Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Brynn
There’s a warm, furry weight pressed against my side. For a blissful, half-awake moment, I don’t open my eyes, I just breathe it in. Soft sheets. Clean, masculine scent. The quiet sound of a deep, even breath beside me.
And the distinct, unmistakable feel of a dog curled up in the bed.
I crack one eye open and am greeted by a big, soulful stare and a tail thumping gently against the comforter.
“Priscilla,” I whisper, blinking sleep from my eyes.
She gives me a low huff like she knows she’s breaking the rules but isn’t remotely sorry. Her warm body is pressed snugly between me and Knox, who’s still sleeping with one arm slung over both of us like this is completely normal.
And maybe it is. Maybe this is what normal could look like, waking up tangled between a gorgeous man and his golden retriever with no boundaries.
I stare at the ceiling for a second, letting it all sink in.
Last night, Knox said he wanted me. All of me. No hesitation, no exceptions. Even after I told him the hardest truth I carry. Even after I gave him an out.
But, instead of taking that out, he showed up on my doorstep like a one-man army ready to fight for me.
Now here he is, snoring softly while his traitor of a dog nuzzles her nose against my neck like we’ve been doing this for years.
He shifts beside me, groaning as he stretches. His voice is scratchy, laced with sleep. “Mornin’, baby girl.”
My heart stutters. God, that nickname. The first time he said it last night I thought I would jump through my skin with the feeling it shot through me. It made me feel special, it made me feel like his.
“Morning,” I murmur, reaching down to scratch behind Priscilla’s ears. “You said she wasn’t allowed in the bed.”
He groans again and rolls to his side, eyes barely open. “She’s not. This is a clear violation of house policy.”
“Seems like you’ve lost control of your household.”
He smirks. “She sensed the emotional vulnerability in the air and seized the opportunity. She’s smart like that.”
I glance over at him. His hair is messy and sticking up on one side, the sheet riding low on his hips, chest bare and golden in the early morning light. He looks warm and rumpled and like home.
And I feel it again, that tug in my chest. That quiet, dangerous whisper that I could fall all the way in again.
Knox leans over Priscilla to brush a kiss to my temple. “I’ll make coffee. Don’t move. She’s claimed you.”
“I can’t move,” I whisper, grinning. “She’s pinning me down with affection.”
“Story of my life.”
He rolls out of bed and disappears down the hall, giving me a delicious view of flannel pajama pants slung low and a muscled back that probably causes traffic violations.
I slide out from under Priscilla’s head, earning a sleepy glare, and follow the smell of coffee downstairs.
Knox hands me a mug, still warm from the pot. “Cream’s in the fridge. Sugar’s in the cabinet. Or I can pretend to be a man who knows your coffee order.”
I smile, bumping his hip as I pass him. “If you have to pretend, then you better watch for future reference.”
He watches me from the other side of the kitchen island, sipping his own coffee, that sleepy half-smile still on his lips.
It’s…easy. Comfortable. And that’s what makes it wonderfully terrifying.
We settle on the couch, Priscilla flopping dramatically onto the rug with a sigh like she hasn’t already had the best morning of her life. Knox reaches for the remote but doesn’t turn on the TV. He just looks at me, waiting.
I hold the mug in both hands and take a slow breath. “I was thinking…”
He raises a brow.
“…about us.”
His smile fades, just a little. Not gone—just bracing.
“I think we should keep this between us. For now.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he sets his mug down slowly. “Okay. Define ‘for now.’”
“I mean—just while we figure this out,” I say quickly. “Before we let everyone else weigh in. Before your mom decides to plan a wedding. Or my mom starts leaving bridal magazines on my nightstand again. You know how this town is. We sneeze near each other and it’s all over social media.”
Knox leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. “So you want to date me in secret? Like a small-town forbidden romance?”
I give him a look. “I’m not going to ask how you even know what that is. But I’m serious.”
“I know. I just like imagining you in sunglasses and a trench coat at Gordy’s.”
I sigh, but there’s no heat behind it. “I just want us to have room to breathe. To enjoy this without the pressure of everyone’s expectations.”
He watches me for a long moment. Not annoyed. Not even disappointed, really. Just…thinking.
Finally, he nods. “Okay. But you have until New Years. I’ll be kissing you at midnight at the ball drop”
I blink. “You’re agreeing that easily?”
“I don’t like it,” he admits, “but I get it. I’ve waited six years to have coffee with you like this. I can wait a little longer to show you off.”
My heart twists.
“And besides,” he adds, nudging my knee with his, “it’s kinda hot. Like forbidden love, but with more dog hair.”
I laugh, relief spilling through me. “You’re ridiculous.”
And as he reaches for his coffee again, I let myself lean just a little closer, tucking my toes under his thigh like this is something we do every Sunday morning. Because, right now, it can be.