I ignore his outstretched hand. ‘I want to go home.’
Ted pulls into traffic, and I catch him glimpsing in the rearview mirror, that fond smile gracing his friendly, rugged face. I narrow suspicious eyes on him briefly, even though he’s no longer looking at me, then return my attention to Miller. He’s watching me thoughtfully, his hand still hovering between us. ‘I’m being intuitive here, and I’m going to suggest that when you say “home”, you don’t mean my place.’ His hand drops to the seat.
‘Your place isn’t my home, Miller.’ Nan’s traditional terrace house, full of clutter and that familiar, comforting smell, is my home. And I need to be surrounded by all things Nan right now.
Miller’s fingers tap the leather seat, his eyes regarding me carefully. I retreat in my chair, wary.
‘I have a request,’ he murmurs, before reaching across to claim my right hand that’s currently spinning my new diamond ring repeatedly on my finger.
‘What?’ The word rolls from my mouth slowly. Something tells me he’s not going to request me to never stop loving him. He knows how I’ll answer that request, and his slightly ticking jaw tells me he’s nervous of the answer that I might give to this one.
He starts his own twiddling session of my diamond, thinking hard as he watches his playing fingers, leaving me with a whirling mind, bracing myself for him to voice his wish. It’s a long? long, uncomfortable time before he takes a deep breath and his blue eyes lazily crawl up my body until his bottomless pits of emotion sink into me. They steal my breath away . . . make me comprehend very quickly that what he’s about to ask means a lot to him. ‘I want my home to be your home, too.’
My mouth drops open and my mind blanks. No right words are coming to me. Except one. ‘No,’ I blurt on a rush of air before I consider wording my refusal a little more considerately. I wince at the clear disappointment that jumps onto his perfect face. ‘I mean . . .’ My damn brain is failing to load my mouth with anything that could redeem myself, and guilt is instantly crippling me for being the cause of his hurt.
‘You are not staying alone.’
‘I need to be at home.’ My eyes drop, no longer prepared to face the pleading in his intense stare. He doesn’t come back at me with an argument, instead sighing and squeezing my little hand in his. ‘To Livy’s home, please, Ted,’ he instructs quietly before falling silent.
I look up to see him staring out the window. He’s pensive. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, shuffling across the seat to curl into his side. I’m not encouraged or helped and he doesn’t welcome me once I’m settled, keeping his eyes on the outside world whizzing past the window.
‘Don’t ever thank me,’ he answers quietly.
‘Lock the door,’ Miller says, my cheeks cupped in his palms, his worried eyes scanning my face as we stand on the doorstep. ‘Don’t answer to anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve collected some clean clothes.’
My forehead wrinkles. ‘Should I expect visitors?’
The worry disappears in a flash and is replaced with exasperation. After our words in the car, I knew I had scored a victory, but I honestly never expected Miller to so willingly stay here. I want him to, of course, but I wasn’t about to test his already fraying patience. I’ve done that already by insisting I be here and that I be here right this moment. I wasn’t prepared to be dragged over to the other side of town so Miller could check his flat and collect some clean clothes. It would have been an opportunity for him to lock me inside. And I’ve no doubt he would have. But I’m not delusional enough to kid myself that Miller staying here has anything to do with my fraught mind where Nan is concerned.
‘Less of the sass, Olivia.’
‘You love my sass.’ I take his hands from my cheeks and return them to him. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’ Reaching up on my tiptoes, I kiss his stubbled jaw. ‘Be quick.’
‘I will,’ he breathes.
I pull away and register his evident exhaustion. He looks drained. ‘I love you.’ I step back until I’m in the hallway and take the door handle.
A strained smile tickles his lips and he shoves his hands into his jean pockets as he starts retreating backwards down the path. ‘Lock the door,’ he repeats.