“Says the man who knows the names of all of the staff at the palace,” I said with a conspiratorial smile. “Wish I could say I was surprised, though,” I sighed, thinking of Renata. “But I didn’t grow up being waited on hand and foot. To be honest, I’m more comfortable doing things for myself, although it’s been nice to have the staff to chat with on days when we don’t have anything on the schedule.”
“I understand that. Why do you think I chose to live in the old caretaker’s cottage?” Knox poured himself a cup of tea. “Even after my family moved here, we never had any household staff, so it was a real shock to my system when I moved into the palace after my parents died. I never really got used to it, so when Oliver left for uni, I asked Leroy and Isobel if I could have the caretaker’s old place and job since he had retired. They told me I could do anything that made me happy, although I still come home periodically to find all my linens freshly washed and folded, and my pantry and fridge never go empty, so I know Isobel still has some of the staff checking in on me if she doesn’t do it herself.”
My heart twisted, remembering what it was like to have a mother worrying about me. “You said you hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving in fifteen years. Is there a reason why?” I asked, reaching for the teapot and pouring myself a cup.
Knox took a sip from his mug. “My parents died in a car crash when I was fifteen. I assume Oliver told you that much?” I nodded. Knox ran a finger around the rim of his cup. “Even after we moved to Wexstone, my parents always made sure we celebrated Thanksgiving with a big, home-cooked meal. Oliver even joined us a couple of times. After they passed away, I wanted to continue celebrating. But it seemed like there was always something going on at the palace, and I was just a teenager, and…”
“And it was just too heavy,” I finished quietly.
Knox met my gaze, a question in his eyes. “Yeah. It was. Isobel and Leroy offered to celebrate it with me, but…well. You said it. It was too heavy.”
I set down my cup and turned toward him on the loveseat, pulling my feet up underneath me. I took a shaky breath.
“My mom’s birthday was Christmas Day,” I said. “To say that we went all out for Christmas is an understatement. The woman loved Christmasandshe loved birthdays. So Christmas was always a huge fucking deal for us. Even the year she was sick, she still made sure that Connor and I had full stockings and tons of gifts under the tree, no matter how much she had to scrimp and save to do so.” I picked at the sleeve of my sweater. “After she died, Christmas lost its magic. My dad checked out mentally and emotionally, so it was on me to make sure Con had gifts to open. I was only fourteen. I kept it up until I left for college, but it was too hard to be a mom and sister while taking a full load of classes and working…” My words trailed off. Knox reached over, grabbing my hand. A sea of sadness and understanding filled his eyes.
“Anyway,” I continued, taking encouragement from the feeling of his warm hand over mine, “Christmas hasn’t really been the same since she died. I enjoy the season but sometimes I kind of hide myself away from all the festivities.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, squeezing my hand before pulling away. I felt suddenly cold without his warm fingers wrapped around my own. “Your dad, is he around much?”
I shook my head. “No. Honestly, I don’t even know for sure where he’s living these days. After Mom died, he stopped being able to hold down any job for longer than a year or so. We had always struggled to make ends meet, but it became almost impossible with him going from job to job like that. Connor and I were only able to pay for college thanks to money my grandparents had set aside in a trust specifically for our educations. When Connor left for school, Dad sold the house and moved to Alabama. Then to Montana. Then I kind of lost track. My college graduation was the first time he set foot on campus the entire time I was there. I was surprised he even showed up for that.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my tea. I cleared my throat. “What were your folks like?” I asked quietly. Knox examined me, an unreadable expression on his face. “If you don’t want to talk about them, that’s okay, I get it,” I added.
“No, that’s not it,” he said quickly. He took a deep breath. “It’s just…no one has asked me about them in a long time. They probably think it’s too painful to talk about, but I really like talking about them. It makes them feel alive again, even just for a moment.” This time, I closed the distance between us to take his hand, weaving my fingers through his calloused ones. I squeezed, a silent encouragement.
“Well, I’d love to hear about them.”
“Dad was a big guy, probably six-five or six-six—taller than me,” he said, closing his eyes as he spoke. “He was a professor of literature at the university and wore these three-piece suits that made him look like aSherlock Holmescharacter. He always had to custom order them because of his height.
“The only thing he loved as much as my mom and me wasbooks, although being outside came close behind that. I remember him reading to me every night as a kid.”
I thought of Knox reading to the children at the school drive the week before. “What kinds of books did you read together?” I asked, leaning my shoulder against the back of the loveseat and tucking my feet underneath me, our hands still intertwined.
“Oh, everything. The first book I remember him reading to me wasThe Fellowship of the Ring.He loved Tolkien. I still look for unique copies ofFellowshipwhenever I’m in a bookstore, and sometimes Oliver will bring me back copies in other languages when he travels. But we readFrankensteinandLittle WomenandDraculaand all the original Grimms’ fairytales—anything you can think of. He didn’t really care what I read, he just wanted me to understand that books can be a safe place to land when the world around us is too much to handle.” His voice trailed off.
I squeezed his hand again. “And your mom?”
Knox cleared his throat. “Oh, Mom was one of the kindest humans I have ever met. She came off quiet and shy at first, but she had a smile that could light up an entire room—not unlike yours.” He blushed; I ducked my head to hide that I was blushing as well. “She and Dad met when she was working at the UPenn library and Dad was a PhD student there. She was a writer—mostly technical stuff. She freelanced so she could stay home with me. She gave the best hugs in the world.”
“They sound like they were amazing people. Thank you for telling me about them.”
Knox turned to meet my gaze. “Thank you for asking about them.” His eyes were bright, and something like hope glimmered in their depths. He set his tea down on the coffee table, never breaking my gaze or releasing my fingers. With his now-free hand, he reached over, gently sweeping asmall crumb from the tart off my lip. He then brought his hand to rest just below my jaw. My body lit up as he brushed his thumb lightly over my bottom lip as his gaze fell to my mouth.
Electricity crackled across my skin, following the path his fingers made as he trailed his thumb across my mouth, over my cheek, down the curve of my jaw, and back to my bottom lip. Heat filled my core as the room around us disappeared, my sight narrowing until all I saw was Knox. The only sound I could hear was the hammering of my own heart as he leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against mine, our noses lightly brushing and our breath mingling. I closed my eyes, savoring the pine and mint scent of him, imagining his strong hands slowly removing my russet sweater, then my jeans, before kissing his way across my torso and taking me into his mouth?—
“Eugene! Drop it!”
My eyes flew open, the spell broken as I spotted what had caused Knox to shout: Eugene, sneaking out of the bathroom with a pair of white lace panties in his mouth. At least, they had previously been a pair of white lace panties. Now, the entire crotch was missing, chewed to bits by the dog.
Eugene dropped the tattered lace at Knox’s feet, hanging his head in shame. “Bad dog! Sit. Stay,” Knox scolded, reaching for what he didn’t yet realize were my destroyed underwear. I leaped forward, snatching them up before he could get to them and sprinted to throw them in a desk drawer while Eugene sat as directed, his tail between his legs.
Knox cleared his throat, looking at his watch. “Well, I…uh…I should probably go. It’s later than I realized, and I have work tomorrow.” He stood, snapped his fingers, and strode toward the door, Eugene at his heels. I followed, making sure to keep a safe distance between us. I didn’t think I could trust myself to get too close to him.
“All right. I guess I’ll see you this weekend at the tree cutting?” I said, clasping my hands tightly behind my back as Knox opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
“See you then,” he said gruffly. “And Birdie?” he added, his tone softening. “Happy Thanksgiving.” I watched as he walked to the landing and down the stairs, Eugene by his side. I closed my bedroom door softly, leaning against it as I caught my breath.You are so screwed.
I shrugged on my favorite thick flannel shirt and rummaged around in my dresser, looking for my warmest pair of wool socks. As I laced up my winter work boots, I tried to quiet my nerves about the day.
December 1 marked one of the country’s longest-standing traditions: The annual Christmas tree cutting. Each year, the palace was decorated with a dozen different trees, including the largest one in the grand foyer, which would be adorned this year with the ornaments from the Lewellens’ workshop. All of these trees were cut today, along with several dozen extra paid for by the royal family and made available to any Wexstonians who struggled to afford a tree.
