Page 48 of Loving You

That’s okay. He doesn’t need to. Sticking up for me told me everything I needed to know.

Miles Asher is a good guy, and the two of us might actually be friends.

CHAPTER NINE

MILES

A seven-week-old golden retriever stares back at me from the brightness of my screen.

After I got home last night, if I wasn’t thinking about Quinn, I was thinking about the dog I said I was going to get.

I’ve always wanted a dog but never pulled the trigger to get one. I’m a busy guy. I wouldn’t have a ton of time to take care of one, but honestly, it'll never happen unless I make the time.

I click out of the site and check my emails.

Yep, you guessed it. I sent an inquiry for one of the pups. I figured if I was lucky enough to find some for sale in Wind Valley, just a couple hours away, then I better reach out.

I set my phone down and crawl out of bed.

It’s early, but not as early as a typical workday. Even though I’ll work in the shop later, I let myself sleep in an extra hour, sometimes two, on Sundays.

Then I go to breakfast at my dad's house.

Fuck.

I scrub a hand over my face.

The whole idea that this deal with Quinn would be easy was shot right out of the window in one night. I have no clue how I thought we could pull this off low-key.

Nothing about this town is low-key.

Once people start talking, everyone knows everything.

I shower and get ready quickly, pulling on some gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. I slip on shoes and then lock the door as I head over to get Quinn.

She doesn’t know that I’m coming.

She knows about breakfast, but we never established a time.

I never got around to it once we ran into her friends.

Friends. Ha. If you could call them that.

Friends wouldn’t have let Danny talk to her like that.

Friends would have defended her.

No one did that for her.

And what a sad asshole for thinking she should pick him over herself. If I had to pick and he was my option, I wouldn’t have picked him either.

I knock on the sliding door, stepping back so that I’m not right in her face when she opens it.

It’s just after eight. I hope she’s awake.

It takes her a moment, but she pulls the curtain back and smiles.

It’s simple. A smile. A freaking smile. But something about it gets to me.

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