Chapter 20
Everly
Knox’s adorableness rockets off the charts when he’s nervous.
He paces the room, fisting and un-fisting his hands. I tamp down a snicker and drop onto the end of the worn bedspread.
By rights, I’m the one who should be in a dither. I’m the injured damsel in distress, eyeing my would-be hero with a cynically skeptical eye. I mean, this could all be a ruse to get me into his clutches, right?
Wrong. That’s a pretty outdated trope, for one, and besides, it was my car that wouldn’t start.
Plus, I hardly think he summoned the sleet to do his bidding.
The only part that requires good faith is trusting that there are in truth no other rooms at the inn.
I stayed in the car while he checked at the office, but I was sitting right here twiddling my thumbs when he tried to get in touch with Cliff to see if they could double up for the night. His call went unanswered.
Knox pauses at the edge of the alcove housing the sink and mirror. His hair is darker than usual, courtesy of the sleet, and a tuft of hair sprouts from the side of his head, ruffled from running nervous hands through it. “How’s your ankle feeling?”
“Hurts.” At this point, I might as well be honest.
He rifles through some toiletries scattered about the short bathroom counter and brings me two ibuprofen and tap water in a cup he unwrapped.
“Thanks.” I swallow the pills and hand back the cup, our fingers brushing in the exchange. “Um, I hate to say this, but—”
His jaw tenses.
“I need to use the little girls’ room.”
Knox visibly exhales. What did he think I was about to say?
He offers his arm and helps me to the bathroom. The counter around the sink is neither tidy nor messy. A can of menthol shaving cream, a razor, a toothbrush, and an uncapped tube of toothpaste.
The room housing the toilet and tub boasts nearly enough standing room for one person, so shutting the door once inside—without brushing against the toilet bowl—takes maneuvering. Golly. How does Knox even fit in here?
Better question? How does he stand living like this week after week? I suppose there are worse places, but these digs would depress me long term.
“Call me when you’re done, and I’ll help you to bed.” His throat clears. “You know what I mean.”
I smile—but only for a second, because, make no mistake, I can now mark another first off my list: first time alone in a motel, hotel, bedroom, or any other such locale with a man.
What can I say? I’m hip and cool like that.
I don’t call for Knox, yet he’s on the spot in two seconds once I flush and open the door. His suit coat is gone, and so is the kitschy tie. His top two shirt buttons are undone.
Gulp.
“I am really sorry about this, Everly.”
I school my glance away from his open collar, from this new, relaxed version of my date. Cologne overrides the musty motel room air. “It’s not your fault.”
“You should have just let me take you home in the first place.”
I stall our journey across the room. “You did not just say ‘I told you so’, did you?”
He rubs his jaw as if the question requires serious consideration. “Maybe.” His lips turn up at the ends in sheepish little curls. “Sorry.”
With his arm out for support, I lower myself to the foot of the bed. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Knox chuckles—and then skedaddles like I’m toxic.
“You don’t look comfortable,” he says a minute later, resting his rear end atop a three-foot minifridge. “You need to get out of that dress.”
At my core, I’m the prim and proper type. It’s why people, men in particular, flock to me.
Bahahaha.
Seriously, though. I’m careful with words, and I know when to zip my lips and move along. But…something outside my norm feels activated on this suddenly strangest of nights. I lean my weight back on my flattened palms, tip my head, and feign confusion. “What was that again, Knox?”
The tips of his ears flare to flamingo pink. He springs to the dresser and yanks out a pair of sweat pants and a flannel shirt, tossing them. I catch the clothing against my chest.
He snatches the key off the nightstand. Pausing by the rumbling AC unit stirring the curtain, he fiddles with a knob until the blower kicks up a notch. “Be back in a minute. I’ll knock first.”
When the door clicks, I free a fizzy giggle. I may be mean enough to harangue Knox, but I’m not cruel enough to laugh in his face.
Sorry, tonight has turned…funny. I’m used to being the uptight one.
I let out a sigh. At the end of the day, I’m still boring me, living by a set of standards un-fun by most people’s measure. Yet, here I sit, stuck in a motel room with a really handsome, really nice guy, to whom I happen to be increasingly, ridiculously—dare I say, terrifyingly—attracted to.
Terrifying because as much as I want to find my person and begin the life and family I’ve dreamed of, coming face to face with the very real possibility thereof upsets my equilibrium. My family is always quick to point out my resistance to change.
I sit a minute warming myself in the feathery sweep of heated air moving over me.
Alrighty. I’m not so far loosened up that I’m ready to be caught in a state of partial undress. Knox wouldn’t be the only one thrown for a loop if he walked in while I was half out of my clothes and half in his.
Knox’s clothes. Yeah, so maybe the gurgling in my stomach is more than hunger from the smallish dinner eaten three hours ago.
I roll the fleecy joggers up four times, and if there weren’t a drawstring at the waist, I’d have no hope of keeping them off the floor.
The flannel shirt must be one of his favorites, because it’s soft from wear, and even better, when I bury my nose in the collar, Knox’s scent, a mix of cologne, detergent, and… him…is embedded in the threads.
Once I’m cozy and covered, I use the alone time to register a clearer picture of the man I may be developing a serious thing for.
The man I’m spending the night with.
Oh dear.
Stupid ankle keeps me from actively snooping, but my eyes work just fine.
The room is far from homey, yet reflective of the fact that Knox has been camped here for weeks.
Aside from a heavy work jacket, the closet nook contains a handful of work shirts and also a couple dress shirts and pairs of slacks, for church, I guess.
There’s a small round table with one chair parked under it. On the chipped particle board surface sits an insulated coffee mug—black, of course, typical male. There’s a closed laptop, a yellow legal pad and pen, and a stack of fast food napkins, plasticware, and to-go packets of salt and pepper.
It’s the stack of at least a half dozen books that interests me. I squint hard. Nonfiction, mostly history related. I make out WWII on the spine of a fat one. If another says anything at all about the Roman Empire, I’ll die laughing.
Holding to my spot at the foot of the queen bed, I twist from the waist. Well, looky there.
On the nightstand rests a leatherbound Bible with cracks and grooves and scuffed silver filagree around the edges.
I lean on an elbow to get closer and read the engraved name on the cover.
Knox Evan Herd. Aw. My heart warms with a fuzzy sense of peace. My faith is everything to me, too.
Check.
I glance back to the tower of hardbound books on the table. Oh my goodness. Is that a Bible concordance shoring up the stack?
A firm rap shakes the door, and I startle like a serious snooper caught red handed. I press my palm to that warm spot in my chest and yell, “Come in.”
Knox’s arms are full with a blanket and a white pillow.
His deep brown eyes, nearly black in the wan lamplight, touch on me, quite a sight, I’m sure, and quickly skitter.
He drops the bedding on the dresser first, then the key, and starts looking around.
High and low, like he’s on the hunt for something specific.
“I can’t believe there’s not more light in this place. ”
The forty-watt ambience isn’t to his liking?
His sudden sigh could rattle the walls. He tucks his hands in his pockets. “No cots.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Rollaway beds. I checked.” He dashes his head, scratching the back of it. “Housekeeping is fresh out. Apparently, we’re not the only ones spending an unexpected night in a hotel.”
“Motel,” I correct, for no reason in particular.
Wincing, he drags his thumb and fingers down his jaw and chin, applying sufficient pressure to stretch his lips into a pucker.
“Motel.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, and the neat wave it’s been combed into all evening is officially done for.
“I am so sorry about this mess, Everly. I can’t imagine how awkward the situation is for you.
I hope you know you’re…” His hand bobbles the air while his brain seems to search.
I smile gently, hoping to communicate appreciation and respect. “Are you telling me I’m safe?”
Tension visibly leaks out of his broad shoulders. “Yeah, that.”
I want to reach out and touch him, but given the situation, now isn’t the time. “I never doubted for a second. Not once. You’re a nice guy.”
“Nice? Me? Hey, I’m a…a…” Again, he’s word searching, but this time with a flicker of humor.
“A teddy bear?”
He wags his finger. “Now that’s just rude.”
“Let me guess. Teddy bear is an insult in man-land.”
“You don’t even know.”
A real laugh gurgles from my throat. “Okay, you’re a beast. Is that better?”
He thumps the end of his fist to his chest, grunting caveman style. “That’s more like it.”
Laughter from both of us vaporizes the tension.
My feet stay on the questionable carpet, but I lie back, face toward the popcorn ceiling, nearly giddy, for utterly nonsensical reasons. “This is a weird night.”
“Unexpected.”
I hear a creaking sound and loll my head. Knox has seated himself at the table, drumming his fingers. “To say the least.”
I push up to my elbows. “You want to watch a movie?”