I choke out a laugh, the coffee machine sputtering behind me like it, too, is shocked.
“Watch out, Knox,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how fast my heart’s racing. “This bubble phone might spontaneously combust.”
He chuckles.
And just like that, the tightness in my chest eases. My shoulders drop. My heartbeat steadies.
“How long will it take you to get ready?”
“About thirty minutes.” I add cream to my coffee. “Why?”
“There’s a place near the dock. Heard they have amazing pancakes. Stripe and Shadow can come too.”
“Oh? Is this date three?”
“Nope,” he says. “This is a warm-up. Date three comes with…bigger plans. Pick you up in thirty.”
Ebb & Flow Café feels like it belongs in a travel magazine, with its white linen tablecloths, sparkling glassware, and a harbor view speckled with sailboats.
The host leads us to a shaded table on the patio, where the air smells of citrus zest, salt, and expensive espresso. A server breezes past, balancing a tray stacked high with lemon ricotta pancakes, the scent trailing behind, rich enough to make my stomach tighten.
After nestling the carrier into the curve of the bench to my right, Knox adjusts its angle so the spoiled duo can see us both. Stripe stirs with a tiny, squeaky mewl while Shadow stays curled tight, completely unfazed.
With a wink, Knox settles beside me, sunglasses low on his nose, his arm slipping around me with ease. My body registers the warmth before my mind can catch up. He smells like thatsignature scent of his and whatever’s been undoing me since that night we met.
I swallow hard.
How dare he smell and look this good all the time?
Faded jeans. A navy button-down with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. Yes, arm porn is real.
Scruff dots his perfectly angled jaw, and his hair’s still tousled in that barely-ran-a-hand-through-it sort of way—effortless—like someone who woke upsexy and he knows it. And somehow, he’s just sitting here, all casual, pretending he’s not currently melting my insides.
“Nice setup?” He tips his head toward the table.
“Mmhmm,” I chirp, a little too brightly, twirling a lock of my hair, doing my best to look cool and totally unfazed.
Knox removes his sunglasses and sets them on the table, then lounges back, his gaze locked on me like he’s watching a storm roll in and fully intends to chase it. Quiet. Intent. That slow, crooked smirk playing at the edges of his maddeningly gorgeous mouth.
And even though I’m sitting, my knees buckle beneath the table.
Clearing my throat, I shift my gaze to the harbor, latching onto the nearest sailboat like it might toss me a life buoy and pull me back to shore.
Because if I look at this breath-stealing man for one more second, I might actually drown—in heat, in hope, in whatever this is simmering between us. And God help me, it doesn’t seem the least bit interested in anything temporary.
“So…” he says, inching closer, elbow braced on the table, breath warm against my ear. “Last night’s got my head spinning too.”
His words blaze a slow trail of heat straight to my toes.
I try to focus on those sailboats, but I can feel the weight of his gaze. It’s like sunlight. Warm. Direct. Impossible to ignore.
Slowly, I turn to face him, heart stammering. His eyes meet mine, smoldering and steady, like I’m the only thing he sees.
“Well,” I swallow, “would’ve been totally awkward if I were the only one wrecked by a heated, under-the-stars make-out session.”
Knox tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “You’ve had me wrecked since our first encounter on the beach.”
He moves in, closing the small space between us. And even though I’m not exactly a fan of PDA, I find myself leaning in, too. I never had a guy who made public affection feel safe.
