CHAPTER 14
HAVEN
I’m not sure if I believe him about the whole knowing rock stars thing, but the rest of his story sounds legit. And so romantic I can hardly stand it.
What are the odds of it happening like that? Of Wyatt knowing the right person to go to for help, them wanting to help—which isn’t always guaranteed—and then those connections bringing love into his life as well as the life of the son he hadn’t known he had?
It’s wild.
Did fate step in? Something bigger?
Maybe it’s not as wild as I initially thought, considering where I am right now. It’s not like I would have been able to see myself in Colorado a year ago. I wasn’t even sure where I would end up when I set out to get away from him.
Maybe fate’s magic at work isn’t as off the wall as I originally thought.
Knox shoots me a look, one which barely banks the heat in his mossy eyes. Suppressing the shiver wanting to make its way down my body is not easy.
I’ve never had a man look at me the way Knox does. There’s so much need there, but there’s something more too. Something deeper.
He turns his back to me to grab some plates before he effortlessly drains the pasta. I’ve been watching him move around the kitchen. His movements are measured and efficient, but also graceful. It was like watching a dance.
I’m impressed. A man has never cooked for me before. But this dinner is so much more than Knox cooking for me.
I can feel the amount of concern and attention he put into everything tonight.
Not only did he ask me about allergies, but he asked about meals I enjoy and haven’t had in a while.
He asked about ultimate comfort foods. The man was laying it on thick, but it didn’t feel like his goal was to break down my defenses to use me or take advantage of me.
It wasn’t how it was with him. Knox wasn’t trying to manipulate me.
He gathered information to ensure our date would be special.
And memorable. Whatever he was doing worked because this is the best date I’ve ever had, and being in the top spot has nothing to do with having been out of the dating game for a while.
Honestly, part of me was hoping this date would be a flop while I knew it wouldn’t be. The pull I feel, the need I have, to be closer to Knox is too strong to be nothing. Still, it would be easier if it weren’t real and was only in our heads.
It’s not like it wouldn’t be easy for my brain to make up this chemistry because of how long I’ve been without male company.
Even before we ran, the connection and intimacy in my former relationship was practically nothing.
It was how I preferred it, trust me, but that didn’t give me pleasure or touch when I needed it.
And now Knox is here, standing in front of me like an offering I never imagined would come into my life. He’s so sincere and I’ve never found a man sexier.
A lot of women might tell you how a man has to have abs of steel or be all about working out to be sexy. I’m not one of those women. Give me something to snuggle into and a man who is more worried about being healthy than counting every calorie or cutting out carbs.
Even though it’s obvious Knox doesn’t spend all his time in the gym, I don’t doubt his strength.
He sets a plate down in front of me and the scent of garlic and lemon envelope me. I look up to find his back to me, and I’m entranced. His shoulders are wide but in a way which manages to make me feel safe. His shirt bunches and pulls as he moves, his muscles on full display even while covered.
The only thing I can do is squeeze my thighs together in the hope of getting some kind of relief. It doesn’t work.
Not that I really thought it would help.
When he turns back to me, he has a bowl of salad in one hand which he sets in front of me along with a small plate. I almost fall off the stool when he goes to the oven, which I didn’t even notice was set to warm, and pulls out a tray of garlic bread.
“And garlic bread?” I wave my hand over the feast he’s prepared. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to leave if these are the meals you cook,” my voice is a joking lilt.
As I glance his way, and away from the food, how much he wishes my words weren’t a joke is written all over his face. Before I can say anything, even though I’m not sure where to start, his expression smooths out into a smile.
“This is just the beginning, little storm,” he says with a flourish as he sets down the pan before refilling our glasses.
I eye him, part wary and part suspicion. I’m onto him now. “Don’t tell me there’s dessert,” I groan the words, my mouth already watering.
Knox doesn’t answer, but when I look at him while wiping my chin and hoping no drool has escaped, he winks at me. That wink. It’s dangerous as hell.
I’m fairly sure he knows it too.
“This smells amazing,” I gush.
Thinking back over the last year, this kind of meal hasn’t even been on my radar. Not only did he have everything under control in the kitchen, but it looks like a dish I could get at a restaurant. It’s a little unnerving how good he is at this.
Is this his schtick?
I shake off the thought because it doesn’t really matter if it is. He doesn’t owe me anything, not really. And we both have pasts. Hell, I have a son because of my past.
As Knox settles next to me, I fight the instinct to stiffen up. He’s not going to hurt me. I know it; I believe it.
If only I could get the instincts beaten into me, the ones I had to come by the hard way, to get on board.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Knox’s feelings if he can’t understand my reactions.
There are times when I know I’m safe, but protecting myself became muscle memory along the way.
Muscle memory which will take time to unlearn.
“It does smell pretty damn good,” Knox’s voice is filled with pride.
When I look at him, his chest is puffed out like he’s the king of the world. It’s not like he doesn’t have something to be proud of, but there’s something disarming about him not taking himself too seriously. His words could come off as arrogant but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels silly.
And self-deprecating which is at total odds with the words.
He’s quite the contradiction.
“Eat,” he encourages as he looks my way and nods toward my plate, “before it gets cold.”
With an eager nod, I pick up my fork and twirl some pasta around the tines before spearing a shrimp. I don’t even pay attention to Knox as I take my bite, and the flavors explode on my tongue. I make a sound as I close my eyes and sway on my seat because it’s damn good.
“Woah,” I groan, “this is amazing.”
I open my eyes to find that Knox has served me some salad along with bread. He’s looking at me with raw hunger in his eyes, his entire focus on my mouth. As much as I want to cover my lips or wipe my mouth, I stop myself.
This isn’t about having a mess on my face.
This is about something far more primal. Something which has this man on the edge of going feral.
Is it wrong that I want to find out what it feels like to be at the center of the maelstrom? If only I were ready for it, but I don’t think I am. Not yet.
Knox calls me his storm, but I think he got it wrong. I was finding my balance, my path forward, and Knox is who came into my life without warning. He could leave me devastated in his wake or he could simply give me the rain needed to thrive.
Time will tell on which way it’ll go.
Our meal is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence.
It’s almost as if he’s giving me space, while sitting right next to me, to allow me to process our time together.
If he’s doing it on purpose, I’m grateful.
It’s exactly what I need to calm my racing heart and to help me not feel so overwhelmed.
I made a promise to the man that I would give this a try. And I’m not going back on that. When he cares enough to give me a moment, it shows me how important this is to him to work.
“Why tattooing?” The question slips from my lips as we’re finishing up dinner, our plates basically empty except for a few bites of bread.
He makes a humming sound and sits back while his arm drapes casually along the edge of the island as he looks at me.
“As much as art was my savior and gave me a purpose, I couldn’t see a life where being an artist, just an artist with paint or some other medium and canvas, was going to be a sustainable career.
My parents were supportive of my art, and are great people, but it’s not like artists were running around our neighborhood with a family and the lights on in their house. ”
All I can do is nod. I get what he’s saying, but there’s still a pang in my chest because of the practicality behind his words. They might be smart, but kids should be able to dream a little bigger, right?
“One day I came across a documentary about the history of tattooing,” he continues.
“It got me thinking about art, art forms, and what I really cared about. As much as I wanted to go to art school and have my work in a gallery, I wanted my art to be accessible even more. As a kid who never spent time in galleries but saw a lot of tattoos on the people around me, I knew what I needed to do.”
“How’d you learn so much art technique?” I smile softly at him, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the word ‘chiaroscuro’ over the last few weeks.”
He chuckles, a fondness written on his face that has everything to do with my son. The way he’s bonded with Wilde makes my heart ache to give my son something, anything almost, more than what he’s had up to now.
“I took some classes at Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design after high school. I wasn’t interested in going after a degree, only the knowledge, and audited my classes while working as an apprentice,” he explains.
“That must have been a lot of work,” I muse. “Did the other students hate you being there or were they okay with it?”