Chapter 13
Cami
My eyelids flutter open, head foggy, like the morning after too much wine and not enough water.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Cozy-soft sheets and a woodsy scent cling to my skin, a lingering trace of Knox that somehow followed me home.
I look down and can’t help but smile.
Knox’s shirt.
The one he slipped over my head after…
All of it drifts back: the feel of his mouth on me, his spine-tingling rasp against my ear.
One more date, then we make good on what we’ve been holding back.
The shirt still smells like him—salt air, cedar, and trouble wrapped in comfort. I breathe it in, slow and deep, trying to hold onto last night like a dream I never want to wake up from.
Shutting my eyes, I sink deeper into the memory of feeling wanted, seen, worshipped. Like maybe I’m not as broken as I once believed.
My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand, instantly slicing through quiet reverie.
There’s only one person who texts this early.
Dad: Morning, Kiddo. Your boxes from England arrived yesterday. Found an apartment on the Upper West Side. Doorman. Central Park view. Three beds. Two baths. Check out the virtual tour and let me know if this works so I can get it all furnished before you get here.
As I stare at the screen, the weight of reality presses in like a slow tide.
Upper West Side. Virtual tour. A whole new life, new job, new responsibilities lined up for me in New York.
I should feel excited.
Central Park views, a dream job, a fresh start in the city.
All I’ve worked for at Oxford, right?
But just thinking about it makes me want to pack a bag and book a one-way ticket to Mars.
Instead, I lock the screen and place my phone on the nightstand, facedown, like reality will disappear if I don’t look at it.
Sorry, Dad. Not today.
Tossing back the sheets, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, Knox’s shirt brushing my bare thighs as I stand.
Making my way downstairs, I pad toward the kitchen, sunlight spilling through bay windows.
I pause, my gaze drifting to that patch of sand just past the dunes where we lay last night, tangled up beneath moonlight and stars.
My pulse shudders, legs softening at the memory of his mouth exploring my body like he would’ve taken hours to worship all of me. And how he held back—honored our three-date agreement—even when we were both trembling for more? My God. Knox is amazing.
Turning toward the counter, I spot the bubble phone where I left it, plugged in to charge, silent and waiting.
I cross the room and pluck it off the counter, flipping it open in an instant.
One new message: Good morning, beautiful. We miss you.
Attached is a photo: him on the couch, hair still messy from sleep, one kitten on his shoulder and the other curled up under his arm like a furry seatbelt.
I press the phone to my chest, like that might somehow slow the flutter happening in there.
Ridiculous, I know.
But something about that photo makes my lips quiver. His sleepy smile. Those kittens glued to him like they know he’s safe.
A breeze floats in through the kitchen window, threaded with salt air and the faint scent of last night’s tide.
My throat tightens. Please, not now.
A familiar ache blooms behind my ribs.
Doubt? Or perhaps something worse.
Panic.
Because maybe this is all too good to be true.
The job in New York.
Knox.
Me…finally being happy.
And that might be the scariest part.
Happy can’t possibly stick around for long.
I mean, what if it all goes sideways?
What if I get to New York and hate the job or worse…fail at it?
What if, while here, I fall hard for someone who’s just…temporary?
What if this summer is just a blip for him, and I’m already too far gone?
I rub my temple like that’ll smooth this panic away, but too late: the spiral party has already begun.
I should text Paxton.
Or journal.
Or google “how to not self-sabotage something that feels kind of fucking perfect.”
Instead, I just stand here, phone still pressed to my chest, heaving like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
The bubble phone buzzes to life, vibrating against my sternum so abruptly, I nearly drop it.
I fumble, catch it, glance at the screen, and press the green button. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Knox says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, the one that curls into an irresistible smirk.
Something in me eases. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it slows, his simple “Hey” pulling me out of the tailspin.
“Hi,” I manage, grateful he can’t see how hot my cheeks have flamed.
“Have you had breakfast?”
“Uh, no,” I say, raking my fingers through my hair. “You caught me just waking up, actually.”
And in mid-spiral, breath-catching, borderline-panic territory, but I’ll be okay.
“Does that mean you’re still in my shirt?”
I pad over to the coffeepot, pop in a cartridge, and wait for the familiar hiss. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. You want it back?”
His tone drops a note lower. “Only if I get to take it off you.”
I choke out a laugh, the coffee machine sputtering behind me like it, too, is shocked.
“Watch out, Knox,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how fast my heart’s racing. “This bubble phone might spontaneously combust.”
He chuckles.
And just like that, the tightness in my chest eases. My shoulders drop. My heartbeat steadies.
“How long will it take you to get ready?”
“About thirty minutes.” I add cream to my coffee. “Why?”
“There’s a place near the dock. Heard they have amazing pancakes. Stripe and Shadow can come too.”
“Oh? Is this date three?”
“Nope,” he says. “This is a warm-up. Date three comes with…bigger plans. Pick you up in thirty.”
Ebb & Flow Café feels like it belongs in a travel magazine, with its white linen tablecloths, sparkling glassware, and a harbor view speckled with sailboats.
The host leads us to a shaded table on the patio, where the air smells of citrus zest, salt, and expensive espresso. A server breezes past, balancing a tray stacked high with lemon ricotta pancakes, the scent trailing behind, rich enough to make my stomach tighten.
After nestling the carrier into the curve of the bench to my right, Knox adjusts its angle so the spoiled duo can see us both. Stripe stirs with a tiny, squeaky mewl while Shadow stays curled tight, completely unfazed.
With a wink, Knox settles beside me, sunglasses low on his nose, his arm slipping around me with ease. My body registers the warmth before my mind can catch up. He smells like that signature scent of his and whatever’s been undoing me since that night we met.
I swallow hard.
How dare he smell and look this good all the time?
Faded jeans. A navy button-down with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. Yes, arm porn is real.
Scruff dots his perfectly angled jaw, and his hair’s still tousled in that barely-ran-a-hand-through-it sort of way—effortless—like someone who woke up sexy and he knows it. And somehow, he’s just sitting here, all casual, pretending he’s not currently melting my insides.
“Nice setup?” He tips his head toward the table.
“Mmhmm,” I chirp, a little too brightly, twirling a lock of my hair, doing my best to look cool and totally unfazed.
Knox removes his sunglasses and sets them on the table, then lounges back, his gaze locked on me like he’s watching a storm roll in and fully intends to chase it. Quiet. Intent. That slow, crooked smirk playing at the edges of his maddeningly gorgeous mouth.
And even though I’m sitting, my knees buckle beneath the table.
Clearing my throat, I shift my gaze to the harbor, latching onto the nearest sailboat like it might toss me a life buoy and pull me back to shore.
Because if I look at this breath-stealing man for one more second, I might actually drown—in heat, in hope, in whatever this is simmering between us. And God help me, it doesn’t seem the least bit interested in anything temporary.
“So…” he says, inching closer, elbow braced on the table, breath warm against my ear. “Last night’s got my head spinning too.”
His words blaze a slow trail of heat straight to my toes.
I try to focus on those sailboats, but I can feel the weight of his gaze. It’s like sunlight. Warm. Direct. Impossible to ignore.
Slowly, I turn to face him, heart stammering. His eyes meet mine, smoldering and steady, like I’m the only thing he sees.
“Well,” I swallow, “would’ve been totally awkward if I were the only one wrecked by a heated, under-the-stars make-out session.”
Knox tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “You’ve had me wrecked since our first encounter on the beach.”
He moves in, closing the small space between us. And even though I’m not exactly a fan of PDA, I find myself leaning in, too. I never had a guy who made public affection feel safe.
His lips are barely a breath from mine—
“I thought that was you two!”
Knox and I both startle, flicking our attention toward the familiar voice: Dex, from the animal clinic.
The sassy vet tech who keeps calling us a couple.
Totally unbothered, Knox sinks back slightly, his arm still around me, caressing my shoulder.
“Wow. If it isn’t our favorite vet tech,” he says, smirking like Dex just crashed our honeymoon, and he doesn’t mind it one bit.
Dex grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Well, actually, I kind of did. I work morning shifts here. Small town, remember?”
I can practically hear my heart doing parkour.
“You two want menus, or should I just bring you whatever feels the most non-couple-y?”
“Um—” Knox begins.
“No need to explain,” Dex says, beaming like he’s been manifesting this moment for years. “I knew you two would be a couple eventually. You can’t fight that kind of energy.”
Stripe and Shadow stir, luring Dex’s attention away from us. “OMG. Did you bring those sweet babies with you?”
I nod, unzipping the carrier as Dex crouches to peek inside, a Cheshire Cat grin stretching across his face.
“How are our two little matchmakers doing?” he coos, taking turns stroking each behind the ears. “Look at them, so proud of their work.”
Dex smooths out his apron as he straightens. “Alright, lovebirds. Coffee, water, both?”
“Both, please,” I say quickly, suddenly parched.
Knox nods. “Same.”
“Awesome. I’ll grab your menus too. Unless you’d rather just trust me to pick something dangerously romantic from the specials board.”
He winks, then spins on his heel and heads toward the kitchen’s swinging doors, leaving behind a trail of glittery chaos.
Knox and I both burst out laughing, our shoulders bumping, the post-hot-beach-make-out tension between us breaking like a wave against the dock.
“I swear,” I say, dabbing tears from the corner of my eyes. “He’s too much.”
Knox chuckles, threading his fingers through mine beneath the table. “I mean, we did agree to be exclusive this summer.” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. “So why not be a couple? While we’re in our little bubble.”
I glance down at our hands, at how easily mine nestles into his, then lift my gaze, heart fluttering. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Perfect. Then it’s official.” Knox gently draws my hand to his lips and presses a slow, smoldering kiss to the inside of my wrist. “We’re a bubble couple.”
My breath catches.
And while the kittens mewl softly beside us, the rest of our world goes still.