Page 53 of Valentine Nook
I’m wiping sweat from my face when I see it.
A giant stuffed bear.
A giant stuffed bear is in the front seat of an SUV. It’s one of the farm Land Rovers I’ve seen around here, with the logo of Burlington Estates printed on the side, and it’s freshly washed.
Therefore I’m looking around for the driver—preferably one around six feet three, thick stubble, piercing blue eyes—but all I see is a woman about my age exiting through the gate next door to mine.
Miles’s place.
She’s dressed in a pair of jeans with a shirt thrown over the top. All perfectly innocent and casual, cute even, especially with the slides she’s wearing, but something about her messy hair makes me think she’s not just been over for a coffee.
Or maybe she has, if the coffee was served last night, followed bya lotof tequila.
No, this girl is freshly fucked.
A pang of envy stabs me in the belly because I can’t remember the last time I looked like that. Or if I ever have.
Maybe this car, along with the bear, is hers, or Miles was driving it. All the endorphins I earned seem to melt away into disappointment. I’m waiting for her, but instead she peers inside, then back at me, with her head tilted.
“Cool bear.” Bracelets jangle as she pushes her sunglasses up. “Are you Holiday Simpson?”
“I am.” I offer her a smile, but it’s not returned, not really.
Half a smile, perhaps. Enough for me to know she’s not looking to make friends.
“Cool,” she says again. “I heard you’d moved here. I’m a friend of Miles’s.” She points behind her in case I didn’t notice her exiting his place before her eyes drop to the ground and slowly drift back up. “We’re kind of seeing each other.”
It’s an odd thing to say. I don’t know how to respond, especially as she’s staring at me. Then it clicks.
This girl’s warning me off.
I might have been slightly jealous about the way she appears to have spent her last twelve hours, but that’s where it stops. It certainly has nothing to do withwhoshe spent it with.
I try not to laugh as I refrain from telling her I’d need anoffer that dwarfed my L’Oreal contract before I hooked up with a guy like Miles.
I met him for all of ten minutes. In that time, he not only checked me out but also another four girls who walked past me. No, Miles is not the type of guy to ever be labeled as “seeing” someone.
I know guys like Miles. I’vemetguys like Miles.
They ooze charm and charisma, and you’re their entire world for a whole twenty minutes before they get bored and move on.
But she doesn’t look like she’d care for me to tell her that. She also probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing she’s not the first person I’ve seen leaving his cottage in the mornings.
Instead, I hold my smile and say, “That’s good to know.”
“There’s a note on your car, by the way,” she calls behind her as she walks off.
I peer across the hood, and sure enough, there’s an envelope with my name scrawled across the front. Inside, I find a note and a set of keys.
Dear Holiday,
Thank you for the donuts. You can use this next time you visit me, so you don’t get run over on the country lane.
Love, Thunder.
P.S. Sorry about the bear. He refused to get out of the car.
By the time I reach the bottom of the note, my cheeks ache from the size of my smile. I might have left Lando and Thunder a basket of donuts, but I never expected them to be reciprocated.
