He cut me off with a squeeze, this time at the nape of my neck. “You want a certificate? Blood oath? We can arrange a ritual if that’s what you need.”
I laughed, because it was ridiculous, but also because I could see Knox absolutely going through with it. Maybe dragging me out to the woods at midnight, making me drink a shot of moonshine while Pa hit me with a stick and Aunt Georgia embroidered my name on a quilt.
I wanted it. Not the stick part, necessarily, but the permanence.
The certainty.
We rounded the corner, passing the honey table again. Knox stopped and bought a little jar, the fancy kind with a wooden dipper, even though I knew he preferred his sugar in the form of bourbon and regrets. He handed it to me, then leaned down, his voice low and dangerous.
“For the record,” he said, “You ever want my last name, you just have to ask.”
I dropped the jar. It bounced off my shoe, landed in the grass, and miraculously did not break. “Jesus,” I said. “You can’t just—say things like that.”
He shrugged. “Why not? It’s true.”
My heart was a jackhammer. I bent down to retrieve the honey and muttered, “You know, most people propose with, like, a ring, or at least a meal that doesn’t end in bloodshed.”
Knox grinned, all teeth and promise. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I stared at him.
He stared right back.
For a long, weird, perfect moment, the entire world shrank to the space between us—my ridiculous, traitor heart and his solid, unbreakable presence, the heat of his gaze and the certainty in his voice.
I believed him. For the first time, maybe ever, I believed someone who said they wanted me.
We kept moving.
The market thinned as we reached the end, the stalls trailing off into a little clearing where families picnicked and teenagers tried to smoke behind the cover of a single, miserable tree.
Knox led me to a bench, plopped down, and pulled me onto his lap with no preamble. I yelped, but he just wrapped his arms around me and held on, tight.
The bench creaked under our combined weight, but I didn’t care. I sat, legs across his lap, head on his shoulder, and let the rest of the world fade into static.
We stayed there for a while, saying nothing, letting the sun bake away the last traces of cold. I watched the people come and go, the vendors shout their last deals, the distant swirl of kids chasing each other through the grass.
I watched the old men finish their chess game, watched Mrs. Kimura pack up her flowers, watched Rosie close her stall and shoot us a knowing look on her way out.
All of it was real. All of it was mine, now.
I thought about what it would be like, having a place in this world that was secure, unshakable, anchored by the man whose hands never left my body for more than a heartbeat at a time.
I thought about what it would mean to be not just a survivor, but a McKenzie. I thought about the future, and for the first time, the idea didn’t make me want to hide.
“Do you think they’ll ever let me drive the truck?” I asked, just to break the spell.
Knox snorted. “You can try, but good luck getting the keys from Harlow.”
I considered it. “What if I challenge him to an arm wrestle?”
He gave me a look. “Harlow?”
“Yeah, he’s gentle. I bet I could catch him off guard.”
Knox grinned, shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”
I beamed. “Guess I’m learning from the best.”
