Chapter 6
Knox
Grabbing a bite with my cat-rescuing partner-in-crime is something I told myself a decent guy’d do after the chaos we’d been through tonight.
But honestly, I’m not ready to take her home yet. Not when this gentle pull between us feels like the first real spark I’ve experienced since my divorce.
True, we’re only neighbors. Barely even that.
Yet, here we are.
Pier 24.
Because eating greasy diner food at midnight is easier than saying goodnight.
Bells chime as we step in, neither of us pulling away as our shoulders brush.
Scents of freshly brewed coffee and bacon curl through the air while wide booths line curtain-draped bay windows, polished floors catching the glow of low fluorescent lighting from above.
A bright-eyed hostess waves us toward a row of open seats, the words Best Buttermilk Pancakes on the Cove stamped across her teal Pier 24 shirt.
“Cozy corner booths are pretty popular here…especially for two,” she says, already buzzing back toward the counter.
Cami tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pink blooming across her cheeks.
“We must be giving incredible couple energy,” she says, amusement dancing across her face. “First vet tech guy and now pancake girl.”
I laugh because, truthfully, their assumption hasn’t made me cringe.
Cami bumps my shoulder on her way past, a half smile lingering as she sinks into a corner booth.
I hesitate for a beat, then slide in across from her like that playful shoulder bump didn’t shake something loose in my chest.
Our server—Vera, according to her name tag, bejeweled with coffee and pancake flair—drops off menus and two glasses of water before slipping away toward the kitchen.
As Cami and I peruse our menus, an awkward silence hovers between us. Airy but fully charged.
Maybe I should say something. Crack a joke? Anything to keep this quiet from stretching into something neither of us knows what to do with.
What’s an attic cat’s favorite game? Hide and squeak.
Jesus. No.
Instead, I bury my nose in the menu and try to pretend Goddess Cami isn’t already messing with my head more than I’d care to admit.
“I’m getting pancakes,” Cami says, breaking the silence. “Best on the Cove, at least according to their shirts.” She closes her menu and takes a sip of water. “You?”
“Not sure.” I rub the scruff on my chin, still pretending to study the menu though I haven’t read a single word. “Scrambled eggs and wheat toast for me.”
Cami snorts out a laugh. “You literally rescued a feral cat and her newborns from a stranger’s attic like it’s your side hustle. You deserve more than boring eggs and toast.”
I glance up and catch her half smile, the one that makes my chest tighten in ways I wish it wouldn’t.
“Fine,” I say, fighting a chuckle. “Pancakes, it is. But fair warning: I’m picky about syrup.”
Her mouth curves. “Yeah. You look like a syrup snob.”
“Syrup snob? Maybe I just have…standards,” I clarify, brows lifted.
Cami raises her water glass for a toast. “Cheers to midnight carbs and fragile breakfast standards!”
I chuckle, and when our glasses clink, her eyes lift to mine, stormy-blue and just as magnetic as they were two nights ago. I really should look away from the woman whose natural beauty has wrecked my ability to think straight.
Freckles sprinkled across her nose.
The subtle curve to her lips.
That cool confidence in how she holds herself.
But I’m unable to look away.
Sucker.
Vera returns, notepad and pen in hand, prying my attention from Cami. “What can I getcha?” Her wry grin suggests she already knows we’ll say pancakes.
“Stack of buttermilk, side of bacon, and scrambled eggs.” You’d think Cami had just won the damn lottery with how her whole face lights up as she orders. “Oh, coffee, too, please. Cream and sugar.”
Vera nods, scribbling. “Got it. You?” She turns to me.
“Same,” I reply, flipping my menu shut. “Coffee. Black, please.”
“Oooh, can I have a little powdered sugar on my pancakes?” Cami asks.
With another quick nod, Vera tears a slip from her notepad, then disappears toward another table, her shoes lightly squeaking against the polished floor.
Cami wraps her hands around her water glass, then glances across the table. “By the way…thanks. For tonight.”
I lift a brow. “For what exactly?”
“For going into a stranger’s attic. For staying calm. For not acting like it was some massive inconvenience. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
I shrug. “Barely anything.”
“To me, it was.”
She holds my gaze a second longer, and I shift back and reach for my water, not sure what to do with how her words settle.
“And, of course—pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” I smirk. “That’s what’s truly earned your gratitude, isn’t it?”
She grins. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Greasy diners. Sweet carbs. You don’t get this vibe in England.”
“So all it takes is syrup and carbs to win you over?”
“Maybe,” she says, twirling her hair. “England’s got crumpets and tea, but pancakes feel different here. Like home.”
I take a sip of water, still watching her. “So…England?”
“Oxford, technically. Graduated high school at sixteen,” she adds casually as if anyone can accomplish that.
“Started college at New York University, then transferred over. Been there the last six years. Finished my undergrad in Economics and International Business, stayed on for a Master’s in Applied Economics and Strategy…
” Hand resting on her cheek, she sighs. “And somewhere along the way, I picked up a PhD. Still not sure how that happened.”
Before I can respond, Vera reappears at our table, setting down two steaming mugs, black for me, cream and sugar already set beside Cami’s.
Then, without a word, she vanishes again.
Cami wraps her hands around her cup. “I just got back to the States a few nights ago.”
I study her for a beat. Young, smart, and beautiful is a dangerous combination I’ve no business being drawn to. “So Crystal Cove is…?”
“Temporary,” she says, her gaze briefly dropping from mine as she pours in cream. “I’m helping out a friend, and taking a minute to breathe before starting something new.”
Nodding, I let her words simmer, tempted to probe about that “something new” she referenced. Could it be a new boyfriend, a new job, a new life? Ugh. Why do I care?
Rather than poke my nose in her business, I settle on, “Sounds smart.”
Head tilted, she narrows her eyes playfully. “Or safe…”
“How about smart and safe?” I sink back into the booth. “I mean, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’ve been at it nonstop since graduating high school. When’s the last time you got to take a pause? Like, really pause?”
Her eyes flick to the ceiling as if it’s a cheat sheet to what should be an open-book test. “Not since my mom passed.”
The stillness between us thickens. There are no words that can touch that kind of loss.
“I’m sorry.” My eyes dip from hers for a beat. I know that feeling all too well—grief that carves itself into your bones and stays there.
Cami shakes her head, brows snapped together.
“It was a long time ago. Two months before my eleventh birthday. Since then, I guess I’ve sort of buried myself in academics, mostly to keep my mind off losing Mom, which is why I graduated high school at sixteen.
Overachieving became my ultimate coping mechanism.
And before I apply all that overachieving higher education into a new job in New York, it’s time for a breather first.”
I want to offer something consoling, something that doesn’t feel like tiptoeing across minefields. But then Cami shifts gears.
“What about you?” She takes a sip of coffee. “Are you in Crystal Cove on vacation?”
“Well, one could call this a working vacation.” I pause, my throat suddenly drier than desert sand. “Needed a break from the collapse of my marriage and the divorce that followed.”
Cami blinks. “Wait—you’re divorced?”
“Yep. Finalized a few weeks ago.” I glance out the window, then back at her. “Ten years of marriage, and she cheated with a twenty-something bartender she met at an event. I came home early from a meeting and, there they were, tangled up in our kitchen.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Cami rests a hand on mine for a beat, gentle in a way that takes the weight off. “That’s brutal. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
Her words are soothing but still scrape against a raw wound. I’ve told the story so many times now that it’s become mechanical—like I’m reciting someone else’s disaster. Only, voicing my ex’s betrayal out loud to Cami feels different. Heavier. Maybe because it seems like she actually gives a damn.
Jaw tight, I shift in my seat, eyes fixed on the slow curl of steam rising from my black coffee.
What kind of man misses signs of his marriage imploding?
Ten years, and I was blind to her slipping away.
Until I walked in on them. Jenna bent over the counter like our marriage didn’t exist. That moment rewired me.
Made me quieter. Colder. Like trust wasn’t broken, just misplaced from the start.
And now, here I am, about to eat breakfast at midnight with a woman who seems to see me in a way my ex never could.
My eyes float back to Cami’s. “I’m here for the summer while the ex clears out of the New York place. This house here is mine. Been in the family a long time. My grandparents left it to me about a decade ago. I spent summers here as a kid.”
“And here, I assumed your own kiddos and a cute golden retriever would be joining you for the summer. You give off that vibe.”
I laugh. “What kind of vibe is that?”
“I don’t know… You’ve got this grown-up energy. Responsible. Capable. Someone who remembers school-picture days and rotates tires on time.”
“Wow,” I say, half laughing. “That’s eerily accurate. But yeah. It’s just me. No kids. No dog.”
Cami lifts her coffee with a sly smile. “Well. Cheers to wrong assumptions.”
I tap my cup to hers, pausing to take her in. She’s not the type of woman you meet in passing and forget. “So, is it safe to assume you’re single?”