I don’t say anything.
“You’re scared of what she might do,” she says. “And that’s okay. But if you give her even an inch, she will destroy everything that matters to you now.”
My chest tightens. “I know. I’m not dragging my feet because I’m weak or want her here. I’m doing it because I have to keep Josie safe until I can make the right move.”
“I know.” Nova drops her feet, leans in. “You’re not that man anymore. You don’t belong to her. You belong here. In this town. In that kitchen. With Josie, who, by the way, left tonight like you’d torn her heart out and didn’t even bother to notice.”
My throat closes. “I noticed.”
Nova scoffs. “Knox, if you wait too long to figure it out, you’re gonna lose the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.”
It’s already 11 a.m., and I haven’t gotten more than three words out to Josie.
Not for lack of trying.
Every time I spot her in the kitchen, Savannah materializes like smoke, perfect hair, perfect teeth, a death grip on my elbow like I might try to run if she loosens it for a second.
“Knox, I have something else I forgot to tell you.”
“Babe, the publicist wants a quick reel in front of the brick wall. Very rustic redemption arc.”
“Smile! This is the beginning of your comeback!”
I don’t smile.
I haven’t smiled since she walked through the door.
I try again around noon, when Josie’s loading crates of produce from the walk-in. Her braid’s falling loose, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes wary the second she sees me. My chest tightens.
“Josie, can I talk to you?” I ask, stepping into her space, close enough that I can smell the citrus soap she uses. I miss the way she used to lean into me. Now, she stiffens.
Before she can answer, Savannah’s voice sings from the hallway.
“There you are, Knoxie! We need to talk wardrobe for the shoot I’m organizing. Your flannel is giving retired lumberjack, not culinary icon.”
Josie doesn’t wait. She brushes past me like I’m invisible.
And I let her go.
Because pushing now would only make it worse. Because Savannah’s watching, waiting for me to slip. And if I do, Josie’s the one who’ll bleed for it.
The next time I try, Savannah’s already on my phone.Myphone. Scrolling like she owns it, pausing on texts she has no right to read. When I reach for it, she tilts her head, smile sharp as glass.
“Careful, Knoxie,” she murmurs low enough that only I hear. “One wrong move and that sweet little waitress of yours is tomorrow’s scandal. And now I have screenshots to prove it.”
My hand freezes.
“I was just seeing if Jace texted,” she says louder, beaming like a psychopath.
“He didn’t,” I lie.
But of course, he did.
>> Saw Savannah on TMZ next to you. You okay?
I didn’t respond.
Still can’t.
