Page 45 of Sweet Caroline
I take his offered hand, careful to step out without the high slit of my dress revealing too much.
“You’re quite the gentleman, huh?” I tease as I straighten.
“Oh, not even close,” he says with a low chuckle. It’s dark, but I don’t miss the playful glimmer in his eyes. “But I can pretend.”
“Are we really doing this?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“I think so, yeah.” He quirks a smile that looks more laid-back than I can manage right now. “You in?”
Stuffing down a whole host of qualms, I let the side of me that genuinely likes Miles take the wheel. Hanging out with him for a few weeks could be fun. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes. I nod. “Yeah. Okay. I’m in.”
His broad grin has me in a choke hold for a moment. When I manage to shake it off, I climb the stairs to my front door ahead of him, feeling the burn of his gaze on my back with each step.
“Hey, uh, not sure how to say this,” he starts as we reach the porch.
I turn, concern tugging at me.
He continues, “But, uh, just so we’re clear from the start… I’m not in a position to date anyone. For real, I mean.”
My stomach tilts. “Of course! I didn’t— I wasn’t?—”
Did he think I was after more?
“Like, I know you only need a fake boyfriend for the cameras and stuff, but I wanna make sure you know that, right now, I can’t offer anything more.”
“Me neither,” I rush to reassure him. “I’m not even remotely looking for a real boyfriend.”
“No?”
“God, no. After what happened with Fletcher? No. Nope.” I shake my head. “I don’t want another relationship.”
“Ever again?” he asks, his amusement turning to something more like concern.
“Pretty much.” I lean into the lie, hoping it’s camouflaging the aching void in my chest. “So bring on the cats and frumpy sweaters. It’s the spinster life for me.”
“C’mon,” he laughs, puffing a cloud into the chilly night, “you’re too pretty to be a spinster.”
“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” My tone is teasing, but I can’t deny I’m grateful it’s dark enough to mask my flushed cheeks.
He laughs again, rubbing his jaw like he regrets letting that piece of information slip out. “No.”
Wait. What?
“No?” I scramble to school my features—cling to my dignity.
He meets my gaze. “I think you’re fucking stunning, Caroline.”
My chest feels like it’s full of hummingbirds beating their wings against my rib cage. I’ve received my fair share of compliments about my looks—being in the public eye will invite that—but this simple praise from Miles feels different somehow. And so does the way he’s looking at me. Appreciative, sure, but there’s something more simmering behind his eyes.
“Anyway,” he says with a definitive nod, leaning back on the porch railing. “It’s good we’re on the same page.” It’s like his words are trying to wrap this up, but his body is settling in to stay awhile.
I can’t deny I’m feeling a similar push and pull. Setting my clutch on a nearby ledge, I lift my eyes to Miles. “So, why aren’t you dating? For real, like you said.” Realizing how that might have sounded, I rush to add, “Just curious.”
“Uh, well, there’s this rule in AA. Well, more of a guideline, I guess, but they tell us not to get into any new relationships for the first year.”
“Why a year?”
He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. “I think the idea is you need to get to know your sober self—kinda rebuild your identity without booze. Love yourself first, before you…” He trails off. “Point is, it takes time, y’know?”
