Page 200 of Secret Shifters Next Door

After getting off the phone, I whipped up the brownies and put them in the oven to bake while I got dressed and did my hair. I repeated everything Felicity told me five or six times in my head as I put on my makeup, and I was done right before the oven timer went off. I needed to be at Miles’s place in under half an hour, so I used that time to debate which among three shirtsI should put on. One was really tight, another kind of low cut, and the third was baggy. I wanted to wear the baggy shirt, but Felicity’s voice kept echoing through my head. I couldn’t force myself to wear the low-cut one, but I did talk myself into the tight and stretchy top.

I shrugged on my coat and grabbed the tray of brownies. I was out my door before I could psych myself out of it. The six strides to his apartment felt like six miles. I knocked, and when my hand didn’t shake, I high-fived myself internally. A few seconds later, Miles answered the door, that gorgeous smile on his face.

I took him in, fixating on his chest. His button-down shirt was unbuttoned, the outline of his chest muscles and a few curls of hair easily visible. I was so engrossed in looking at his bare skin that I didn’t register him saying my name. I wasn’t sure how many times he’d said it.

“What?” I blurted.

He grinned. “Are you still alive in there? You zoned out for a bit.”

I fought off the blush threatening to spread across my face and met his eyes. “Sorry.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to come in? It’s kinda cold out.”

I was being an idiot again. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

“You know, you don’t have to apologize for everything,” he said with a smile.

“Sorry. Er—” I winced, and a blush flushed across my cheeks. “I mean, yeah. Thanks.”

Miles chuckled as he stepped aside to let me in. At least it was a good-natured laugh. If I’d thought for even an instant that he was laughing at me, I’d have sprinted back across to my apartment—and probably booked a plane ticket out of here for tomorrow morning. I was already embarrassed enough. Beingmade fun of would have made me want to crawl into a hole and die.

Miles glanced at the tray of brownies. “Wow, those look great.”

I handed it to him. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you were planning on dessert so I baked these.”

“I have ice cream. These will go great with that.”

I looked around at the apartment and saw it had the same layout as mine. The décor was different of course—a little sparse, even compared to mine. It didn’t seem like the place got much use. I wondered if Miles’s job kept him away a lot.

“Have a seat. I’ll get everything plated up,” Miles said as he pulled a chair out for me.

I sat and watched him serve up a salad and plate a massive pile of pasta. “Everything smells amazing,” I said, my stomach growling.

“Thanks. It’s a recipe my mom and grandma used. I hope you like Italian.”

“Who doesn’t like pasta?”

He laughed. “Good to hear.”

He set the salad bowl down in front of me along with the plate of pasta. On the side was a thick piece of Italian bread slathered with butter. I forced myself to not dive in right away, and waited until Miles sat with his own food before taking the first bite. I moaned as I chewed. It was fantastic.

Miles was pouring me a glass of wine when I moaned in delight over the food. His eyes flashed up to me at the sound. The look he gave was one I couldn’t name, but there was an intense hunger to it. Trying to keep things moving, I started asking him different questions from the night before. Talking to him seemed easier––not that the awkwardness of the evening before was gone. I assumed it was because we were on a seconddate. At least, I assumed this was a second date. I’d never had a second date with anyone, so I was in uncharted territory.

He was telling me about some of the jobs he’d done in the past, and it fascinated me. Halfway through one of his stories, I remembered what Felicity said and started licking my lips and blinking at him, doing my best to bat my eyelashes.

Miles stopped talking. “Do you need a mirror? Is there something in your eye?”

I stopped blinking and tried not to melt into the chair. “No, just…uh, nothing, sorry.”

“Okay.” He shrugged it off, much to my relief.

As embarrassing as that had been, I still felt accomplished by staying engaged in the conversation. A few minutes later, I tried another tactic. The ego boost Felicity had told me about.

“You have to be really smart to do what you do. It’s incredible that you can find all these tiny clues, figure out these big mysteries and find lost people. It’s really impressive.”

Miles looked at me, and I did a mental fist pump when I saw how appreciative he was of the compliment. “Thanks, Celina. In fiction, most private detectives are belligerent drunks or flamboyant playboys, and it’s not like that at all. It takes a lot of knowledge and work to solve a case. I’ve always kind of had an eye for things. I’m not the type to take things at face value. I think that helps me get under the surface and discover the truth.”

I smiled at him. He was fascinating, unlike any guy I’d ever met or read about. Plus, he didn’t seem to think I was an annoyance. Usually, after ten or fifteen minutes of conversation, guys were disengaged and already on their phones, ready for the date to be over. I almost didn’t know how to act.

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