Although, I certainly wouldn’t object.
Knox glances over his shoulder, catching me staring. His brow lifts just enough to saycaught you.I’m too foggy to pretend otherwise.
“You sure you just want carbs and sugar, lass?” he teases, his voice dipping low enough for heat to lick up my spine. “You see something else you like?”
Damn him.
I roll my eyes, yanking the sheet back over my head to hide the traitorous grin stretching across my lips. “YouknowI do,” I grumble.
He stays by my side all morning, handling things in that steady, no-nonsense way of his. He doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling, probably because it’s obvious. Instead, he moves around the room quietly, making sure I have everything I need like it’s second nature.
Meanwhile, I do my best impression of a useless lump under the covers, groaning dramatically every time the lightshifts, or my headache reminds me why I should never mix cocktails. At one point, I let out an especially pitiful whimper, and without a word, he hands me a glass of water.
But eventually, the inevitable happens.
He has to leave.
At the door, he hesitates with his back to me, his hand braced against the frame.
“Juliette,” he says. “Before I go…”
The sudden vulnerability in his voice makes me look up. He spins toward me, the expression on his face catching me completely off guard. His eyes hold an openness I’ve never seen before.
I sit up straighter, pulling the sheets around me. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer. He moves in three long strides that eat up the space until his calloused hands are framing my face and tilting it up like I’m something precious.
His mouth crashes against mine, all heat and hunger. He tastes like coffee as his tongue slides against mine, my hands clutching his forearms to hold on while he unravels me piece by piece.
There’s nothing careful in the way he kisses me. It’s raw. Starved. Like he’s spent every second up until now convincing himself not to do this and just lost the fight.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and there’s a question in his eyes.
His thumb traces my bottom lip. “What are we doing here?”
My throat goes dry, and I’m suddenly very aware of my tangled hair, my smudged makeup, and the fact that I’m wearing nothing but his T-shirt.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means. I just need a second to prepare for this conversation I’ve been simultaneously craving and dreading.
His jaw tightens, then relaxes, like he’s carefully choosing his words.
“I mean, Juliette, what happens when you go back to Kentucky? I need to know if this is just temporary for you.”
I swallow hard, my hangover suddenly the least of my concerns. The sheets feel suffocating now, too hot, too tight around me, like they’re closing in.
“Knox, I?—”
“Because it’s more for me,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So much more.”
So much more.
The weight of those three simple words seems to fill the entire room. I don’t know why I thought I would be able to guard myself against this moment. When feelings become real and choices have consequences. I never stood a chance.
“I don’t need a solid answer right now,” he says, his voice still low. “I just need to know if you see this going further.”
I can’t deny that he makes me feel alive. That he’s become woven into the fabric of my days in a way I never imagined. I wake up thinking of him, lose track of time when we’re together, and find myself caught up in the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
There’s no blueprint for this. No roadmap for what we’re doing. We’re in uncharted territory with no guarantees, no promises. The thought of leaving this behind, of going back to Kentucky without at leasttrying,feels more and more unbearable. When I look at him, I wonder if I can really go back.
