HANNA
I’m not at all nervous about going to Knox's house, but I still decided to be responsible and look him up online during my lunch break. There's nothing about him personally anywhere: he's only mentioned as the middle brother of Henry and Sarah’s three sons.
Several of his cousins have an online presence – their charity work, their projects, their businesses. But not a peep about Knox, except a few casual mentions when he and his brothers attended events.
On the drive out to Rathlock, we talk endlessly about books: the ones we read in our teens, the ones that have saved us from stressful situations, and the ones that have accidentally taught us the most.
For example, I knew nothing about winter wilderness survival until I readNever Cry Wolf. Meanwhile, Knox didn't know a thing about cyberpunk until he readTrouble And Her Friends. I get the sense that both of us have lived many lives through books, making our age difference meaningless.
Eventually, we turn off a back road and onto a private lane. Knox reaches over to squeeze my hand. "Be honest. Let me know what you think of the place, darlin'."
After a gentle curve, a hill appears in front of us with the most beautiful house I've ever seen. It's charming and rustic, but completely modern too. As if the elves building a fairytale cottage had suddenly been given a budget for huge industrial windows.
I'm still in a daze as we walk inside. It’s lavish and comfortable at the same time. Everything is done in brown and deep green, making it blend seamlessly with the forest outside. I can’t tell whether the vibe is taken from decorator magazines, or if Knox just wanted to leave everything kind of natural. Either way, it’s stunning.
“You seem…” Knox sets down my bags, then kicks off his boots. “Confused, maybe?”
“More surprised. It’s breathtaking.”
He snorts. “You thought I lived in a shack, didn’t you?”
“Of course not!” He leads me to the vast kitchen as I add, “I knew it would be aniceshack, at least.”
Knox chuckles deeply, his voice warming the emptiness of the space. “How about pasta? Maybe rotini with roast chicken and Parmigiano Reggiano?”
“Perfect.”
“Great. I’ll start the chicken. You can check out my library. Upstairs, turn right, last door on the left.”
I love that he doesn’t mind me prowling around on my own. The upstairs hallway has several doors. Naturally, I peek into his bedroom first. It’s perfect: a simple, high bed with dark green bedding, a rugged wooden dresser with matching end tables and rustic wall sconces with Edison bulbs on dimmers, perfect for reading.
At the other end of the hall, I can see why. His library must easily contain a thousand books. The room has shelves ringing the outside, with one gap for a large window. There are also two long center shelves, about shoulder-height. Everything is in alphabetical order by author’s last name. A quick survey of the books shows a huge variety. One of the center shelves is dedicated to non-fiction, everything from auto repair to zoology.
I've heard stories of men who are on their own living in squalor, with a single easy chair in front of a giant flatscreen and a floor that hasn’t been swept in years. Knox, however, definitely takes pride in his home. Everything is spotless. There's an almost military precision to how tidy everything is.
I didn’t think it was possible to like Knox even more, but this room has cranked it up a notch. Smart is sexy, and a burly, sometimes grouchy mountain man who is a hardcore bookworm makes my soul tingle with desire. The idea settles in my mind as I walk back toward the kitchen: I'm ready to be close to him in every way.
I hurry back down the stairs, then wrap my arms around Knox's waist as he's grating cheese. "Hey there,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Did you approve of the library?"
"It’s amazing. I really like your entire house. You seem very…settled."
He sets everything down, brushes off his hands, then spins to wrap his arms around me. "You know, I thought I was. Thought this was going to be my life, and I was okay with that. But then I laid eyes on you, and now everything feels different."
"A man who can cook, loves books, and talks about his feelings?" My eyebrow quirks up. "How could I possibly get so lucky on the first try?"
Knox half smiles, as if he's more amused than he wants to let on.
I help him with dinner, eventually realizing what it is. He loves that he's going to be my first. What a surprise. I love it too.
After dinner, we watch a movie, which we miss half of because we keep cuddling and kissing. The way his hands roam over my hips, it's clear that he loves my curves. It’s interesting that this man is more accepting of my body than the women in my family who do nothing but make barbed comments about how I should shrink.
"Well then." Knox turns off the TV. "Should we half-watch another movie? Or…?"
Looking straight into his eyes, I murmur, "I'm up for anything."
My palm is on top of his thigh, and I feel the muscle tense. “Anything? Seriously?"
"Seriously."
