The kettle hums, and I drop a tea bag into the cup I’ve used since my arrival, chipped with a faded sailboat.
I’m just reaching for a jar of honey when the doorbell rings.
I freeze, one hand still on the cabinet.
That’s gotta behim. Who else would it be?
Tea forgotten, my pulse trips over itself as I cross the kitchen.
Light spills through a narrow window beside the door, casting a blurred silhouette I recognize far too easily.
I swing open the door, and Knox stands there, hoodie pulled over a black tee, sleeves pushed to his elbows. One hand is holding a to-go coffee, the other tucked into his pocket like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. His hair’s damp at the ends, curling slightly as if he decided towel-dried is enough.
He looks unfairly good for someone who probably woke up thirty minutes ago.
“Hey.” His sexy rasp makes my stomach dip. “Sorry to drop by unannounced.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I was just…you know. Existing.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Dr. Ochoa called.” He pauses like he’s figuring out how to temper whatever he has to share. “Mama Cat—I mean Wanda—had emergency surgery. She’s okay, but she can’t nurse. They asked if we would be willing to bottle-feed the kittens.”
We.
My throat tightens.
“They’re ready for pickup now,” he adds. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to come.”
He doesn’t say, “You don’t have to,” or “It’s okay if you’re busy.” He waits, shoulders relaxed, tone even, as though he already knows I’ll say yes.
“Yeah, sure.” I try to sound nonchalant, masking the excitement rippling through me. “Let me grab my phone and purse.”
Leaving the door open behind me, I shuffle down the hall, catching my reflection in the mirror, which looks deceptively composed. No hint I’ve been unraveling since sunrise.
I swipe my phone off the counter and shove it into my purse before heading back out.
Knox hasn’t moved. He just stands in the doorway, giving us room to breathe.
“Ready?” I shut the door behind me.
My broody neighbor nods, handing me the coffee I didn’t realize was for me. “Cream and sugar.” He winks. “Took copious mental notes at Pier 24.”
With a sincere “thank you,” I snag the cup. Our fingers brush, barely, yet enough to spark that same low thrum beneath my skin. The one I’ve been trying to ignore since last night.
Knox opens the passenger door for me, casual as ever, and I slide in, catching the scent of his cologne, this time woodsy and wildly unfair.
He rounds the front of the car, unhurried, and before I know it, climbs in beside me, his cologne curling between us again.
Wrapping both hands around the coffee cup, I take a sip—more for the calming warmth than for the caffeine.
Silence fills the space, broken only by the low hum of the engine and gravel under his tires as we pull away. It should be awkward. Though it’s not.
Say something, Cami.Anything about kittens. Wanda. The weather. But not the part where you nearly kissed him and haven’t stopped reliving it since.
Sneaking a glance, I take in his profile: sharp, composed, and unreadable. The clean and unbearably sexy lines of his stubble-dotted jaw have made it impossible to look away, no matter how hard I try.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, eyes still forward.
“I think so. I mean, bottle-feeding kittens sounds pretty manageable.” I pause. “Sweet, even.”
