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“Put me to work. I’m ready.”
I might have been mistaken, but I swore he flexed his biceps.
The even crazier thing was, I didn’t mind at all.
Chapter Ten
Miles
A few days ago, I’d left our strategy meeting dubious about Daisy’s commitment to this idea of hers. Our clients always came to us raring to go. Often, Saoirse or I had to rein them in and bring them back down to earth. With Daisy, I felt like I’d practically had to twist her arm to get her to even consider going through with this. It had not inspired a lot of confidence. Watching her meticulous preparation now convinced me she took this seriously.
Flitting around the rustic wood kitchen table, she chewed her bottom lip, deciding where things went. Since I kept getting in her way, she’d given me busywork of opening wrappers and packages. In the end, she created a dessert platter—giving me a cupcake before I filched one—and a table covered in carefully arranged cheese, cured meat, crackers and bread, nuts, dips, and dried fruit.
“Stand over there and look like you’re arranging things. I’ll film you, and you can put it on your social media when you’re ready,” I directed. The house would make a nice backdrop. The eight-foot windows drew a lot of light into the open living room and kitchen combo, making the place even more inviting than it already was.
Daisy shot me a glare that said, “Are you actually dumb?” At least, that was how I interpreted it.
“I’ve been doing family and friends’ parties for years, Miles. I have more footage than I know what to do with.”
“No, you know what to do with it. You were using your big brain and thinking ahead. You’re going to have a backlog of posts you can make once we get your social media fired up.”
“Yeah…” She waved what I was saying away. “I can’t think about that right now. Everyone’s going to be here soon—”
A sweet southern voice called Daisy’s name from the entry, cutting her off. Next thing I knew, a parade of Dunhams filled the kitchen, led by a small woman with big, bouncy blonde-mixed-with-silver curls. She went straight to Daisy and hugged the life out of her then turned her attention to me.
“You have to be Miles.” With her accent, my name became “Mals,” and I never wanted to hear it another way.
“I am. Miles Aldrich.” I stuck out my hand, and she immediately batted it away to envelop me in a hug just as tight as the one she’d given her daughter. She smelled like flowers, and her arms and chest were softly cushioned. I couldn’t remember ever having a hug as good as this one.
She pulled back, keeping her hands on my arms. “Whitney Mae Dunham.” She gave my arms a squeeze. “My, my, someone keeps up with the gym. You’ll have to show me some moves. My doctor says I need to lift weights to help strengthen my bones. Isn’t that a doozy? Thinking about my bones makes me feel old.”
“Mama,” Daisy tugged her mother away from me, “let him breathe. I might need him later.”
Standing next to each other, their resemblance was obvious. It was in their big brown eyes, the heart shape of their faces, their petite stature. But where Daisy was lithe, her mother was plump. Daisy was cool, and her mom was warm cookies. Daisy was dark and wary, and her mom was bright and open.
I beamed at her. “I could show you around the gym, Whitney. It’s where I get my best thinking done.”
“You didn’t tell me how cute he is,” Whitney admonished.
Daisy closed her eyes. “I didn’t notice.”
Whitney hmphed. “Sure you didn’t.”
A tall, wiry man in a black suit came to stand between them, spreading his arms around their shoulders. “Is my wife hitting on you?”
I grinned. “No, she’s simply stating a fact.”
Daisy groaned, and her parents laughed. Her dad stuck his hand out, and we shook. His hands were large and smooth. For a split second, it occurred to me he’d probably handled dead bodies, then logic kicked in. If he had handled them, he’d undoubtedly worn gloves. Besides that, I’d shaken hands with plenty of people, and how many hadn’t washed their hands after using the bathroom? The percentage was probably staggering. That should have given me pause.
“Seth Dunham. Welcome, welcome. Have a drink, grab a seat, I’m going to go change out of my suit.” He loosened his tie and held it up like a noose. “Can’t stand these things.”
This must’ve been who Daisy had gotten her dark side from. I liked it.
And I hated wearing ties too.
After that, I met Landry, a leaner, more outdoorsy version of her mother, her husband Tom—bland, but seemed decent—five-year-old Edie, and three-year-old Hazel. Edie and Hazel were two sides of the same coin. The older had a little brown bob, and the younger had the blonde version. They both stared at me with the big brown eyes that carried through all the Dunham women.
Landry was all praise for Daisy’s efforts. She and Hazel examined the grazing table while Edie climbed on a stool to get eye-to-eye with the dessert platter on the kitchen island.
