Chapter 15 Brynn
Chapter fifteen
Brynn
By the time I crawled into bed, I was shivering from more than just the crisp fall air outside.
The chill that had settled in me wasn’t something a space heater could fix.
It was deeper—rooted under my skin, coiled around the confusion I’d been pretending not to feel.
I don’t know what we’re doing—me and Knox.
I don’t know what our evening meant, or if it had meant anything at all to him.
But I knew what it felt like. That look in his eyes when our hands brushed.
The breathless, aching pause before we both stepped back, like one more second might’ve set the whole bar on fire.
There was a tug inside me, subtle and sharp, like a thread pulled too tight. Hope. Uninvited and terrifying. The kind of hope that makes you believe in second chances, even after you’ve convinced yourself you’re done believing in anything at all.
I fell asleep chasing logic and woke up with my heart pounding like I was seventeen again—like I’d never left this town or him behind.
My skin was warm where I dreamed his hand had slid across my back, steady and sure.
In that dream, I let him in. There was no past between us, no unfinished conversations, no scar tissue.
Just the unmistakable feeling of coming home to something I hadn’t even realized I’d been missing.
Now, in the quiet morning light, I don’t know what scares me more—that I still want him…or that there’s a part of me that never really stopped. And what kind of woman does that make me? Feeling this way when I was about to walk down the aisle to another man only a few weeks ago.
If this world was fair, there would be a support group for people who almost-kissed their ex while standing in their shared driveway after being stood up by fictional dates orchestrated by scheming mothers.
Hi, I’m Brynn. It’s been zero hours since my last Knox Dalton-induced emotional spiral.
I stare at my coffee mug like it personally betrayed me. Which, honestly, it might have. It’s got “Good Vibes Only” printed in pink cursive, which feels a little too smug for a morning like this.
Last night was supposed to be harmless. One drink. Meet a cat dad. Be polite. Fake a work emergency and go home to watch old rom-coms in pajamas. That was the plan.
Knox Dalton wrecked that plan.
The boy I loved. The man I left. The one whose smile still ruins me and who—if that garage light hadn’t turned on—might’ve made me forget every reason we ever ended.
I take a scalding sip and pace the living room, one socked foot dragging slightly on the hardwood where the floorboards dip. I’m jittery and annoyed and, worst of all, giddy.
That’s the worst part. Not the awkwardness or the unresolved tension or even the way my whole body leaned toward him in that car like it remembered every single inch of him.
No. It’s the stupid fluttery, high school-girl giddiness I felt walking up those steps to my door like we weren’t exes with six years of silence and heartbreak between us.
I groan and flop onto the couch.
My phone rings. I sit up when I see the name: Mom.
Oh, we’re doing this.
“Hi,” I say, trying to be neutral. “Good morning.”
“Well, that’s up for debate,” she says breezily. “How did your date go?”
There it is. I narrow my eyes at the wall. “You tell me.”
A beat of silence. “Excuse me?”
“Eric never showed. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”
She gasps. “Oh my goodness, are you serious? That’s awful. Did he get into an accident? Should I call someone?”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Cut the act. You and Mrs. Dalton were behind this, weren’t you?”
She actually scoffs. Scoffs. “Brynn, I would never deceive you like that. I simply heard Eric was a lovely young man and passed the info along. If he didn’t show, well, I’m as shocked as you are.”
Her voice is just the right amount of innocent and insufferable.
“I ran into Knox.”
“Oh?” Too casual. Way too casual.
“At The Driftwood. Same time, same night. He also got stood up.”
She hums, like she’s tasting a perfectly cooked steak. “Hmm. What a coincidence.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I prefer the term ‘optimistic matchmaker.’”
“Mom,” I whine. “Why?”
“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “you were glowing when you talked about running into him the other week. You tried to act annoyed, but your eyes did that thing where they go all shiny and distant like you were remembering something good.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You ambushed us.”
“I gave you an opportunity.”
“To fall on my face in front of a man I haven’t had a real conversation with in years!”
“And yet, here you are. Still talking about him.”
I hate when she’s right. I hate it even more that I am still talking about him. Thinking about him. Feeling that tight pull in my chest that I’ve spent years trying to loosen.
“It’s not that simple,” I whisper.
She softens. “I know, honey. I do. But don’t let the hard parts scare you away from something that used to make you so happy.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I change the subject.
I end the call with a half-hearted promise to check in later, then lie back on the couch, eyes locked on the ceiling like it might spell out the answers I’ve been avoiding.
Something about the silence makes it worse—makes the thoughts louder.
I try to shake them off. Try to push back the creeping realization that maybe… I got it all wrong.
I need to move. Breathe. Shake the dust off my spiraling brain.
Just a brisk walk, I tell myself. Some sun. A hit of endorphins. Anything to keep me from replaying the way Knox said my name. Or the way his knee rested against mine on the ride home.
It’s sunny outside. Bright and cloudless. The kind of cheerful day that feels like a personal attack when your emotions are stuck in grayscale. I tug my sweatshirt sleeves down and head down the sidewalk, hoping to outpace the ache in my chest.
Halfway down the street, I stop cold in front of the flower shop.
There, nestled in the window display, is a bundle of soft pink peonies.
My flower.
And just like that, I’m not on Main Street anymore.
I’m back in Roanoke, walking through Happy Hollow Gardens, Knox’s hand warm in mine.
I remember how he slowed when we passed a blooming row of peonies and said, “They’re stubborn.
They take a while to bloom, but when they do, it’s worth it.
” Then he leaned in, kissed me, and smiled that soft, sure smile that always undid me.
“Just like you, Bunny. You’re worth it all. ”
My throat tightens. I blink fast and look away, but the damage is already done. My heart’s cracked open and raw in a way I haven’t let myself feel in years.
I thought I left him for the right reasons.
I thought I was protecting myself. Letting him go before our lives pulled in different directions.
But after what happened with Henry—after being loved with conditions and timelines and fear—I see it differently now.
Knox loved me with everything he had. He saw me.
Not just who I was, but who I could be. And I walked away.
I didn’t just leave him. I cut him off. One clean break. No looking back. I thought it would make it easier, but all it did was make it final. Shame and regret wash over me.
The town didn’t let it slide either.
The day after I left, my mom texted me a screenshot of the Cedar Falls Facebook page.
Haddie Carmichael had already posted something cryptic about “a hometown hero left in the dust.” People speculated.
People commented. Theories flew like confetti.
Some blamed me. Some blamed Knox. One woman offered to bake him a casserole and “help him heal.”
I couldn’t even bring myself to defend myself. I just went quiet.
And now that I’m back…I’m not sure I deserve a second chance.
By the time I get home, I’m sweaty, exhausted, and more emotionally tangled than I was when I left. I sink into the couch like the weight of the truth might finally press me into stillness.
I’m not trying to fall for Knox again. Truly, I’m not. But he still makes me laugh in that deep, helpless way that leaves me catching my breath. He still looks at me like I’m the only girl in the room. And our mothers are campaigning harder for our reunion than a fanfiction forum on espresso shots.
I tell myself I’m not falling for him again. But if I believe that, I’m only fooling myself.