Three months ago
I inspected the price tag on the wooden chopping board. “Holy fuck.”
Miles chuckled. “Shhh.” He glanced around, then took the board and set it down. “Not the best place for people with potty mouths.”
I scowled at him, and he wrapped an arm around me and kept us moving. “You’re way worse than I am.”
“True, but I don’t have a job where I need to tone it down. You should know better,” he teased.
I inhaled the crisp, clean scent of his cologne, then pressed a kiss under his jaw as we stopped at a selection of dining tables. “Now I’m hungry.”
His hands landed on my hips, squeezing. “Dirty girl, not here.”
I stepped away, smacking him lightly in the chest. “For actual food, smartass.”
An older woman a few feet away, wearing her hair in a tight chignon, frowned at me before scurrying off. I shrugged, plucking out a white dining chair and taking a seat.
The wood of the table matched the chairs, the surface smooth beneath my palms as I ran them over the paint. My ring stole my attention, something that had happened often in the weeks since Miles slipped it on my finger. I’d dreamed of happily ever afters since I was a little girl, using books as a crutch to liven my sad soul after Mom died.
It worked, so much so that the love and the way I depended on them never left.
Had I imagined a more elaborate proposal than what I got, I couldn’t remember. It was finding love and being in love that held my complete and utter fascination when I thought of happy endings. Not the ostentatious gestures.
“I’ve gotta say, I love how much you stare at that.”
My lips thinned as I tried to hold back a grin, then rose from the dining table. “It’s too big.”
“The ring?” he asked, his voice raised from shock.
I laughed. “No, that’s perfect. I meant the table.” A look at the price tag attached to it had me adding, “And too freaking expensive.”
Miles took my hand after I’d tucked the chair beneath the table, steering me toward a smaller one that seated four but extended to seat six.
“We’ll need it for visitors.” My shoulders slumped a little. “Not that we have many.”
Miles chucked me under the chin, then sighed as he slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and glanced around at the almost empty store. “We’ll invite your dad and sister over.”
He said it so casually as if he didn’t care one bit that my dad hated him and my sister had yet to even meet him.
“When will I meet your parents?” I asked again. He rarely spoke of them unless prompted, and when he did, it was always the basic facts. They lived in a small town two hours north. His dad was a carpenter, and his mom ran the local library. For that fact, I really wanted to meet her, certain we’d have loads in common.
Miles’s shoulders tensed, his eyes moving to the dark oak dining table. “Soon, I hope. I should call them.” He nodded as if making a mental note to do that. “It’s been a while.”
Humming, I brushed a hand over the wood, imagining a cute lunch spread sitting atop, smiles and laughter from those helping themselves. “Does your mom like to cook?”
“Um, yeah. I guess.” He shook his head, some of his hair falling to his forehead before he pushed it back. “She likes to read and listen to my dad in his workshop.”
That made me smile. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
A tattooed arm slid around my shoulders, pulling me against his hard body. “She’ll love you,” he murmured to the top of my hair.
A saleswoman approached, asking if we needed any help. I was about to shake my head and say no thank you when Miles stopped me. “This one. We’ll take it.”