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“Red flags and pet peeves?” I prompt.
“I thought you already knew all my likes and dislikes.”
“In normal life, sure. But in romantic life, I don’t know as much.” We don’t talk a lot about dating, but that’s because neither of us really do. I know he had a girlfriend for part of the first year I worked here, but after that, I haven’t seen or heard that he’s been with anyone seriously. And everything I know about Miles tells me he doesn’t see anyone casually.
He drops his chin onto his crossed arms on the front counter, stretching his absurdly long torso. “Are we really doing this?”
“Yes. It will be good for you. And amusing for me.”
“Okay, Gandalf.”
I love it when he catches my movie references.
“Red flags,” I sing.
He sighs. “Inauthenticity. People who rain on everyone else’s parades. Gossip.”
I nod along, not really needing to write that down. I knew as much already. “Green flags? What are you looking for?”
He stares at me so hard my stomach flutters.
In my first year or so working for him, this little stare down actually intimidated me. If you don’t know him, his reserve can come across as aloof or even unfriendly. I was half-convinced he was on the verge of firing me my first couple of months at Dogeared. But I’ve learned he’s just a massive cinnamon roll, and he’s staring because he would rather rip the pages from every book in this store than actually have an argument.
So I just stare back. I can wait.
“What cover are you working on now?” he asks.
“It’s so cute. It’s a couple on a blanket by a lake, but don’t bother trying to distract me. It won’t work.”
“You’re very laser focused.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “I can out-stare you.”
He nods lazily but doesn’t look away.
I don’t break. It’s not like he’s hard to look at. He’s got thick, dark eyebrows that always make him seem extra happy—or in his current state, extra glum. He looks younger than his age, but thirty-two’s not that old to begin with. And he’s got nice, full lips.
Right now, they’re twitching, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s just trying not to smile.
He is, in short, a lovely specimen of a man, and the only reason he doesn’t have a bunch of women lined up out the door to date him is that he doesn’t let many people get past his quiet outer shell. But I’m going to crack that shell like an M&M and usher some lucky woman to the chocolatey goodness inside.
“Where did your mind just go?” he says. “The expression on your face…”
“You’re an M&M. And I’m going to crack you.”
His mouth twitches again. “Sounds about right.”
“You could just tell me your dating preferences. It will make everything go so much easier.”
“Or I could tell you that I finishedCorsair’s Run.”
I immediately fold in the stare down competition. I round the counter to get in his face, and he sits upright again. Thank goodness there isn’t a rule about being quiet in a bookstore because I would break that rule every day.
“You finished it?” Confirmation is unnecessary, since I’ve never known Miles to lie. Exaggerate a bit maybe, but not about this. He’s more likely to downplay anything to do with his writing—if he says he’s done, he’s done. “Why would you not lead withthat? I’ve been waiting for this book for a literal year.”
He drops hints about what he’s working on sometimes, and once in a rare while, he’ll talk out story ideas with me, but I’m running on scraps here. I need to know how my favorite space pirate’s story ends.
“I could send it to you, but you’ll probably be too busy vetting dates for me to read it.”
