Identity

“It slides along with mine from the end of the bar. And yet, you like people.”

“The guy I nearly hit was gracious about it. The two women at the bar—sharing a room not on the Club Level—left a twenty-five percent tip. Opal left her station—which she never does—to help me through that idiotic panic attack. And you’re sitting here helping me shed a difficult night when you could be home in your boxers watching late-night ESPN. So yeah, I like people.”

He studied his last sip of wine before drinking. “I mostly listen to ESPN rather than watch. And for all you know I wear briefs.”

“No, absolutely a boxers guy. And that,” she realized, “is absolutely inappropriate. I should clear and head home.”

He rose when she did. “I’m driving you home.”

“What? No. I’m fine.”

“Better isn’t fine. We’ll take your car. One of the night men will follow in mine.”

“I am fine.”

He just held out his hand. “Keys. You know the drill.”

“They’re in my bag. This is stupid.”

“Bad policy to call the COO stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid,” she muttered, snagged the glasses. “Although.”

He closed and locked the door behind them, then waited while she dealt with the glasses, retrieved her purse.

“Listen, Miles—”

“Keys.”

“Jesus.” She yanked out the fob, dropped it into his hand. “I’m liking people less at the moment.”

“Probably a step in the right direction.” He shut off the lights.

Both cars waited at the entrance. Feeling ridiculous, she got in the passenger seat. Miles slid behind the wheel. “You’ve got long legs,” he commented. “I barely have to adjust it.”

She snapped on her seat belt. “When you leave the resort, you head into town, then—”

“I know how to get to your place.”

“Oh.”

“Grandparents,” he said as he pulled away from the curb. “Yours, mine. Friendly. I tagged along with my grandfather sometimes.”

Of course. Gram had told her that.

“Yours helped me build a birdhouse for a school project.”

He glanced over. “I aced it.”

“But you don’t like people.”

“I liked your grandfather.”

“So did I.” The stiffness in her shoulders melted away. “It was a highlight whenever I got to visit. It depended on where my father was stationed, but after the split, we usually had a week in the summer, maybe a few days at Christmas, depending on where we were.”

“Lots of moves.”

“Lots of moves,” she agreed. “The army, and then after, my mother couldn’t seem to settle. I never imagined she’d settle here. Or I would.”

She shifted. And because she did feel better, because she wondered, she asked, “Have you ever thought of living somewhere else?”

“I like it here.”

“If it wasn’t for the family business and all of that.”

“I’d still like it here.”

She’d been right about that, Morgan thought. She liked being right about that. “It’s the roots. They’re deep. I always envied deep roots.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to plant and grow them.”

He drove smoothly along empty roads, then the quiet streets of Westridge.

Just because she’d lost time—and so much more—didn’t mean she didn’t have time. She’d planted herself here, she thought, by need rather than choice, at least to start. But she’d planted herself, and could feel those roots begin to take hold.

She liked the quiet streets as much as she enjoyed how they moved and thrived during the day. She enjoyed the solitude of a walk in the woods as much as a lively, crowded bar.

She didn’t have a house she could transform into her home, but she had a home.

When he pulled into the drive, she didn’t have to remind herself to be grateful for it.

He took her fob out of the tray. “Keys.”

Reaching out, grateful for the hour he’d given her, she took his hand first, held it. “Thank you.”

She lost a beat, just one quick beat, looking into his eyes. Then drew her hand and the keys away.

When they stood on opposite sides of the car, she hit the lock button. “Good night, Miles.”

“Lock the door behind you.”

He stood, of course, watching until she walked to the door, until she unlocked it. She glanced back once, felt a tug she didn’t want to feel. Then stepped in, shut and locked the door behind her.

He’d been kind when she’d needed kindness more than she wanted to admit. Given the circumstances, she reminded herself as she walked upstairs, it wouldn’t just be unwise but a huge mistake to let herself feel anything but gratitude.

An attractive man, she mused, and an interesting one. An appealing one, she admitted. So wasn’t it natural she felt some attraction and interest and appeal? Absolutely, as long as she left it there. Right there.

She sat on the side of the bed, trying to ignore that flutter, that telltale flutter. And wished so much she had Nina to talk her through it.





Chapter Seventeen



He had Sunday off, and Miles intended to do little to nothing with it. No pressing work, no meetings—even family—no crises, small or large, on the horizon.

A handful of household chores, sure, but he could enjoy them when he didn’t need to squeeze them in.

He did his version of sleeping in, so rolled out of bed before nine, let the dog out. Then, because he’d had the foresight to install a coffee station in his closet, he enjoyed his first Sunday morning cup on the bedroom terrace.

As usual Howl patrolled the perimeter of the backyard, defending against any possible invaders. Sometimes he wondered what went on in the dog’s mind, and usually decided not a whole lot.

Trooping down to the basement and his home gym, he put in a solid hour, felt righteous.

He grabbed a shower, a long one. Sunday morning indulgence. After tossing a load of laundry in, he fed the dog, scrambled some eggs, toasted a bagel. With a second cup of coffee, he sat out on the back patio and read the paper on his tablet while enjoying breakfast in the summer sunshine.

And because of the sunshine, he hung the laundry out to dry.

He put fresh sheets on the bed, hung fresh towels in the bath, dealt with the dishes, and considered his indoor tasks complete.

Because the day called for it, he puttered around the gardens. They didn’t require more than the puttering, as the grounds crew from the resort would tend to them if and when he didn’t have time.

Still, he knew how to tend, as part of his training had been a summer working with the grounds crew.

Howl lay on the grass in the sun and watched.

He worked in the quiet because he prized the quiet when he could get it. Just the chirp of birds—which reminded him to fill the feeders—the occasional mutter from the dog, the hum of bees doing their work.

Deliberately, as he did every full Sunday off, he’d left his phone inside on the charger. If something vital cropped up, someone would come get him. Otherwise, he was, for one day, incommunicado.

As an experiment, he dug out a tennis ball, showed it to Howl. Then tossed it. And, as always, Howl sat, watched the ball fly, land, then looked at Miles as if to say: What? Go get it yourself.