“Oh, you’ve noticed.” He flipped through some chapters. “What are these dog-eared pages?” He picked one and began to read. “Sven,my handsome fanged darling, nobody loves me like you. You’ve brought new meaning to the full moons in my life and—”
“That’s enough.” I grabbed the book back and held it to my chest like the treasure it was. “So it’s not Tolstoy.”
“Do you have the hots for Sven the werewolf?”
“Sven has just taken Hildie to Paris.” I held back my sigh of longing. “In the end, he’ll sweep her up unexpectedly and fly her to an evening dinner on the lawn surrounding the Eiffel Tower.”
“Sounds corny.”
“He pursues her.” It was silly to be jealous of a fictional character, but if Hildie lived in Sugar Creek, I wasn’t sure we could be friends. What would it be like for a man to make a grand gesture to me instead of me trailing him through a flower garden at a funeral? I was so sick of running after people who didn’t want to be chased. Hildie the Witch didn’t even have to conjure a spell to get the hero to fall for her. Nope, Sven the werewolf would’ve knocked down mountains to get to his love. “Anyway, it’s just fantasy.”
“Is it?” Miller asked, his eyes studying mine.
“Of course. That’s the fun of the novel.”
“Sven the werewolf definitely has some moves,” he said. “He must love Hildie something fierce.”
“He must.” But it was fiction and probably as close to swoony perfection as I’d ever get.
“Have you ever been to Paris?” Miller asked.
“Not yet. I’d tossed it around as an idea for my honeymoon with Ned, but he’d wanted to stay local.”
“It’s beautiful there. Definitely worth the trip.” The swing arced in slow, easy swoops, a hush of movement that lulled as much as Miller’s soft voice. “It should be experienced with someone you love.”
“Would’ve been wasted on Ned.”
“He wouldn’t have been worth the plane ticket.” Miller tapped the cover of my novel, his skin brushing against mine. “Our Hattie likes kissing books.” He pondered this idea, and his eyes brimmed with thoughts that I desperately wanted to hear. “Interesting.”
“And what do you read?”
“Nonfiction mostly. I’m currently reading a book on finance. So far…not one make-out scene.”
My lips tugged upward. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Is that right?” Miller turned his head until our faces were a breath apart. “Are the scenes in that book better than just my ‘okay’ performance at the wedding reception?”
I was a leaf in a hurricane around Miller. He could turn everything upside down with just a look or a few honey-dipped words.
“I’m sorry I objectified you at the weddingandbruised your ego,” I said.
His cheek lifted in a lopsided grin. “Don’t forget to add: strangely avoided me after the fact.”
“Nonsense,” I lied. “I’ve simply been busy.”
“Right.” He put the swing into motion, slumped into a recline, then rested his hands on that annoyingly flat stomach. “Have you heard from Buck?”
“We’ve traded a few niceties. I’m meeting him for coffee tomorrow morning.”
“Need a friend to go with you?”
“No, but thank you.” So friends was what we were.
“Since you’ve been evading me, we haven’t gotten to talk since the rodeo, and you barely said a word on the way home.” Miller lolled his head in my direction. “Want to discuss your dad?”
“Not really.”
“Seeing your biological father after all these years must’ve really been difficult.” When I said nothing, Miller continued. “Are you still glad you went?”
