Chapter 7
Cami
Sunlight peeks through sheer, teal-blue curtains, smug and way too cheerful, practically gloating that I nearly detonated my relationship detox over cats, pancakes, and a stupidly perfect crooked smile.
Curled up with a blanket, I sink into the cozy living room sectional, a second cup of tea in hand, my mind replaying last night like a highlight reel.
Did Mama Cat—Wanda—have more babies? Is she okay? And the kittens…were they able to eat?
I try to stay focused on them because otherwise, my thoughts keep drifting back to Knox.
Unflinching and precise, his fingertips caressed my skin and sparked heat in places I hadn’t let myself feel in far too long.
His scent’s still tangled in my memory: cedar and a warmth that made me want to forget why I’d ever erected walls.
For one breathless, fully unguarded second, I almost leaned in.
Almost let his lips brush mine. Almost let our undeniable chemistry blur the edges of what I’ve spent the past year trying to hold together.
Until I pulled back. Because I still don’t trust where this heart of mine goes when I’m not looking. And God, I wish I did trust where it leads me.
The familiar chime of an incoming FaceTime call slices through my thoughts.
Paxton.
I swipe to answer, and his grinning face fills the screen. Fresh-pressed dress shirt. NYC skyline behind him. Disgustingly put-together for someone who eats pizza rolls for breakfast.
“There she is,” he chirps. “Alive and freaking well. I was beginning to think that neighbor guy had you tied up in some cold, dark basement.”
I tuck my feet beneath me, suddenly aware of the hoodie I slept in and the cup of tea that’s gone cold in my hands.
“Sorry.” I set my cup onto the side table. “Didn’t mean to ghost you. I was going to call last night after my bubble bath. But then…things happened.”
“Things?” He lifts a brow. “You’re going to have to be way more specific than that, girlie.”
“Noises in the attic.” I pause, realizing there might be too much duh threaded in my tone.
Poor Paxton has no clue about those noises.
“Then I ran into Knox again, found myself in a stray cat situation, ended up at a vet clinic, ate pancakes at a diner, almost kissed, and now I’m possibly having a mild breakdown. ”
Paxton squints, head slightly tilted. “Okay. Lots to unpack. But first, let’s back up. Who the hell is Knox?”
Shifting on the couch, I wrap the blanket tighter around my legs.
“Turns out Neighbor Guy has a name,” I say with a shrug. “Knox.”
“Oh, so the sexy plot thickens. Tell me more.”
I give him a full rundown—the attic noises, Wanda, the kittens, the diner, the almost-kiss I haven’t stopped replaying. All of it. Including the part where Knox mentioned he’s divorced. And that he seems older, with a maturity most guys my age haven’t figured out yet.
Paxton listens without interrupting, brows slowly climbing, mouth twitching like the effort of staying quiet might actually be hurting him. When I finally stop rambling, the screen goes quiet.
“So…” he says, drawing out the word, “you’re telling me this slightly older, hot Knox guy rescued cats, took you out for pancakes, and then almost kissed you?”
I nod, cheeks heating. “About sums it up.”
He whistles low. “Damn. You really know how to pick your emotional chaos, babe. And just so we’re clear—you wanted him to kiss you?”
I nod again, slower this time, my lips pressed together.
Paxton’s tone eases. “Then don’t brush that off like it’s nothing. It’s been a long time since you’ve even considered letting someone close.”
I laugh and pull the blanket higher as if it will protect me from the truth. “Tell me I’m not being stupid.”
He tilts his head again, gaze turning warm. “You’re not being stupid. You’re being careful. Which makes sense given all you’ve been through.”
“But?”
“But…” Paxton edges closer to the camera like he’s about to deliver classified information, his already low pitch dipping lower.
“You’re an intelligent, grown-ass woman on a break before the next big chapter.
Pretty soon, it’s spreadsheets and skyline views and that badass new title in New York.
So why not lean into the now while it’s here?
Flirt with danger. Live a little. It’s the twenty-first century.
Sex doesn’t have to come with emotional strings.
” His arched brows are now giving me a duh.
“And, since your hot neighbor is freshly divorced, I doubt he’s looking to get emotionally entangled either. ”
“You say all that as if you think I could handle something casual.”
“Cami, you overthink pizza toppings. But yeah, I think you could. Especially if you stop treating every kiss, or orgasm, like it’s a loaded weapon.”
That earns a chuckle. He always knows how to disarm me, even when I don’t want to be.
We hang up a few minutes later after he makes me promise to text him all the updates.
Maybe Paxton’s right about letting go.
Just a little.
I carry my cold tea to the sink, rinsing out the cup as late-morning light slips across sea-glass tile and smooth, sand-colored countertops. Dust floats in the sunbeams near the window, and a line of tiny seashells along the sill catches the light.
It’s ironic how quiet the house feels now.
Too still. No eerie attic squeaks. Just silence.
It should feel peaceful, but instead, it feels like something’s missing.
Like Wanda and her tiny babies took more than their rustles and mewls with them.
Warmth gathers in my chest. Do I miss those furry noisemakers?
Or the man who led their impromptu rescue mission?
With an exhale, I pad over to the stainless steel fridge and tug it open, letting the cool air spill out as I stare blankly at the shelves.
Half a container of Greek yogurt.
A bruised peach.
A lonely lemon.
None of it looks appetizing.
My stomach turns at the idea of food, so I shut the door and lean my forehead against it for a beat before stepping back.
I catch my reflection in the oven door, faint but clear enough. Oversized hoodie. Bed hair. Yesterday’s mascara smudged beneath my eyes like thin shadows of things I haven’t fully faced yet.
Letting out a breath, I head upstairs, footsteps soft against the creaky wood floor.
After stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower and twist the knob until steam consumes the room.
Warm water cascades over my skin like a reset button I never asked for. But I let it wash over me anyway, rinsing away sleep, nerves, and thoughts of whatever last night might’ve meant.
By the time I’ve towel-dried my waves and traded loungewear for real clothes, my insides feel less hollow. A swipe of mascara helps enough to make me look like someone who didn’t almost unravel over kittens and a crooked smile.
The kettle hums, and I drop a tea bag into the cup I’ve used since my arrival, chipped with a faded sailboat.
I’m just reaching for a jar of honey when the doorbell rings.
I freeze, one hand still on the cabinet.
That’s gotta be him. Who else would it be?
Tea forgotten, my pulse trips over itself as I cross the kitchen.
Light spills through a narrow window beside the door, casting a blurred silhouette I recognize far too easily.
I swing open the door, and Knox stands there, hoodie pulled over a black tee, sleeves pushed to his elbows.
One hand is holding a to-go coffee, the other tucked into his pocket like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
His hair’s damp at the ends, curling slightly as if he decided towel-dried is enough.
He looks unfairly good for someone who probably woke up thirty minutes ago.
“Hey.” His sexy rasp makes my stomach dip. “Sorry to drop by unannounced.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I was just…you know. Existing.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Dr. Ochoa called.” He pauses like he’s figuring out how to temper whatever he has to share. “Mama Cat—I mean Wanda—had emergency surgery. She’s okay, but she can’t nurse. They asked if we would be willing to bottle-feed the kittens.”
We.
My throat tightens.
“They’re ready for pickup now,” he adds. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to come.”
He doesn’t say, “You don’t have to,” or “It’s okay if you’re busy.” He waits, shoulders relaxed, tone even, as though he already knows I’ll say yes.
“Yeah, sure.” I try to sound nonchalant, masking the excitement rippling through me. “Let me grab my phone and purse.”
Leaving the door open behind me, I shuffle down the hall, catching my reflection in the mirror, which looks deceptively composed. No hint I’ve been unraveling since sunrise.
I swipe my phone off the counter and shove it into my purse before heading back out.
Knox hasn’t moved. He just stands in the doorway, giving us room to breathe.
“Ready?” I shut the door behind me.
My broody neighbor nods, handing me the coffee I didn’t realize was for me. “Cream and sugar.” He winks. “Took copious mental notes at Pier 24.”
With a sincere “thank you,” I snag the cup. Our fingers brush, barely, yet enough to spark that same low thrum beneath my skin. The one I’ve been trying to ignore since last night.
Knox opens the passenger door for me, casual as ever, and I slide in, catching the scent of his cologne, this time woodsy and wildly unfair.
He rounds the front of the car, unhurried, and before I know it, climbs in beside me, his cologne curling between us again.
Wrapping both hands around the coffee cup, I take a sip—more for the calming warmth than for the caffeine.
Silence fills the space, broken only by the low hum of the engine and gravel under his tires as we pull away. It should be awkward. Though it’s not.
Say something, Cami. Anything about kittens. Wanda. The weather. But not the part where you nearly kissed him and haven’t stopped reliving it since.