Knox has this way of weaving little pieces of himself into his words with the small quirks and stories behind the things that make him who he is. It’s all so captivating. I can’t help but watch him as he talks, the way his eyes light up when he speaks about what matters to him. It’s like I’m seeing all these pieces of him, and they’re fitting together in a way that makes me want to know more.
I find myself leaning in, hanging on to every word, not just because they’re interesting, but because there’s something abouthimthat pulls me in. The way his lips move when he talks, the deep, rich sound of his voice. I catch myself wanting the weight of his lips against mine again.
And then I’m quickly pulled back to the present, shaking my head to clear away the thoughts, but not before it stirs something low and hot in my stomach. The longer we sit here, the more I realize how easily this could slip into something more…and how badly I’m starting to want that.
twenty-three
KNOX
It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to just sit and talk with for hours with no rush and no agenda. Just rambling about anything and everything.
I take a slow breath before asking my next question. “What’s your biggest fear?”
I’m not sure why I ask it. I don’t usually open up to people, let alone ask something so personal. It’s a question that feels too intimate. And yet, I ask anyway because I want to know her. I want to understand what makes her tick, what keeps her up at night.
Her eyebrows lift, just the slightest hint of uncertainty flashing in her eyes before she smooths it away. She glances out over the loch, eyes tracing the rippling water as if she’s deciding whether to take the plunge. “Hm. You mean like creepy clowns or are we talking about life and loss kind of fear?”
“Whatever strikes your fancy.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “If I’m being honest, the future scares me right now. More specifically,the thought of giving love another shot. Of letting someone in again. It went so horribly wrong the last time.”
The honesty in her voice carries the weight of something not easily put into words. I can see it in the slight tension in her jaw and the way she exhales like she’s laid down a burden she’s not sure she’s ready to release.
I get it more than she probably realizes, and there’s this urge to tell her that. To let her know she’s not alone in feeling that way. But it’s not the right time. Not yet.
She shakes her head, looking a little guilty. “Sorry, I think that was more than you bargained for. I ruined the mood.”
“You haven’t ruined anything. I asked you because I wanted the truth. Those kinds of things matter.”
She studies me, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Okay then. What about you? What are you afraid of?”
I lean back, raising an eyebrow and delivering with a straight face, “People who wear socks with sandals.”
Her carefree laughter bursts out, and for a second, the world gets a little brighter. I can’t stand that frown I saw on her face earlier, so I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Ready to walk the rest of the way?”
I keep my gaze on her as she stares out at the horizon, her eyes drifting over the view, soaking it all in. Then, with a nod, she lets me know she’s ready.
I push to my feet, reaching for her hand. When she takes it, I pull her up gently. Brushing the sand from her clothes, my fingers graze her skin, a fleeting warmth that settles somewhere deeper than it should.
We fall into step next to each other. The wind tugs at her hair, the loch stretching behind us as we leave the shore and step into the woods. The air turns cooler and heavier. The ground softens beneath our feet, muffling each step.
Finlarig Castle appears from the shadows,its crumbling stone walls extending from the earth. Time has worn it down, but it still stands proud, a ghost of the past watching over the present.
I catch her gaze as she lifts her eyes to the ruins, her expression shifting, mouth parting in awe. The excitement that lights up her face hits me square in the chest, and I can’t help but smile, watching her take it all in. There’s a wonder in her eyes, like she’s looking at magic. It’s impossible not to be swept up in the way she admires it.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s beautiful.”
“Are we looking at the same thing?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, beautiful. Achingly so.” Her voice softens. “It’s like looking through a window into the past. Like at any moment, you’ll hear whispers of history drifting on the breeze. It’s remarkable.”
She’s not just looking at the ruins, she’sfeelingthem and the way history seems to bleed through the cracks of stone. Normally, I’d be too caught up in my own head to slow down enough to notice it, but right now, through her eyes, everything is different. The wreckage in front of us isn’t only crumbled stone. It’s a story waiting to be unraveled. I finally take a real look at it, and I find myself nodding slowly.
“You’re right,” I admit, glancing over at her. “It is beautiful. In a…chaotic sort of way.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that,” she teases, but her attention shifts back to the ruins as she moves with careful steps, inspecting every nook and cranny. The way she absorbs everything around her, engraving every detail into her memory as if she knows how fleeting it is. Damn.Thatis the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a while.
She takes her time with unhurried steps, and I follow her with my eyes. Then, just like that, she’s back, her voice floating through the air. “Hey, what’s for dinner? I’mstarving!”
