“I did fine. Liam’s like damn Spider-Man, but I did fine. You should try it.”
“Maybe I will—in my next life. But I could probably do it. I’m getting beefed up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am! Comparatively.”
“Wanna arm-wrestle?”
“No. But we can body-wrestle after pizza.”
He took another slice. “Damn close to the perfect woman.”
When she got home, slid into bed, she felt damn close to perfect.
* * *
In the middle of the workweek, he came into the bar one evening with his brother and sister. Another third-generation meeting, she decided when they grabbed a table in the back.
She filled their table order when their server came to the bar.
Three Après burgers, double order of cheese fries to share. Liam’s favored draft, white wine for Nell, and the Cabernet for Miles. A bottle of still water for the table.
While she worked, she observed.
They talked. Some laughs, some headshaking or rolled eyes. Mild arguing—no, more debating, she decided. Pauses to speak to their server.
They stayed nearly ninety minutes, and stopped by the bar on the way out.
“Nice midweek crowd,” Nell observed.
“We’d have more outside if we didn’t have the summer shower.”
“Speaking of outside, I need to talk to you—tomorrow’s fine—about a last-minute booking for the patio. Surprise birthday party, twenty-six guests. They just decided they want to book the patio, next Thursday night, between seven and eleven.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“We’ll talk details tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Haven’t seen you on the new ropes course,” Liam commented.
“I’ll get there in, oh, fifteen, twenty years.”
“You’ve got to try it. I’ll—ha!—show you the ropes. Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
When Miles walked out with them without comment, she simply raised her eyebrows and kept working.
He came back two minutes later.
“Another Cab?”
“No. I have the monthly family meeting on Sunday.”
“Okay.”
“So why don’t you come home with me Friday night?”
She mopped the bar. “It happens my schedule’s open.”
“Good. I have something I have to handle now, so I’ll see you then.”
“Enjoy your evening,” she said, very pleasant and professional.
And smiled to herself while she filled another order.
* * *
She helped with the yard work on Saturday—and proved she knew how to handle a garden. He liked the company more than he’d expected to.
When he had to go in to deal with some work-related calls and emails, she stayed outside with the dog.
He came out to find an old garden tub on the table holding flowers, and watched Morgan wing the tennis ball across the yard.
To his shock, Howl not only raced gleefully after it, but raced gleefully back to her with the ball clamped in his teeth.
“What the fuck!”
She spun around, the ball back in her hand. “Sorry. I saw the ball when I got the tub, and thought it was for Howl to chase.”
“He ran after it.”
“Well, yeah. He’s a dog.”
“He never does that. Give it.”
She dropped the drool-laced ball in his hand. Miles tossed it; Howl sat and stared up at him.
“Oh,” Morgan said, and the throat-clearing didn’t disguise the laugh. “I see.”
“Do you? Do you really?” On that, Miles walked across the yard, fetched the ball himself. He brought it back while she stood in her little black shorts and skinny white tank stroking Howl between the ears. He handed the ball to Morgan. “Throw it again.”
When she threw it, Howl ran after it, tail wagging, eyes gleaming. He pranced back to drop it in her outstretched hand.
“What a good boy!”
“My ass. That’s just insulting. Who feeds you?”
Howl leaned lovingly against Morgan’s legs, and Miles knew he didn’t imagine the smirk.
“Maybe he thinks your heart’s not in it. Want to try again?”
“No.”
She tossed the ball herself. “I thought since you have that family thing tomorrow, flowers would be nice. I can put them in a vase for you before I change for work.”
“Sure, fine.”
After praising Howl—and didn’t the dog just lap that up—she put the ball back in the shed. As they went inside, Miles started to close the door on the dog, but Howl looked so, well, smitten with Morgan he didn’t have the heart.