Chapter 20 #2
“Sweetheart,” she cuts in, “if you’re about to sugarcoat what our eyes can never unsee, at least take a sip of wine first.” She nods toward the counter where three glasses are already half-filled with something crisp and cold. “Hydration before useless denial.”
Margo snorts as she passes me a glass. “She’s got a point. We saw your R-rated beach matinee from the driveway.”
“Oh, come on! That was a solid PG-13,” Elena adds, grinning. “They were still in their swimsuits.”
I swallow a mouthful of wine, throat dry from more than the sun. Nothing like getting roasted by the Trouble Triplets to remind me I’ve officially entered my playing house with the hottie next door and pretending it’s casual era.
Behind me, the thump against the porch door signals Knox is wrangling kittens—and what’s left of his pride.
Millie tosses a hunk of watermelon into a bowl. “Let your man know the grill’s ready for him. Steaks and cobs aren’t gonna cook themselves.”
“He’s not my—” I stop, because what’s the effing point?
He is mine.
For now. However long now lasts.
Knox stalks in like Hulk on a mission: playpen under one arm, fur babies propped against his chest.
Never fathomed kitten-dad mode would become my new definition of hot.
He looks completely in his element. Protective. Reliable. The man you’d trust with more than just strays—kittens or hearts alike.
Shadow meows in protest, her tiny face smushed against his shirt, frowning like she’s ready to file a formal complaint.
“I’ll take the babies,” I say, reaching for them with a grin that lingers longer than it should. “You set up the playpen? Then do something sexy with tongs, Mr. Beach Temptation.”
“You started it, Ms. Can’t-Keep-Her-Hips-to-Herself,” he volleys back, grin smug enough to warrant a fan.
Millie, who apparently misses nothing, lifts her carving knife without even looking up. “Save that sizzle for the steaks.”
An hour later on the deck, we all settle in around the picnic-style table, the late afternoon sun casting yellow streaks across the wood.
Paper plates are stacked high with grilled corn, buttery rolls, and thick, juicy steaks fresh off the grill, all served with a proud glint in Knox’s eye.
The Trouble Triplets raise their glasses like it’s happy hour on a yacht, and I swear Margo winks at me over the rim of her wineglass.
Millie lifts her glass a little higher. “To perfectly grilled steaks and a little summer romance to spice things up.”
Knox chuckles, swirling the wine in his glass. “Let’s not start rumors.”
“Sweetheart,” Margo drawls, still grinning, her martini-glass earrings wobbling with delight, “rumors require imagination. We had front-row seats.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, and I grip the wineglass with both hands, fully committed to emotional-support stemware. “We weren’t putting on a show.”
“Oh, honey,” Elena says, slicing into her steak with slow precision. “You were one thrust away from turning that beach into a not-safe-for-work livestream.”
Laughter ripples around the table.
Even Knox shakes his head, but he’s grinning, eyes catching mine with a look that still simmers.
A tiny chorus of mews drifts over from the playpen.
Elena pauses mid-bite. “That’s my cue.” She rises, graceful despite a fourth glass of wine, and returns a moment later with two squirmy furballs in her arms—Stripe tucked under one, Shadow under the other.
She plops back down and hands one off to Margo. “They missed us.”
“More like they smelled yummy steak,” Margo coos, nuzzling her cheek against Stripe’s fuzzy head. “If this one gets any cuter, I’m stealing him.”
Millie scoots closer for a peek. “They’re so damn adorable, I could cry.
” She reaches over and scratches between Stripe’s ears.
“Feels like just yesterday they were being bottle-fed.” With a contented sigh, she sinks fully back into her chair and nudges grilled veggies across her plate.
“Have you two decided what you’re doing with them when summer ends? ”
My fork stalls midair.
Knox’s, too.
A beat passes, weighty and quiet. His gaze brushes mine, quick but unreadable.
I manage a smile. “Haven’t really talked about that.”
Millie pops a grilled cherry tomato into her mouth, then points her fork at us. “Better decide soon. We’ve got dibs on being their favorite drunk aunt.”
“Mmhmm,” Elena chirps. “July will be over in a few blinks. August, too. Then you’ll both be packing up for the City before we know it.”
That one finds its mark.
Because it’s true.
As a kid, summer always stretched wide and endless. Lazy, like a cat in a sunbeam. Now it’s shrinking, folding in on itself like a book being closed.
And when it’s over, so is this.
The kittens.
The beach walks.
The quiet mornings and whispered nights.
Knox.
My chest tightens in that familiar, fluttery way—equal parts ache, anticipation, and something I can never quite pin down. I know the rules. We made them. But sitting here, surrounded by wine and mirth and a feeling that might break if I breathe too hard…I kind of hate those rules.
Paxton would be smirking right now. This doesn’t sound casual, girlie.
Knox clears his throat, slicing through my inner spiral.
“Well,” he says, setting his fork down. “They’ve got a few more bonding sessions with Wanda. Helps with the transition before adoption. Then we’ll work with their vet on the next steps.”
His timbre is steady, but I hear the muffled finality beneath it.
This isn’t only about the kittens. This is about what we’ve been pretending isn’t coming.
The return to real life. The part where we go our separate ways.
And what of Stripe and Shadow?
What if they don’t bond well with Wanda?
Do we just let them go, adopted out to strangers who’ll never know how Shadow likes her paw rubbed whenever she curls into the crook of my arm, or how Stripe perks up every time Knox walks into the room?
Or do we flip a coin? Heads Cami. Tails Knox. Winner keeps both? My spiraling thoughts may have a weak attempt at humor, but my heart doesn’t find any of it funny.
“It’ll all work out, I’m sure,” Millie says, topping off everyone’s wine.
Knox’s jaw ticks, and he takes a slow sip of wine, eyes fixed on his plate. Is his mind chasing the same thoughts as mine?
Elena eyes me over the rim of her glass. “So, Cami…can you tell us more about your big-girl city job?”
With a quick tuck of hair behind my ear, my tone stays casual. “Just an entry-level role my dad lined up. Something I can throw on a résumé. Get a little experience under the belt.”
Elena arches a brow. “Sounds mysterious. Government secrets? High-stakes fashion?”
I smirk. “Not nearly that exciting. Mostly emails and spreadsheets, I think.”
“Ah,” Margo says, stabbing a piece of steak, “so you’re saving the world, just with less couture and more Control Alt Z.”
“That’s the goal.”
Millie passes the butter when she eyes me snagging another roll. “Well, if they’ve got any sense, they’ll promote you in a month.”
“Thank you,” I say with a smile.
Elena tips her glass toward me. “And if the job was up to you, what would you be doing?”
I glance at her, then at Knox, who pretends not to be listening even though his wineglass stalls halfway to his lips.
Whatever I say can’t reveal too much; it’d burst our no-real-life rule and the fragile boundary that’s kept this separate.
“Something strategic and high-impact,” I offer. “I’ve spent years studying how big decisions ripple through companies and economies. So I suppose I’d eventually like a seat at the table where those decisions get made.”
All three ladies freeze, eyes wide, staring at me like a buffering screen.
“PhD in Economics,” Knox tells them, tipping his glass my way. “Not that she ever leads with that.”
The Trouble Triplets exchange one of those perfectly synchronized, wine-fueled glances only decades of friendship can produce.
“Well, shit,” Margo says. “I barely passed algebra.”
“They say smart and stunning is a dangerous combo,” Millie adds, raising her glass with a wink at Knox.
Elena grins, eyes on him. “Honey, blink twice if you’re already in too deep.”
A cool, briny breeze rolls in off the Sound, brushing across my bare shoulders as the sun dips lower, pink and tangerine stripes painting the sky.
Crickets strike up a twilight chorus from tall dune grass, joined by the rhythmic hush of waves.
Knox shifts beside me, his knee brushing mine beneath the table.
Our eyes meet. Calm. Certain. Impossibly close as he squeezes my thigh.
A shiver trails down my spine, his touch like a quiet claim.
“Alright,” Millie says, fanning herself with a paper napkin. “I’ll ask since no one else has yet—”
Margo and Elena lean in at once, like an eager jury about to deliver a verdict, eyes sparkling over the rims of their glasses.
“Knox…what’re your plans for the house next door once summer’s over?”
Great question. One of many I’ve been too chicken to ask.
Knox leans back, thoughtful, swirling what’s left of his wine.
“The place is in good shape. My grandparents took care of it, and they’re pretty thrilled I’m here now, giving their old vacation home a pulse again.
” His gaze drifts toward the horizon. “But I’ve been thinking about making a few changes.
I like it here more than I expected. Feels like it’s time to make it mine. ”
His hand tightens on my thigh, a subtle squeeze that feels less about home renovations and more about me.
“That means you’ll keep it?” Elena beams.
“Never planned on selling anyway. And now, this house feels more like home than my place in the city ever did.”
For a second, something shadows his expression, an echo of whatever still haunts him about Manhattan, or maybe even what still haunts him about her.
He lifts his glass but doesn’t drink. “Hard to picture a fresh start in the same place my marriage fell apart.”
Silence settles over the table, reflective, as if no one wants to disturb the weight of his words. We all sip what’s left of our wine, eyes drifting, lost in separate thoughts that somehow feel shared.
Then, as if someone turned down the lights on a Broadway show that’s run its course, the mood shifts.
It doesn’t take long before plates are cleared, kisses are exchanged, and promises of brunch and borrowed recipes are made.
And then we’re saying goodnight, slipping through Millie’s side gate with a click of the latch behind us.