Chapter 9
NINE
QUINCY
The smell of bacon and fresh coffee fills the cabin, cozy and rich, curling around my senses like a warm hug.
Knox’s flannel shirt hangs off one shoulder, hitting me mid-thigh. It’s soft and smells like him—cedar, smoke, and something uniquely masculine that makes me want to bury my face in the collar and never come out.
At first, he loaned me the flannel shirts because I barely had anything packed in my tiny carryon bag. Just a sweatsuit, a couple changes of underwear, and some supplies I’d brought to get ready on the wedding day.
He took me into town at first to pick up a few more pieces of clothing. But he hasn’t offered to take me clothes shopping again since we got together. I think we’ve both gotten used to my wearing his shirts around.
I think we’ve both started to like it.
I flip another pancake and hum a pop-tune under my breath. There’s a lightness in my chest today. A dizzy, delicious weightlessness I’ve never felt before.
“Morning,” Knox’s low, gravelly voice comes from the doorway with sleep.
It’s a rare morning that I get out of bed before him. But being an early bird has given me the very best reward.
He’s shirtless—Lord help me—and wearing just a pair of dark pajama pants that hang low on his hips. His hair is a little wild, his prosthetic eye catching the sunlight. My stomach flips at the sight of him. Or maybe it’s the two cups of coffee I already drank.
It’s probably the sight of him.
“Well, don’t you look cozy,” he says, eyes scanning me from bare legs to bare shoulder.
“You left your flannel on the floor. Again.” I wiggle the spatula at him. “This is what happens.”
“Remind me to leave more things unattended.” He nuzzles my neck sending delicious shivers down my spine. “I’m not sure what’s sexier. You wearing my flannel. Or that you’re making pancakes in my flannel.”
I smirk, flipping another pancake. “It could be the smell of bacon. I hear it drives mountain men wild.”
He slides his hands up and down my hips. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Mm,” I murmur, leaning back against his chest. “But I made coffee, so that cancels it out.”
He kisses my temple before grabbing a mug, and I try not to melt. Try not to get too used to this. This easy, domestic quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you wonder if you’ve finally exhaled for the first time in weeks.
“I like this,” he says after a minute, sliding into the chair at the kitchen table as I bring him a plate. “You making me breakfast. Wearing flannel. Looking like sin and sunshine.”
“Oh there you are sounding like a caveman. You just needed a little woman cooking for you in the kitchen.”
“I don’t know about that.” He laughs low in his throat. “Maybe I just needed to have you here.”
It’s a perfect thing to say on an already stupidly perfect morning.
I laugh and flip a pancake onto the stack warming in the oven. “Want some eggs too?”
“Always.”
There’s an ease between us this morning. A comfort that feels too fragile to call real, but too strong to ignore. I feel it every time his gaze lingers a little too long. Every time his fingertips brush mine when I hand him a fork.
He leans against the counter beside me, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression he wears so well.
He lifts one brow, that half-smile tilting his mouth. “You’re something else, Quincy.”
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes on the kitchen island.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel and grab it, reading the notification.
Your airline requires immediate confirmation. Please contact customer service.
I frown. “Ugh. My flight got messed up again.”
Knox straightens. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know. They changed it once already and now it says I need to speak to someone, but I can’t get through to an actual human.”
He holds out a hand. “Want me to try?”
“I’ve already been on hold forever this morning. I think I need to just go down there in person.”
He nods once. “I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, feeling suddenly tense.
It’s like all the coziness of our morning has disappeared with the reminder that I have a flight to catch in a few days.
“You came all the way out here. Least I can do is make sure you get home.”
Home. The word feels hollow suddenly.
I swallow hard. “Okay. Sure. Let me get dressed.”
He shrugs and steps back, his expression full of something I can’t quite name. “Take your time. I’ll warm up the plane.”
The small regional airport is barely more than a building with a few desks and a snack bar, but it’s still buzzing when we land. Knox kisses my knuckles and tells me he’s going to refuel his plane.
I head inside, phone in hand and anxiety growing by the second. I can’t explain it. This feels wrong. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. This time away from home was to help me clear my head after everything that happened.
But even though it hasn’t been a full two weeks, this place has grown on me. It’s become… important. Grounding.
And then there’s Knox. Calling him a vacation fling feels so wrong. Calling him a friend with benefits is minimizing.
What do you call the man who has turned your life upside down and helped you see it the way it should be?
The desk clerk sends me down to the airline’s main customer service counter, and I wait. And wait. And finally get a very nice but utterly unhelpful response about my return flight being overbooked, but not to worry, because I’ll be rebooked on another flight shortly. They just can’t tell me when.
Frustrated, I turn to leave—and that’s when I hear it.
A voice.
“Hi, I’m looking for Knox Callahan? He’s supposed to be meeting me?”
I freeze. Turn slowly. And there, standing at the arrivals area, is a petite woman in a stylish coat and boots that are clearly not rated for Alaskan snow. She has a suitcase beside her, and she’s scanning the crowd with anxious, hopeful eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping closer before I can stop myself. “Did you say…Knox Callahan?”
She brightens. “Yes! Do you know him?”
Do I know him?
I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s…he flew me here, actually. But he’s not expecting anyone.”
Her brows draw together. “Really? That’s weird. We’ve been talking for weeks. Ever since I signed up through Frontier Hearts?”
Frontier Hearts?
She glances around again, her fingers tightening on the handle of her suitcase. “I was going to back out, but he’s just been so sweet in all his messages. Telling me how excited he is to meet me. That he understands if I have cold feet but hopes I’ll still come.”
Her voice cracks a little at that. “So I did. I came.”
I feel the world tilt beneath me.
Knox. Messaging her. Reassuring her. Waiting for her?
I force a smile and nod numbly. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”
“Would you let him know I’ve arrived?”
“I will,” I lie, my voice distant. “Excuse me.”
I step outside into the cold air before she can see my face fall apart.
It all makes sense now.
Why he kept saying it wasn’t a good idea between us. Why he held back. Because he already had someone coming.
Because I was just a mistake he made while waiting.
It turns out I was just the layover before the real bride arrived.