Page 68 of Keep Me Close

By the time I open my bedroom door, I’m still scraped raw from the call with my mother.

That’s when the smell hits me.

Coffee. Along with something warm and sweet.

My stomach growls as I step into the hallway and follow the scent into the kitchen, stopping short when I find Knox standing at the stove with his back to me. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low around his hips, and nothing else. His hair is still damp from a shower.

There’s a plate on the counter with French toast.

For a second, I stare in confusion.

Knox knows how to cook?

I definitely didn’t expect that.

He glances over his shoulder. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Um… good.” My brain struggles to catch up with the sight before me. “You made French toast?”

He turns back to the stove and shrugs like it’s nothing. “Not just French toast. But Nutella-stuffed French toast.”

My heart lodges in the middle of my throat. No one has ever made me breakfast before. At least, not someone who wasn’t paid to do it.

I step farther into the kitchen, my gaze drifting over the plate again. “Wow. That’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

I grind to a halt. “I don’t understand. How did you know?”

“You mentioned it to my mom that weekend we were both at the house for Avery’s first birthday.”

It’s hard to believe he remembered something so random after all these years.

I have no idea what to make of that.

I slide onto one of the stools at the island as he sets a mug in front of me. “Can I get sugar and milk?”

“It’s already been added, Hollywood.”

I stare at him, thrown off for the second time in as many minutes. No one’s ever paid attention to me like this. Not in the little ways that matter. That’s all it takes for warmth to spread through my chest. Being here with Knox feels too easy.

Too intimate.

Too real.

How does this man keep surprising me at every turn?

I stare at the coffee for a second before glancing up. “My mom called.”

His expression never falters. “Oh?”

“She saw the photo from last night.”

“Did you get angry Sharon or I-can’t-wait-to-spin-this-in-the-press Sharon?”

I snort. He hasn’t spent much time around my mother, but somehow, he still has her number.

“Neither, really. She wants me to come home.” There’s a pause. “Filming starts soon.”