Captured Love (The Crestwood University #3)

25. Selene

25

SELENE

A s I pull up to Knox’s house, I see the front door swing open. It’s as if he was waiting by the window for me to arrive. I turn off my car and pop the trunk as Knox walks down the stairs of his front porch to approach my vehicle. I step out and greet him with a grin.

“Is everything back here?” he asks, gesturing to my car.

“Yes, it is. I might have gone slightly overboard, but I wasn’t sure what you guys had and didn’t have.”

Knox shakes as he leans into the trunk, surveying the mountain of grocery bags as I walk to the trunk.

“We’ve got salt, pepper, and beer,” he says, lifting a bag to test its weight. “Maybe some expired ketchup.”

I swat at his arm playfully. “Ridiculous. A well-stocked kitchen is essential for culinary success. You are in the hands of a professional here.”

“I’m sure I am, picosita,” he says, and I don’t hear an ounce of sarcasm in his words.

I feel my cheeks grow warm at the nickname he’s given me. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you. What does that mean?”

“It means spicy.”

My hand lands on my chest before I point at my hair. “Is it because I’m a redhead?”

“No, it is because of our banter, but the hair color is the cherry on top.”

I swat at him again and all he does is laugh as he takes the groceries into his place.

I follow Knox up the steps of his porch and through the front door, taking in the familiar sight of his living room. We continue down the hallway until we reach the kitchen. He sets the bags on the counter and turns back to me for further instructions.

We both start to unpack the groceries, pulling out fresh vegetables, various types of cheese, and an assortment of spices. Knox watches me with mild curiosity as I organize everything.

“So what are we making?” he asks.

“Tortellini soup. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, so we shall see how this goes.”

Knox opens the fridge and grabs a beer. “Sounds legit.” He holds up another bottle, offering it to me.

I hesitate for a moment but then take it from him. He pops the caps off with a bottle opener that’s magnetized to his fridge and clinks his bottle against mine.

“To culinary adventures,” he says.

I take a swig and let the cold liquid wash down my throat. It’s so refreshing and might help me remain calm throughout this whole ordeal. I set the bottle down and reach for a cutting board, pulling a knife from the block on the counter.

“Okay, first we need to chop these veggies.” I slide a bell pepper and an onion toward Knox. “Think you can handle that?”

He grabs the knife and examines it like it’s a new toy. “I’ll give it my best shot. Just don’t yell at me if I ruin them.”

I laugh. “I’m more concerned about you losing a finger. Don’t want Crestwood University suing me because one of their star players can’t play anymore.”

With slow and deliberate movements, Knox starts to slice the bell pepper. I watch for a second, amused by his concentration, then turn to the bag of fresh tortellini and start to inspect it. The whole situation feels surreal. Here we are, standing in Knox’s kitchen, preparing food together. If you’d told me a few weeks ago that I’d be here, I would have laughed in your face.

I glance over at Knox. His usually confident demeanor is replaced with the utmost focus as he struggles with the vegetables. It’s adorable, and I can’t help but smile. He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” he says, defensive but playful.

“You’re actually doing a pretty good job,” I admit, taking another swig of my beer. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

He grins, pleased with himself, and finishes off the bell pepper with a flourish. “Told you I could handle it.”

“Don’t get cocky. We still have the onion.”

Knox grabs the onion and starts peeling it with his fingers, making a mess of the outer layers. I open my mouth to give him a tip but decide against it. There’s something nice about watching him figure it out on his own. Instead, I turn to the stove and start heating up a pot with some olive oil.

“So where are the other guys?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Knox shrugs. “Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is here, just hanging out in their room.”

I turn my attention back to the pot, swirling the olive oil around. The warmth of the stove combined with the beer is making me a little flushed. Or maybe it's something else.

“Don't worry,” Knox says, breaking the silence. “You’re safe with me.”

I look back at him, confused. “Safe?”

He smirks. “I mean from starving. In case this cooking adventure goes south.”

I let out a belly laugh. “Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Knox has managed to slice into the onion, and tears are starting to well up in his eyes. He wipes them with the back of his hand, smearing a bit of onion juice on his cheek. It’s almost too much; I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud again.

“Here,” I say, taking pity on him. I walk over and take the knife from his hand. “Run your hands under cold water. It’ll help with the sting.”

He doesn't argue, which surprises me. As he moves to the sink, I take over on the onion. I manage to get it cut in record time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate Knox’s help.

“I never asked,” Knox says over his shoulder. “How did your presentation go?”

I’m taken aback that he remembers. “It went well,” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Better than I expected, actually. Thanks for asking.”

Knox turns off the water and dries his hands on a towel, then leans against the counter and takes a long pull from his beer. “I knew you'd kill it. You're always so prepared.”

I’m not sure quite how to respond. Compliments from Knox are something I’m still getting used to. The banter, the teasing—those come naturally. But this? This is different.

“Thanks,” I say just before I clear my throat and hold up the chopped onion. “See? No tears.”

He wipes at his cheek again, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. So what’s next, Chef?”

I like the way he’s deferring to me in this setting, letting me take the lead. “Next, we need to sauté these with some garlic,” I say, moving toward the stove. “Can you get me another cutting board? We need to slice the zucchini next.”

Knox rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a cutting board, sliding it across the counter to me. I start slicing the zucchini into thin rounds as he watches over my shoulder.

“You make it look so easy,” he says.

I shrug. “It just takes practice. Cooking is like anything else—you get better the more you do it.”

“Maybe you can teach me,” he says.

I look over at him. “Just like you’re teaching me how to work out more efficiently?”

“Exactly,” he says. “We can do a skills swap.”

“Deal,” I say, turning back to the zucchini. “But don't blame me if you end up as ripped as me.”

He chuckles, a deep and genuine sound that fills the kitchen. “I think I can handle it. Not to mention, I absolutely love your body.”

My knife freezes in the air mid-slice. Did he just?—?

I turn slowly to face Knox. His eyes lock on mine and a thousand thoughts sprint through my mind.

He steps closer, closing the space between us. I put the knife down to prevent cutting myself or him.

“You what?—”

“And I mean it. Every word. You’re stunning.” He takes another step and places his finger under my chin, tilting my face toward his. His eyes study my lips for a moment before his lips meet mine.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters. Then it deepens, a surge of warmth and electricity that makes my knees threaten to give out. I can taste the mix of beer and something inherently Knox on his breath.

My hands land on his chest and I find that his heart is pounding just as wildly as mine. I love that I have this effect on him.

He pulls away slowly and I’m left breathless. My lips are still tingling as a result of his kiss.

I take a shaky breath and respond with, “Thank you for saying that. And I want to thank you for the kiss, but that might be weird.”

That makes Knox chuckle. “It was my pleasure, both things.”

I pick the knife back up and get back to work on dinner. The comfortable silence that follows is punctuated by the sizzle of vegetables hitting hot oil and the occasional clink of glass as Knox finishes his beer. I half expect him to open another, but instead, he just leans against the counter, content to watch me work.

“So why tortellini soup?” he asks after a while.

I stir the pot, inhaling the aroma of garlic and onions. “Just found the recipe randomly. It's comfort food. Plus, it's getting colder out, so soup just sounded right.”

“Good choice,” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Can you hand me the broth?” I ask, trying to focus on the task at hand. He obliges, and I pour it into the pot just before he asks another question.

“Do you cook a lot when you’re home?”

“Not as much as I'd like,” I admit. “When school is out, either my mom or dad cook. Sometimes I’ll throw something together quickly, but I’m hoping all of that changes once I graduate.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the plan?”

“I want to get my own place, maybe a tiny apartment with a nice kitchen. Somewhere I can experiment and not have to worry about washing fifteen different pots and pans every night.”

“Sounds nice,” Knox says, almost wistfully. “I can’t imagine living alone though. The silence would drive me nuts.”

I smile, thinking of the controlled chaos that is my family. “Silence has its perks. But yeah, I’d probably miss the noise after a while.”

Knox stretches, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of his abdomen. My eyes flicker to it, then quickly away. “So,” he begins, and there's a note of hesitation in his voice that catches my attention. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve been doing that. Why are you asking? Or should I say, what would you like to ask?”

Knox rubs the back of his neck, and I can see that he’s nervous. That increases my curiosity even more. “Would you want to come to my abuela’s birthday party next weekend?”

I find myself staring at him as I process the question. My first instinct is to say no. Not because I don’t want to go, but because meeting someone’s family is a big deal, and I’m not sure where Knox and I even stand.

“Selene?” he says, and I snap back to the present.

“That sounds… nice,” I say slowly, trying to buy time for my brain to catch up. “But are you sure? I mean, it’s your family.”

He shrugs, though his eyes are more serious than his posture. “You’re important to me. They should get to know you.”

Important to me. Those three words hit me harder than the kiss, than any of the compliments tonight. They should get to know you. This is more than just an invitation; it’s an opening into his life, his world.

“I don’t want to intrude,” I say, though my resistance is weakening.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says firmly. “Besides, there will be tons of people. It’s a big celebration with enough chaos to make you feel right at home.” He gives me a hopeful smile, and I can see how much this means to him.

I bite my lip, torn. This could be a chance to see a different side of Knox, but this is serious.

“Okay,” I say at last, and his face lights up. “I’ll come. But if it gets too overwhelming, I reserve the right to make a quick escape.”

“Excellent,” he says, and I can almost hear the relief in his voice. “You’re going to love Mamita. She’s a firecracker.”

“I’m sure she is,” I say, stirring the pot again. The confession of his feelings and the kiss have already left me off balance. Now this invitation is making me feel as if I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff.

The vegetables have softened, and I add the tortellini to the pot. “It needs a few more minutes,” I say, turning to face him. He’s closer than I expected, and I take an involuntary step back.

“Selene,” he starts, but I cut him off.

“So what should I wear? To the party, I mean.”

He pauses, clearly switching gears in his head. “It’s casual. Just come as you are.”

As I am. “Got it,” I say. “Casual.”

The tortellini swirls in the pot, and I watch it like a crystal ball, hoping for some glimpse of the future. What will it be like, meeting his family? Will they welcome me with open arms? More than that, what does this mean for us? Are we a thing now?

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice when Knox reaches for me. His hand lands gently on my shoulder, and I look over at him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You don’t have to overthink it. Just come and have fun.”

I nod, though I know that overthinking is my default setting. He means well, but he doesn’t realize the whirlwind he’s unleashed in my mind.

“Let’s eat. Can you grab some bowls?”

Knox releases my shoulder and moves to a cabinet. He pulls out two ceramic bowls. He hands them to me, and I give us both generous portions of the steaming soup. The rich aroma of parmesan fills the kitchen, mingling with the warmth of the broth.

We take our bowls to the dining table. Just as we are sitting down, I hear a door open and look up and find Wilder walking into the room. He scratches his head as he takes in the scene before him. “Am I interrupting something?”

Knox and I exchange a quick glance. “Not at all,” Knox says, leaning back in his chair. “Just having some dinner. Tortellini soup. Want some? Selene made enough for an army.”

Wilder's eyes flicker with a mix of emotions. “Tortellini soup?” he asks, as if he doesn't quite believe it.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “There's plenty if you're hungry.”

Wilder shrugs, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Sure, why not?” He walks over to the stove and scoops himself a big portion into a bowl.

As Wilder takes a seat at the table, I notice the tension in Knox's posture. This was supposed to be our time, but now we have an audience. Maybe that's for the best, I think. It gives me a little more time to process everything without the immediate pressure of Knox's attention solely on me.

“So,” Wilder says, blowing on his soup. “What's the occasion? You two celebrating something?”

“Selene wants to cook more, and we have a kitchen that we barely use,” Knox says smoothly. “We are just catching up.”

“Just catching up,” Wilder repeats and I can tell he doesn’t believe Knox. He takes a large, deliberate spoonful of soup and chews slowly. “This is really good,” he says, directing the compliment at me. “You should cook for us more often.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I say.

“Yeah, Selene, this is delicious, but I didn’t expect anything less.”

Knox’s compliment makes me smile and I try to hide it by taking another spoonful of the soup. It doesn’t work.

“You know, Selene, if you’re going to start cooking for the team, we should set up a schedule. Maybe a weekly thing?”

Wilder’s joke doesn’t land like he thought it would because Knox is quick to respond. “Leave her alone,” he says low enough that it almost sounds like a growl.

Wilder raises an eyebrow and lets out a low whistle. “Well, don’t let me get in the way of your dinner.” He shovels a bit more soup into his mouth and stands up. “Thanks for the soup, Selene. I’ll take this to my room.”

With that, he leaves Knox and I alone, and I’m left looking at Knox like he’s grown another head. “What was that all about? Wilder was obviously joking.”

Knox studies his soup for a moment. “I know he was joking. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything that you might not want to do.”

I open my mouth to argue, but close it just as quickly. I can see how that can become a problem and I’m not going to lie to myself and say I didn’t enjoy that he defended me.

In fact, I more than enjoyed it. I loved it.