Page 152 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I make my way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “He’s communicating like a discharge nurse.”

She winces. “Ouch.”

Miles stays the same all morning. He texts to check on me, but never as if he’s the Miles I know and love. I make it until 11:53 before I can’t stand it any longer, and I grab my keys.

When Miles opens his front door, he just blinks at me. He’s in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly rumpled, and I discover that being irritated with him has done nothing to make him any less attractive.

His gaze goes from my black eye to my wrists. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Yep, he’s still doing it. I walk past him into his house.

“Reese.”

I turn to face him. “No.”

He carefully shuts the front door, his eyebrows drawn together. “No what?”

I wave one hand between us. “No to whatever this is. This strange, sanitized version of you who asks me about neurological symptoms and only kisses me on the forehead.”

“I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

“You’ve been making sure I’m okay for five years. You usually manage to do it while still being Miles.”

He looks away.

“You’re pulling back.”

His shoulders drop just a bit. “I saw the parking garage footage. The marks on your wrists and face.”

“The face was mostly the trash can’s fault. Well, and the shrubs—they also got in on the action.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.” That gets his eyes back on mine. I take a slow breath. “Yesterday was terrifying—I’m not pretending it wasn’t. And I’d rather it never happens again.”

“It happened because of me.”

“No, it happened because two criminals grabbed me in a parking garage.”

“Because you were connected to me.”

“Yes.” He clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. I fold my arms and add, “I’m not going to tell you your job had nothing to do with it. It did.”

His jaw tightens.

“And I know that scares you.”

“It should scare me.”

“It scares me, too. But being scared doesn’t mean you get to make a decision for both of us.”

Miles goes still. And suddenly, I recognize what he’s doing, because it wasn’t too long ago that I was doing the exact same thing. Now I know what to say.

“You told me I don’t get to decide that me not being able to give you biological children makes loving me too expensive for you.”

His expression changes.

“You were right—I don’t get to decide what loving me costs you.” I step closer. Close enough that I can see the tension in his jaw and the tiny shift in his breathing when I move into his space. Close enough that I want to reach up and touch his face, even though I’m not done being serious yet. “But that also means that you don’t get to decide what loving you costs me. You asked me to trust you to know what you’re willing to live with. I’m asking you to trust me to know the same thing.”