With his arm out for support, I lower myself to the foot of the bed. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Knox chuckles—and then skedaddles like I’m toxic.
“You don’t look comfortable,” he says a minute later, resting his rear end atop a three-foot minifridge. “You need to get out of that dress.”
At my core, I’m the prim and proper type. It’s why people, men in particular, flock to me.
Bahahaha.
Seriously, though. I’m careful with words, and I know when to zip my lips and move along. But…something outside my norm feels activated on this suddenly strangest of nights. I lean myweight back on my flattened palms, tip my head, and feign confusion. “What was that again, Knox?”
The tips of his ears flare to flamingo pink. He springs to the dresser and yanks out a pair of sweat pants and a flannel shirt, tossing them. I catch the clothing against my chest.
He snatches the key off the nightstand. Pausing by the rumbling AC unit stirring the curtain, he fiddles with a knob until the blower kicks up a notch. “Be back in a minute. I’ll knock first.”
When the door clicks, I free a fizzy giggle. I may be mean enough to harangue Knox, but I’m not cruel enough to laugh in his face.
Sorry, tonight has turned…funny. I’m used to being the uptight one.
I let out a sigh. At the end of the day, I’m still boring me, living by a set of standards un-fun by most people’s measure. Yet, here I sit, stuck in a motel room with a really handsome, really nice guy, to whom I happen to be increasingly, ridiculously—dare I say, terrifyingly—attracted to.
Terrifying because as much as I want to find my person and begin the life and family I’ve dreamed of, coming face to face with the very real possibility thereof upsets my equilibrium. My family is always quick to point out my resistance to change.
I sit a minute warming myself in the feathery sweep of heated air moving over me.
Alrighty. I’m not so far loosened up that I’m ready to be caught in a state of partial undress. Knox wouldn’t be the only one thrown for a loop if he walked in while I was half out of my clothes and half in his.
Knox’s clothes. Yeah, so maybe the gurgling in my stomach is more than hunger from the smallish dinner eaten three hours ago.
I roll the fleecy joggers up four times, and if there weren’t a drawstring at the waist, I’d have no hope of keeping them off the floor. The flannel shirt must be one of his favorites, because it’s soft from wear, and even better, when I bury my nose in the collar, Knox’s scent, a mix of cologne, detergent, and…him…is embedded in the threads.
Once I’m cozy and covered, I use the alone time to register a clearer picture of the man I may be developing a serious thing for.
The man I’m spending the night with.
Oh dear.
Stupid ankle keeps me from actively snooping, but my eyes work just fine. The room is far from homey, yet reflective of the fact that Knox has been camped here for weeks. Aside from a heavy work jacket, the closet nook contains a handful of work shirts and also a couple dress shirts and pairs of slacks, for church, I guess.
There’s a small round table with one chair parked under it. On the chipped particle board surface sits an insulated coffee mug—black, of course, typical male. There’s a closed laptop, a yellow legal pad and pen, and a stack of fast food napkins, plasticware, and to-go packets of salt and pepper.
It’s the stack of at least a half dozen books that interests me. I squint hard. Nonfiction, mostly history related. I make outWWIIon the spine of a fat one. If another says anything at all about the Roman Empire, I’ll die laughing.
Holding to my spot at the foot of the queen bed, I twist from the waist. Well, looky there. On the nightstand rests a leatherbound Bible with cracks and grooves and scuffed silver filagree around the edges. I lean on an elbow to get closer and read the engraved name on the cover.Knox Evan Herd.Aw. My heart warms with a fuzzy sense of peace. My faith is everything to me, too.
Check.
I glance back to the tower of hardbound books on the table. Oh my goodness. Is that a Bible concordance shoring up the stack?
A firm rap shakes the door, and I startle like a serious snooper caught red handed. I press my palm to that warm spot in my chest and yell, “Come in.”
Knox’s arms are full with a blanket and a white pillow. His deep brown eyes, nearly black in the wan lamplight, touch on me, quite a sight, I’m sure, and quickly skitter. He drops the bedding on the dresser first, then the key, and starts looking around. High and low, like he’s on the hunt for something specific. “I can’t believe there’s not more light in this place.”
The forty-watt ambience isn’t to his liking?
His sudden sigh could rattle the walls. He tucks his hands in his pockets. “No cots.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
