Chapter 15
Cami
Steam curls across the bathroom mirror as I towel off, hair still wet, clinging to my shoulders.
I glance at the time, which is barely enough to get dressed before Knox picks me up.
Tonight is Art in the Park: live music, local artists, food, wine, and a movie under the stars.
I’ve been looking forward to it all day.
Another one of what Knox calls warm-up dates.
We’ve had five so far. Each one’s been low-stakes and kind of magical: coffee runs, impromptu bookstore stops, moonlit walks along the beach, that ridiculously competitive game of mini golf.
Always full of easy conversation. And every single time, he’s made sure the kittens could come, too.
It’s been effortless. Just…us.
Though, when he walked me to my door last night, the breeze messing with my hair and his lips still lingering on mine from one very distracting goodnight kiss, I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s up with date three?”
He smiled, slow and smoldering. “Remember when I said you’re worth it?”
I nodded.
“Well,” he said, “I know we’ve agreed to a lot when it comes to this…
fling. But you’re worth more than just that.
And I don’t want you to feel like hitting date three means we’re supposed to cross some invisible line.
Whatever comes next should be organic. Natural.
Something that happens in the moment, not because it’s expected.
” He paused, eyes steady on mine. “These warm-up dates? Think of them as one long, winding third date. My way of showing you that every minute with you matters. Because you’re worth all of it, even knowing that, in the end, I’ve agreed to let you go. ”
For an immeasurable beat, I forgot how to breathe.
My pulse skipped, my throat went tight, and yeah, I’m pretty sure my ovaries swooned.
Every moment with this thoughtful, sexy, panty-melting man sends my heart a little closer to the moon. And tonight, I’m letting it soar.
Towel wrapped tighter, I pad into the bedroom, eyeing a small pile of outfits I pulled from my suitcase earlier.
What does one wear to a date that’s not really a date but still absolutely is one?
Casual but cute. Nothing that screams trying too hard.
I thumb through the pile and settle on cuffed shorts and a fluttery tank. Something that says I’m cool and confident even if I’ve changed outfits twice already.
I’ve just swiped on a tinted lip balm when I hear a light tap at the door.
My stomach flips.
When I open the door, Knox is leaning against the frame, jeans low on his hips, slate-blue button-down clinging to his chest and arms like tailored temptation. When he shifts, the sleeves ride up just enough to showcase biceps that belong in an exhibit labeled Handle With Care.
And don’t get me started on how good this man smells.
“Hey, beautiful.”
My lips part, but for a second, nothing comes out.
“Hi,” I finally manage, somewhat breathless. “You smell like sin and summer.”
His smile deepens, dimples flashing, and my insides instantly burst into confetti.
Smooth jazz floats on the evening breeze, blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of wineglasses.
Knox and I weave through clusters of lawn chairs and picnic blankets, the kittens tucked safely in their carrier—Dr. Ochoa-approved for short trips—as tiny VIPs.
Fairy lights twinkle between palm trees, casting the seaside park in a warm, golden haze that makes the whole scene feel borrowed from a dream.
We pass booths of local artists, their work displayed on easels and tabletops: sweeping landscapes, moody portraits, and messy, abstract swirls I pretend to understand.
The air smells like kettle corn and whatever vanilla candle is burning at Candle Dust’s booth behind us.
It’s warm but not stifling. An evening you want to stretch out as long as possible.
“This is breathtaking,” I say, eyes on the glowing lanterns swaying above us.
His gaze sweeps over me, and for a second, everyone around us disappears.
“You’re breathtaking,” he says, sultry and low.
And I feel it everywhere.
“It’s like I’ve stepped into a Nicholas Sparks novel, minus the emotional devastation.”
“Give it time,” he says, lips twitching. “It’s still early.”
I nudge him, biting back a smile. “Let me have my moment.”
Knox shifts the kitten carrier to one arm and gestures toward an empty patch beneath a string of lanterns.
“Shady, central, less foot traffic. This spot has real-estate potential.”
I laugh, dropping the picnic blanket he brought. “Are you trying to impress me with your location strategy?”
“Is it working?”
I glance at the kittens, then back at him. “Suspiciously well.”
“Wait. You’re not about to audit me again, are you?”
I shake my head, already grinning, my whole body glowing like a lightning bug.
We spread out our blanket just as amber sunlight slips behind bowing palms, casting long shadows across grass that sways lazily like it’s dancing with the breeze.
Knox opens the small picnic basket he insisted on packing “just in case,” which apparently means he’s auditioning for Cheese Sommelier of the Year.
“You travel with a container of emergency brie now?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Only for special occasions,” he says, pulling out a corkscrew like he’s done this a hundred times.
Stripe and Shadow stir in their carrier, curious but content, and settle again once I tuck the edge of their blanket over them like I’m swaddling royalty.
Knox pours the wine into a pair of stemless glasses, hands me one, and offers a crooked smile. “To warm-up date number six.”
I clink his glass. “The longest third date in human history.”
Side by side, we sit, grazing on grapes, sliced figs, cheese, and crackers as dusk settles around us.
The crowd thickens, more couples arriving with blankets and portable chairs. A few kids dart between groups, chasing bubbles, their laughter echoing off the canvas vendor tents.
Knox leans in, his usually steely eyes glinting. “What do you think their story is?” He tips his chin toward a couple a few blankets away, mid-sixties, holding hands, sharing a blanket and a flask like teenagers.
“High school sweethearts who broke up before prom, lost touch for decades, and reconnected at a grocery store meat counter.”
Knox chuckles. “Pork chops and destiny.”
“Exactly.”
He nudges my shoulder, gesturing to a pair of twenty-somethings arguing over where to place their cooler. “What about those two?”
“Newly dating,” I say, tilting my head as if I’m sizing up the tiniest details about them. “He’s holding in a rant about logistics, but she’s too hot for him to risk blowing it.”
Knox laughs, really laughs, and I can’t help but notice his handsome face consumed with delight. How the mere sound of him makes everything else seem to fade.
Overhead lights dim as the projector hums to life, casting a cool glow onto the makeshift screen.
Grease begins, Travolta and Newton-John belting out Summer Nights like it’s our personal anthem.
Knox shifts beside me, his shoulder and forearm brushing mine, warm and steady, and I swear I can feel electricity buzzing between us.
As a breeze picks up, I rub my bare arms, pretending not to shiver.
Without a word, Knox slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me gently against him.
I lean into his warmth, and something stirs in my chest. That quiet flutter of caution. The one that whispers…
Don’t fall too fast.
Don’t forget, this isn’t forever.
Because even wrapped in shimmering lights and wine and the scent of him, I know this moment isn’t mine to keep.
But I stay here anyway, eyes shut, heart drifting a little higher toward that moon.