Page 1 of Waiting For A Girl Like You (Haven House #4)

“ T hat’s for you to decide .”

Throwing the ball into her court was the equivalent of a magic trick. Instantly, the woman sitting across from him lit up from somewhere deep inside. The Miami coffee shop was getting crowded, but at that moment, he could see nothing except her beautiful face scrunched tight as she laughed.

“What if I say I want to run away to Denmark?” Her eyes went wide as she thought of another possibility. “Or move to coastal Africa and open an elephant sanctuary?”

He smiled, enchanted by the shift in her demeanor. There had been an underlying sadness in her eyes for the past few days, and the difference he was now seeing left him amazed.

Which was a disturbing thought, considering this woman was a stranger. He didn’t know her name. Her history. Nothing. And yet she was already past his defenses, settling into some buried part of him that had forgotten how to live, to laugh, and to love.

While trying not to cringe over the fact that he was thinking like one of those motivational signs his mother kept in the kitchen, he made a decision.

Whoever put the sadness behind her eyes, whoever made her frightened enough that she felt the need to place her back to the wall and had her gaze darting to the door every so often, was as good as dead.

“Elephants don’t live on the coast,” he replied, hating to burst her bubble. “They’re further inland.”

She glanced down at his military fatigues. “Have you been to Africa?”

“Many times.”

Taking a sip of the coffee he’d ordered for her, she sighed at the first taste. Iced white mocha with vanilla crème and caramel drizzle. “You’ve lived an interesting life, I bet.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

It was time to turn on the charm, and he hoped to hell he remembered how to do it. A good long while had passed since he’d last had a conversation with a woman, let alone attempted to sweep one off her feet. “As of today, my life has only just begun.”

She giggled, tucking her long chestnut hair behind an ear. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Michael.” He held out a hand, and she shook it. “Michael Sinclair.”

“And just who is Michael Sinclair?”

Her voice held a flirty tone, and it was like a gentle caress down his body. “A small town boy who grew up to become a soldier.”

“There’s more to it. I can tell.” She studied him with an adorable tilt of her head. “Where are you from originally?”

Talking about his family and life outside of work was easy. It was the simplest part of him. “My parents own an insurance firm that they thought their kids would one day run, but none of us are even remotely interested in doing so.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

He forced himself to relax. Only fifteen minutes were left on the clock, and he didn’t need to make this weird.

“Two. My little brother is about to graduate from high school, and my older sister is a stay-at-home mom who helps run her husband’s cybersecurity firm.”

She looked impressed. “Your sister runs a cybersecurity firm? That’s pretty cool.”

Most people would agree, as long as they didn’t dig too deep into Kris’s past. Her husband had no clue how lucky he was to have her handling the tough stuff.

“Wait, so that makes you,” she arched an eyebrow and straightened as if in shock, “the middle child?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Which means you’re headstrong?” She raised a finger for each point. “Overly competitive? Highly independent?”

He couldn’t deny any of it. “Guilty as charged.”

“And openly admits it?” She tsked softly. “You, sir, are going to be trouble.”

Leaning forward in his chair, he needed to be closer to her. “Since you know so much about being a middle child, I’m guessing you’re one?”

There it was. That sadness creeping in again. “No. I’m the baby.”

“How many siblings?”

“One sister and one brother.”

“Same as me.” She already mentioned how things with her family were complicated, and he wanted to know more. “Tell me about them.”

“There’s not much to tell.” With a shrug, she avoided his gaze, choosing to stare out the café window instead. “It’s just me and my brother now.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

The question was intrusive, but that mysterious sadness in her wasn’t the only reason he asked it. The fear she radiated was just as loud, clinging to her actions and hiding beneath the melody of her voice.

“My mom died when I was little. I don’t remember much about her,” she said carefully. “Or my sister, really. They both passed away in the same accident.”

He was on the verge of asking more questions, but then she sighed wistfully, the sound coming from a place deep in her heart. He couldn’t help it and openly stared, completely transfixed.

“But I remember our home. It was big and white, with a library, beautiful gardens, and these giant oak trees. I thought I was going to spend forever in that house.”

He would find it. She had obviously loved the place, and come hell or high water, he would rebuild it brick by brick to see her smile like this again. “A library? Are you a big reader?”

“I am, and I like to write,” she replied. “I don’t write stories or anything. I journal. Someone told me once I should write down my feelings when the world felt too big, and once I started, I never stopped.”

“What about your dad?” he asked. “What’s he like?

As swiftly as her happiness came, it melted into nothing once more, the melancholy she seemed to wear like a second skin returning.

“My dad died in a boating accident when I was a teenager. We lived on a sailboat for a bit. That was fun—he was fun—and I honestly think he intended to be the best dad for us.”

“It sounds like you loved him very much.”

“I did in the beginning, but he changed and went back to his old ways.”

Now he was getting somewhere.

“Drinking or drugs?”

“Both.” She fiddled with her coffee cup. “Then, on one of his benders, he just went overboard and never came back.”

The oddness of her explanation wasn’t missed, but he didn’t push. Now wasn’t the time.

“So that leaves just me and my brother.”

He took the opening. If the brother was the only one left, he was the complicated one. “What’s he like?”

“A doctor.” She wrinkled her nose. “Toby is a bit of an egomaniac.”

“I know the type.”

“I’m sure you do, but he’s mine, and I have to be the one to deal with him.” Her eyes rolled so high up in her head that he choked on his laughter. “And his girlfriend. She’s an even bigger drama queen.”

“A doctor’s girlfriend, huh?” he mused. “Is she one of those who latches on for the money?”

“You would think, but no. She has her own money and has been chasing after my brother since he was a teenager. Toby hit a growth spurt when he was sixteen and totally changed. All the girls noticed.”

“I mean, it happens.” He smiled sheepishly. “It happened to me when I went into the military.”

Her gaze dropped appreciatively, not missing any detail of his body. “You’re going to have to show me pictures of pre-military you.”

“When you meet my parents, ask my mom. She loves to dig out old photos.”

The constant blush on her cheeks heated up a notch, and he reminded himself not to go too fast. “I’m sensing that you don’t like your brother’s girlfriend?”

“She’s okay. I lived with her while I finished high school since our dad was dead, and Toby was off at college,” she explained.

“Brandy is crazy like Toby, but I’m used to her theatrics.

She came with me when I moved here to start nursing school because Toby was interning at the University of Miami.

Brandy can’t handle being away from him for too long. ”

“So, what you’re telling me is, you’ve got an egomaniac for a brother and a drama queen for a future sister-in-law.”

“She’s not my sister-in-law.” Her mouth drew tight, obviously upset by his assumption. “Brandy likes to pretend that she is, and Toby goes along with it, but he doesn’t love her.”

“Then why is he with her?”

She floundered for a response and, when she couldn’t find one, picked up her cup as if she were leaving. “This has been great, but I’m late for class.” She scooted her chair back, the legs scraping across the floor. “Thank you for the coffee.”

The bell above the shop door jingled at the exact moment of her retreat, and Bruce stuck his head inside. The man was punctual to a fault. “We’re late,” he said, not bothering to enter the small space fully. “Miami traffic.”

Attempting to use his distracted state to slip off into the crowd, she tried to leave, but he caught her hand. “A name.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she hesitated.

“A name,” he repeated, his thumb brushing over the softest skin he’d ever touched. When she still didn’t answer, he stood and tried not to be too intimidating. She was scared enough and didn’t need some man twice her size towering over her. “All I’m asking for is your name.”

“CeCe. CeCe Miller.” Inhaling deeply, she looked around as if half-expecting to find someone sneaking up on her. “But you can call me Cecilia.”