Chapter 29
Cami
“You’re gonna have to say that again,” I whisper, lips brushing his jaw.
Knox eases back, gaze finding mine, that slow, crooked smile already tugging at his mouth. “The part where I’m in love with you?”
“Mm-hmm. That one.”
And when he says it again, slower, between kisses, I feel it everywhere I’ve been aching. In the cracks of my healing heart, in all the places I told myself were sealed up for good, and even in the part of me that dared to hope this wasn’t just summer.
I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.
“Baby, you don’t have to say anything.” He brushes his knuckles along my cheek. “I don’t expect you to, especially with our no-falling rule. Not unless you’re ready.”
The thing is, I might be.
Which makes me want to leap out of my skin because if I say it out loud, this becomes real. And the second he gives me that out, doesn’t pressure, doesn’t expect, I fall just a little harder.
He shifts, rising from the bed in one fluid motion. Moonlight brushes his bare back, his firm ass, casting soft shadows over muscles that have looked hand-carved since the day I laid eyes on him. He turns, arm outstretched, and offers his hand to me, palm up, waiting.
“C’mon.” His smile turns wicked. “Let’s take our ritual before-bed shower now. Together.”
Already grinning, I grab his hand. “Okay. But if it turns into shower sex like always, we’d better stay quiet. I’m not explaining your sexual stamina to your grandmother.”
Early the next morning, I wake to the scent of fresh coffee and something buttery wafting up the stairs.
For a second, I forget where I am. Then I shift, still wrapped in the curve of his body, his arm draped around my waist, warm and heavy.
Knox lies close behind me, breath warm against my hair. I twist just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. It’s unfair how beautiful he is when he’s not even trying.
And then I remember last night—what he said, how he said it, and the grace he gave me when I didn’t say it back.
My hero.
I press a kiss to his cheek and slip out of bed, tugging on the oversized shirt he all but ripped off me last night.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like fruity pancakes and sausage.
Hazel’s already moving around in her house shoes, flipping pancakes onto a floral plate.
She looks up when I walk in. “Morning, sweetheart. You sleep okay?”
I nod, tucking my hair behind one ear. “Better than okay. It smells amazing in here.”
“Appleberry pancakes,” she tells me, like it’s a family recipe and a secret she’s willing to share.
“We’re heading out soon to pick up Sy from the hospital.
He’s finally being discharged, though I’m sure he gave the nurses hell about keeping him overnight.
” She flips the pancake with flair. “Fair warning: pain meds and the restrictions they put him on have turned him into a full-on grouch.”
“Noted.” A giggle bubbles free. “I’ll keep all sarcastic comments to a minimum.”
She smiles knowingly and hands me a warm plate, along with a small bottle of Everett Hill Reserve syrup, the fruity scent rising with the steam. “Eat. You’ll need it. Claire just went up for her shower. Knox can drive us once he’s up.”
Right on cue, I hear footsteps coming downstairs. Knox treks into the kitchen, shirtless, hair a mess, stretching with a wince and a groan that shoots straight to my core.
Our eyes lock, and an easy, private smile pulls at his lips like we have a thousand secrets between us.
Maybe we do.
“Morning,” he says, eyes still groggy with sleep.
And somehow, even after last night, after everything, I still feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something huge. His L-word confession didn’t calm the storm. It shifted the surge my way.
The ride from the hospital back to Knox’s grandparents’ house shouldn’t feel familiar, but it does. Left at the church with the green steeple, then the curved road that dips past the maple grove. Maybe it’s the scenery. All that Vermont charm tucked into sagging porches and crooked mailboxes.
Knox taps the turn signal as we pass the church, and I sink deeper into my seat, lulled by the easy conversation between him, his grandparents, and his mom.
There’s something so effortless about their rhythm, comfort layered in old stories and dry humor.
It makes me miss my dad more than I care to admit.
Maybe this is a sign that I should actually call him.
I owe my dad more than a string of half-assed texts typed out between distractions, especially considering he’s lined up a job for me and a fancy apartment, too.
“Damn hospital coffee still tasted awful,” Sy mutters from the backseat, and I bite back a smile.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Knox’s grandma says, followed by what I can only assume is a loving smack to his knee. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was,” he insists. “And they woke me up every two hours to ask if I was sleeping.”
That gets a chuckle from Knox’s mom, who leans forward between the seats, her tone playfully conspiratorial. “So, Cami…be honest. Would you survive a full day in a house with this one?”
Before I can answer, Sy grumbles, “Bet she says yes just to spite me.”
I laugh. “Honestly? I think I’d hold my own.”
“You hear that?” he says with a huff that’s more amused than annoyed. “Another smartass in the family. We’re doomed.”
My heart lifts like a balloon caught in the breeze, tugged upward by those three words. In the family. Like they’ve already welcomed me in.
Dammit. I bite my lip and stare out the windshield. I am not falling for his entire bloodline.
Knox rests his hand on my thigh, then squeezes gently as if he can sense I’m melting inside. “Thinking about taking my favorite smartass into town for chowder. You in?”
I tilt my head toward him, the warmth in his rasp doing ridiculous things to my insides. “Only if you let me steal your bread.”
His smile is crooked, eyes flicking down to where his hand still rests on my thigh. “Might even share willingly.”
Sy clears his throat. “You two gonna flirt all the way home, or can an old man nap in peace?”
Claire snorts from the backseat. “Leave them alone, Dad.”
But Sy’s not done. “Why drive to town for chowder when we can make it at home? Together. Well, you all can make it. Apparently I’ve got”—he waves a hand—“greater turbo…bursi-something—”
Claire cuts in, deadpan. “Greater trochanteric bursitis, Dad.”
Sy huffs. “Yeah, that. Makes me a liability. I’m under orders to sit my ass down and behave.”
Hazel pipes up, cheerful as ever. “Knox, honey, turn around and take us to Tucker’s Market, would you? You know the drill. Fresh clams from Portsmouth Bay. I’ve got the rest covered. Including extra bread for Cami.”
Knox chuckles, then reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth, his lips pressing tenderly against my knuckles. “Sounds like homemade chowder it is.”
We’ve done far more than hold hands, so the gesture shouldn’t make my stomach flip. Still, something about the ease and unguarded affection—in front of his family—unravels me, makes me want to say, I’m in love with you too, so badly, it burns on the back of my tongue.
But I don’t.
Instead, I keep those words locked up in the quietest corner of my heart where they still feel safe.
Back at his grandparents’ house, Hazel and Claire settle Sy in the den while Knox disappears into the kitchen with shucked clams from Tucker’s Market. Sleeves pushed up and fridge door open, he’s already gathering ingredients for us to all help prepare comfort in a soup pot.
I head upstairs to the guest room for a few minutes, my heart weirdly full and uneasy at the same time. I owe my dad a real call.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare at my phone screen longer than necessary.
Then I finally tap his name.
“Hey, sweetie!” he booms through the speaker, warm as a hug. “You okay?”
Just hearing him makes my chest tighten. I blink fast and swallow. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I’ve been meaning to call you all week.”
“Well, I’ve been meaning to call you back. We’re both terrible at phone tag.” A beat passes. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I whisper, curling my legs beneath me. “And I’m sorry I’ve been kind of off this summer. I know you’re excited about the job and the apartment, and I’m grateful. I am. It’s just—”
“What is it, sweetie?”
I exhale slowly, the words finally loosening.
“Sometimes I think the real reason I can’t get excited about going back to the city, other than you having your security team watching over me like a hawk,” I joke, “is because that’s where we lived with Mom.
That brownstone feels like…her. And I think part of me’s scared that going back means losing her all over again. ”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he says, gently, “Kiddo, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way.”
I sniff, brushing at my cheek. “I didn’t either. Not really. Until now.”
The line goes quiet, and I can almost see Dad’s etched brows.
“I kept that house for a reason, you know.” Memory threads through his words, pulling at something that makes my throat tighten.
“When your mom and I got together, I had a place back then in some soulless high-rise uptown. But your mom, she had this thing about brownstones. Sex and the City on the TV—her pointing at Carrie Bradshaw’s front steps like they were sacred.
So I bought one. And I proposed to her right out front. Knees shaking and all.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I let it fall.
“This house isn’t just a place, honey. It’s our whole love story. It’s where I became a husband. Where I got to be your dad.”
I press the phone tighter to my ear, willing my voice not to wobble. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“I figured maybe it would help to know that you’re not the only one who misses her in these walls.”
“It does help.” I brush at the tears before they can fall again.
After a breath, he asks, “You’re still planning on being here in September, right?”
I nod before I answer. “Yep. I’ll be there.”