"Nothing I can talk about."
"Says who?"
"Me." To my horror, a tear trails down my cheek.
His crystal blue eyes are swimming with concern, which makes my already unstable emotions even shakier.
"Don't," I beg. "Please don't look at me like this."
"Like I care?"
"Yes, you can't care."
"Too late."
"You have to let what happened between us go."
"Not going to happen."
"Why? I've told you I'm not that woman! If you knew the person I really am, you'd be mortified you ever hooked up with me." I reach up between us, swiping the path of tears away.
"Impossible."
"Arrrrgggg!" I try to twist out of his grip, only to be yanked into his chest.
"I know the person you are because you are the same person I spent the best weekend of my life with."
"No." I shake my head against him, denying myself the happiness at his admission. "That was sex; this is real life."
"Bullshit," he deadpans, his voice hard and steely.
"I'm working through some things and you don't need to get involved."
"Whatever is eating you up inside, I can help. No matter what it is, I'll never regret my time with you. You can talk to me."
"I can't." My whisper comes out muffled, and I'm suddenly grateful he's got me pinned to him. "You're too good for me."
The silence gives me a chance to regain my composure and stop the pounding in my chest. When I have my emotions locked in place, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean back to face him. "When I say you'd be mortified, I'm referring to myself. I'm embarrassed by the woman I was, and tarnishing the memories of our time together is not—"
He shuts me up by running his mouth across mine, nibbling on my bottom lip and pressing his forehead to mine. "I know about the Prada Princess, heard about it before even knowing it was you who moved into town. But that's not the reason I call you Princess."
"Why then?"
"Because you're fucking gorgeous, you're chasing a dream, and when I remember our time together, it was perfect. The name fits."
"You're imagining a Paper Princess."
"Not in my mind. Pretty sure I remember you as perfect."
For the first time in a long time, I find myself wanting to hear him call me by the name I swore to hate. "Miller—"
"We have time," he cuts me off again.
"Time?"
"I'm not going anywhere. We have time," he repeats.
"I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't have a lot to give right now."
"You're wrong."
"You're not listening to me."
"Mmhmm." His lips touch mine again, vibrating with his response before he kisses me tenderly and loosens his grip to give me a little space. "To prove I hear you, I'll let you off the hook."
"How gracious."
"For now," he finishes with a hint of humor.
"Good lord!" I drop my head back to the ceiling.
"Ashlyn?"
My breath catches in my throat at the seriousness of his expression when I meet his eyes.
"Don't have a clue what you're hiding, but I get the feeling you've been dealing with this shit by yourself for a long time. You're not alone anymore. I've got your back."
His words are loaded with conviction. The overwhelming urge to cry strikes again, and I swallow hard, willing it to go away. Instead of continuing to push my argument, I say, "Thank you."
His eyes flicker with approval, and a slight grin spreads across his lips. "It'll get easier, promise," he teases. "But since I know those words are probably boiling in your throat, let’s get you some wine to wash away the burn."
The heaviness evaporates, and I fight a smile. "You have wine?"
"No, but where we're going does. We've had a hell of a day, and we're going to eat."
Once again, my initial instinct is to argue that I should go home and put some distance between us. Especially since he's made this decision without asking me. But the thought of dining out is much better than eating a peanut butter sandwich alone. Then I remember what I'm wearing.
"I can't go out to dinner like this. I'm a wreck."
"You're beautiful. And dressed for where we're going."
"Are we finishing our beer?" My nerves kick into overdrive at the thought of a dinner date with Miller in public.
"You want to finish your beer? Watching you take those two sips was only slightly less uncomfortable than your apologies and thank yous.”
I push at his shoulder, rolling my eyes. "It wasn't that bad! I used to put my brothers to shame. My reputation as the keg stand champion at Georgia games is unmatched. I'm out of practice."
He scans my face, his arms squeezing once more before letting me go. His hand slides in mine. "Come on, party girl. Let's get you something more pleasing to your palate. And on the way, I'll let you tell me all about your upside-down beer guzzling. It's a great visual."
I fight like hell to remain straight-faced but fail when my lips curl up as I let him lead me back to his truck.
•—•—•—•—•
"Are you finally going to tell me how you pulled this off?" I wave my hand over the table, which is filled with the remnants of our dinner.
When Miller drove straight to my house, I assumed he changed his mind about going out. A wave of disappointment flooded through me until I caught the mischief in his eyes when he came to my door, took my hand, and led us straight through to my back porch where a full-course dinner was waiting.
"I have connections."
"Connections that cater, deliver, and set up a full meal?"
"Told you this morning, people don't like to disappointment me."
"You're full of surprises."
"Better watch it, Princess. That almost sounded like a compliment. First, you like my house, and now you like my dinner."
"It's the wine. The wine is the best part." I tip my glass his way.
"Mom and Darby love that brand, thought you may like it."
"My new favorite."
He flashes me a smile, leaning back in
