15. Knox
T he smell of coffee wakes me in the morning.
I’ve only just realized the full potential of the fancy coffee machine that Florence got me for Christmas.
Being able to time my coffee with my alarm is a luxury I didn’t know I needed.
Flinging my blankets off, I plant my feet on the floor before stretching out my back.
I may not feel forty-one by this afternoon, but I sure as hell do every morning.
Moving my body through my daily morning routine, I think about the night before and the woman who it revolved around.
Having met her years ago, I already knew that there was attraction between us, but the easy conversation wasn’t something I had expected.
I haven’t been on a date with a woman in three years.
There has been some interest, but there hasn’t been anyone I’ve cared to spend any more time with than necessary.
But Indie? I want to spend time with her.
Hence, the inviting her on my solo hike this morning.
I run a hand down my face. Yes, she had basically invited herself, but I didn’t have to ask her to come.
I want to know more about her. I realized last night, after getting into bed, that she had somehow steered the topic back to me when I asked about her.
I said more to her last night than I’ve said to anyone outside my family or my business associates in—I'm not sure how long—but it’s been a while.
I pour myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and take it back with me to the bedroom to get dressed.
It’s supposed to be warmer today, and there’s a waterfall on the hike we’re going on, so I pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, throwing a flannel over the top to combat the morning chill.
Grabbing my backpack, I stock it with plenty of water, some granola bars, and some sunscreen.
I only have baby sunscreen, but it smells good and it's the organic shit that I pay twice as much for.
Zipping the pack, I check the time on my phone to see it’s 6:45.
Glancing at my messages from Winnie, there are two pictures that I’ve already saved to my phone.
One is of Rhett, his hair pulled tight into a ponytail on top of his head with a pink bow.
The other is of Hazel sitting on their kitchen counter, helping Winnie bake.
I smile at the tiny chef’s hat sitting on top of her little head.
Out back, I water the plants that Hazel helped me pick out and plant, along with the small herb garden I’m trying out.
Cooking is something I really enjoy doing, and a lot of times, I end up helping my family out with recipes.
Hazel isn’t always thrilled with my offering unless it’s covered in cheese.
I guess I can’t be too offended by her three-year-old’s palate.
I check my phone again and see it’s now 6:59.
Hmm, still no Indie. Only when I make it to the side of the house with the hose, she’s there.
She’s standing on my porch in one of my old ball caps and a sweatshirt that says: Adventure Is Out There, But So Are Serial Killers.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in my life.
I’m not sure how she managed to get her hands on my hat, but it’s hers now.
“Hey,” I call, and she looks up at me from her perch against the porch railing.
“Hi.” Her voice is still sleepy sounding. Knowing I’m the first person she’s spoken to today does something to me.
“Morning. You ready to head out?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Just let me grab my pack; I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Sounds good,” she says, smiling at me.
Gathering my things quickly so I don’t keep her waiting, I meet her back at the porch.
“Is the trail around here or…?” Her question hangs in the air.
“It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the trailhead,” I tell her, locking my front door.
“Should I follow you?” She hitches a thumb over her shoulder at her car.
“Not unless you have an objection to being in my truck.” I want her to be in my truck.
“No objection…but since I did kind of invite myself on your hike today…I thought I would give you the chance to not be stuck with me on the drive as well.” She gives me a sheepish grin.
“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want to, Indie.”
She nods her head at that, biting her full bottom lip. “I guess I’ll have to believe you.”
I hum. “After you.” I hold out a hand toward my truck, watching her skip down the steps to the passenger door. When she opens it, Sally jumps inside .
“Oh, hey, Sally girl!” Indie says giving her full attention to the dog now sitting in the middle of the bench seat.
“Do you mind if she tags along?”
“Are you kidding?” she asks sliding in beside Sally, shutting the door but rolling the window down so if she wants, Sally can lean her head out of it. I shake my head. The girls in my life will be spoiled with or without my help.
“How long have you had her?” Indie asks me as I shut my own door and turn the key in the ignition causing the truck roar to life.
“A couple years. She made her way onto my parents’ ranch, and Hazel fell in love with her.” Indie smiles widely at that.
“I’m guessing Hazel gets what she wants most of the time.” It’s not a question, but it's also not said in a way that suggests that would be a bad thing.
“Well, when you have three younger siblings and yours is the first grandbaby in the family, I suppose it comes with the territory,” I muse.
“As it should,” Indie agrees. “I know if I had a kid, my sister would have spoiled them rotten, and my parents, while being incredibly theatrical, are extremely loving.” I notice that while petting Sally, Indie gives me a lot more information.
“How was growing up in Atlanta?”
She bites the side of her bottom lip into her mouth before answering. “It was good. Busy. A lot more public transportation.” She laughs. “I didn't learn to drive until I was twenty-one.”
“You didn’t drive until you were twenty-one? Why wait so long?” I can’t fathom not driving the day you turn sixteen. I was so excited to drive to school the very next day.
“Well, like I said, there were options, we took the train most places—everywhere really. My family still doesn’t own a car, and the one I’m driving now is a rental.
Actually, I need to find a car so I can stop paying for that, but I just haven’t wanted to.
It feels a little overwhelming. I don’t know what kind of car I need, or should I get a truck?
I kind of like the idea of a truck. Can’t you just picture it?
” Her question is directed at Sally, but that doesn’t stop the image from popping into my mind.
Her tiny frame sitting behind the steering wheel of a massive truck makes me laugh before I can stop myself.
“Could you even see over the steering wheel of a truck?” I ask, turning to see her face. She narrows her eyes at me, nose scrunching, and fuck me that’s cute.
“Go ahead, cowboy. Underestimate me. I’m no stranger to proving someone wrong.” I’m not sure why, but the idea of this woman having to overcome anything has me ready to fight someone.
“I was only referring to your size, not what you’re capable of,” I amend.
She smiles at that, and a swell of emotion fills my chest. Unsure what’s causing it, but not wanting to question it because I like the way it feels. I like how being around Indie makes me feel.
“When you’re five foot one, I guess it comes with the territory,” she tells me, using my phrasing from earlier.
“What little territory there is,” I mutter.
“Okay! That’s enough about my size! We can’t all be six five and built like Paul Bunyan.” A hoarse laugh sputters out of me, and she giggles in response.
“Been a while since I’ve heard a good Paul Bunyan reference, and never have I been compared to him.”
“What about his Ox?” That makes me laugh again, even harder.
God, this woman. She makes me feel young, which reminds me of another question I’ve been meaning to ask her.
Winnie mentioned her age, but I can’t remember it.
Twenty-something? I know there comes a time when you aren’t supposed to ask a woman her age, but I can’t imagine Indie’s old enough to worry about that yet.
“How old are you, Indie?”
“I just turned twenty-seven. How old are you, Knox?” Knowing my answer puts me in another generation than her is a tough pill to swallow, but I do.
“I’m forty-one, forty-two in a month.”
She whistles low. “Oh wow, so you’re like…really old,” she says in exaggerated surprise. I look over at her, and she winks, causing my chest to heat in the crisp mountain air.
“It’s fourteen years older than you,” I state.
“I may be a bit younger than you, but I am out of grade school.” She laughs at herself. “High school and college, too, just so we’re clear. I’m caught up on basic math, old man,” she adds.
“Oh, not you too.” I groan. “You sound like my siblings.”
“Aww, do they pick on the elderly in your family?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you need me to speak up? Can you not hear me?” she asks, speaking loudly and slowly. Without thinking, I lift my hand off the gear shift and grab her exposed knee. She pulls away from me, giggling while Sally lets out a couple of barks at us.
Smiling, I turn us onto the side road that takes us to the trailhead.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist with how you went on about my size,” Indie says, still smiling, Sally all but on her lap now .
“You can tell her to get down; she’ll listen.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Growing up, my parents wouldn’t let us have pets. We tried to convince them, but to their point, we lived in an apartment with nowhere for a dog to run, and my dad isn’t a fan of cats.”
I put the truck in park when we reach our destination and feel behind me into the backseat to grab my backpack and Sally’s dog pack that has her water bowl and some food.