“As far as I can tell, there was only one problem with that kiss,” Miles said finally, his voice a bit deeper than usual.
I glanced up at him warily, acutely aware of his fingers pressing into me, absently toying with my shirt at my lower back. “What?”
A broad smile crossed his face. “You misjudged the mistletoe by at least thirty feet.”
“What?” I whirled around, looking up toward the rafters where I had just kissed Miles. He was right. There was no mistletoe. Looking around, I spotted it under doorways and windows and a few strategic and obvious places around the center of the room. But I couldn’t have been farther away from the green parasitic plant if I had tried.
“Was that just a warm-up for you? Should I move us closer for round two?”
“It counts,” I said indignantly. For some reason, I had the urge to laugh but had to stifle it.
He grinned, tilting his head toward me. “It doesn’t.”
“It does,” I insisted.
“You know, for such a rule follower, you’re sure willing to sell your lying, cheating soul for this.”
The laugh I was trying so hard to keep hidden bubbled out of me just then. I drew my hand up to my mouth in an attempt to stifle it, but it was not meant to be. Life for me was dangerous when I had so many emotions and so much blood currently coursing through my body.
A smile lit Miles’s face as he watched me, no doubt pleased at the effect of his words. I did my best to stifle my reaction.
“It counts,” I said finally.
“Itsodoes not. We’re gonna need a redo before this week’s over.”
And in case you were wondering, those were the words on repeat in my stupid, dumb head as I fell into a restless sleep later that night.
NINETEEN
"Good-night, my-” He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.
Charlotte Brontë -Jane Eyre.
“So, I just squeeze it?”
It was 7 am the next morning. I was standing in a barn next to Miles, his dad, and a 1500-pound Holstein cow who kept whacking me on the side of my head with her tail. Miles moved to stand between me and the tail and handed me a small plastic cup with a squirt of chocolate syrup inside, which seemed to be some sort of satanic ritual with the Taylor family.
“Squeeze and pull.” He mimicked the downward squeezing motion again with his hands.
I took a deep breath and sat on the stool, staring at the plump udder, now at eye level, in dread.
“What’s her name?” I asked, stalling shamelessly.
Jack Taylor laughed. “Depending on her mood, we call her a lot of things, but the polite one we tell people is Snowflake.”
“Hey, Snowflake,” I whispered as I leaned in closer, my hand inching toward the lady’s privates. “Sorry about this.”
Miles chuckled as he squatted down next to me. “You’re doing her a favor. I promise, she’s used to it.”
My hand stalled, so he took it and placed it on the cow. “Now just squeeze it gently and pull it toward your cup.” He held his own cup filled with chocolate syrup under a different teat and squeezed, easily filling his cup with frothy white milk.
“Show off,” I muttered.
“Chicken,” he countered.
I repositioned my hand to where it felt the most comfortable. It had a soft, rubber-like feel that was slightly disturbing. I squeezed and pulled. Nothing happened. I tried again. Same.
“Keep going. It’s like sucking through a straw, it takes a few pulls to get the milk coming.”