. It just fits her.Mila Rose Mitchell. Why did I even ask?

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