Chapter 47
Chapter forty-seven
Brynn
I’m crouched in the laundry room—completely naked under a barely-secured sheet, heart pounding like I’m in a hostage situation.
Correction: I am in a hostage situation. The hostage is me. The captor? His mother. The crime? Getting finger banged on a kitchen island and moaning loud enough to wake the town.
One minute I’m riding the wave of sexual bliss, still tasting blueberries on my lips and Knox’s voice in my ear telling me how good I feel. The next? A knock at the front door, and pure chaos.
I barely had time to grab the sheet before diving into the laundry room, ducking between a detergent bottle and a basket of clean towels like I’m a streaker in a high-stakes spy movie.
From here, I can hear everything.
Knox opens the front door and immediately tries to shut it again, only partially succeeding.
“Hi, honey,” she says. “I thought I’d drop off those muffins you like so you eat something other than protein bars all weekend.”
“Hi, Mom. That’s great. That’s…really great,” Knox says, voice tight, panicked. “You really didn’t have to.”
I can practically feel him sweating through the drywall.
“I’ll just pop in real quick,” she chirps.
“NO! I mean you really don’t need to. I’ve got a situation happening.”
“Oh?” she says, amused.
“Yeah. Um, a tenant has a water situation. Very wet. Everything drenched.”
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
Mrs. Dalton is quiet for a beat. “Knox. Are you hiding something?”
Oh. God.
I crouch lower, squeezing myself behind the dryer like that's going to somehow make me invisible. I can hear Knox stepping further into the doorway, probably physically barring her from entering like a sexy human shield.
“Mom, please. Go home. I promise I’ll call you later. With details. So many plumbing details.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I'm...great. And blessed. Thanks for the muffins.”
Another beat of silence. My heart slams in my chest. If she walks three steps into the kitchen, she will see my keys, the extra coffee cup, and possibly my actual soul leaving my body.
Then—miracle of miracles—the door closes.
I don’t move. I wait ten full seconds until I hear Knox sigh like a man who just defused a bomb with one second left.
“Brynn?” he calls softly. “You alive in there?”
I poke my head out from the laundry room. “Did I just hear you tell your poor, innocent, unknowing mother a sex joke?”
He shrugs sarcastically. “At least I didn’t tell her a lie. You were dripping on my fucking counter.”
I step into the kitchen, sheet wrapped around me toga-style, and we just look at each other—me in borderline hysterics, him with his shirt on backwards and hair like he fought a hurricane.
“Your mom brought you muffins, Knox.”
“She’s a stealth operator. She’s done this to me before.”
I walk over and press my forehead into his chest. “I hate that I had to hide behind your dryer. I was genuinely considering crawling into the basket.”
He wraps his arms around me, holding me like he never wants to let go. “We can’t do this again. I mean, we can definitely do this—” he gestures between us, “—again, but not the hiding part.”
I nod. “Yeah. We need to tell them. My parents, your parents. Before someone else does.”
“And we beg them to keep it quiet for now,” he says. “No church newsletter updates. No book club gasps.”
“No bunko-night gossip or bless her heart side-eye.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Exactly.”
“Think we can trust them?”
He considers it. “Let’s just hope we don’t need to blackmail them into silence.”
We both laugh, relief slipping into the spaces where tension used to live. And for a second, I feel it again—that warm, shimmering peace that only comes from being exactly where you’re meant to be.
The laughter fades, but the warmth lingers between us, soft and charged.
I lean my forehead against Knox’s chest and breathe him in—clean cotton, and something distinctly him. Comforting. Dangerous in all the ways that make me want to curl in closer and never leave. I smooth a hand over the center of his chest, right where his heartbeat thuds steady beneath my palm.
“I can’t believe your mom almost saw me in nothing but a sheet,” I say, voice muffled by the fabric. “That would’ve been a whole new level of awkward.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You’re lucky she didn’t come armed with lasagna. Muffins are her casual intrusion food. Lasagna means she plans to stay a while.”
I tilt my head back, smiling. “I wasn’t scared of her, you know.”
“No?”
“I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to be crouching behind your dryer, but it’s not because she’s scary.” I chew my lip. “It’s just...complicated. She was there when everything fell apart before. I guess part of me wonders if she still thinks I’m the girl who broke her son’s heart.”
Knox lifts my chin gently, his thumb brushing just below my jaw. “You think my mom’s mad? Brynn, she and your mom literally tried to set us up a few weeks ago.”
I groan. “True. That was about as subtle as a wrecking ball.”
He leans in. “If anything, she’s going to be smug that she was right the whole time.”
Knox gives a slow, amused smile. “So we’re trusting the two women who run the church bake sale, sit front row at every football game, and somehow know who gets hired at the bank before HR does?”
I grin. “We’re trusting them to love us more than they love Cedar Falls gossip. Hopefully.”
“That’s a gamble.”
“It’s a prayer,” I correct. “A hopeful, desperate, please-don’t-end-up-on-the-bulletin-board kind of prayer.”
He pulls me close again, kisses my forehead. “Then we do it together. Just the parents. No announcements, no small-town headlines. Yet.”
“No awkward Target run-ins with Mrs. Gibbs asking if we’re ‘back together back together’ or just ‘testing the waters.’”
“God,” Knox groans. “She still thinks I’m a virgin.”
I burst out laughing. “We both know that’s a lie.”
He grins, then looks down at me with something gentler.
“Once we tell them,” he says, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth, “I think it’ll make things feel a little easier.
Less secret rendezvous, more...normal people stuff.
And I really do think they’ll be happy—our parents, the town.
Hell, half of Cedar Falls has probably had bets on us since senior year. ”
The words land gently, like he’s offering me space to see things differently without pushing me too hard. And somehow, it works.
Because for the first time, I let myself picture it. The parents who never really stopped hoping. The town that never fully let go of the idea of us. The possibility that this isn’t a mistake or a secret that needs guarding, but something real—something worth showing.
I tuck closer, breathing him in. And the idea starts to feel less like a risk and more like something I might actually want.
His hand tugs at the sheet, revealing my bare skin as a wicked grin forms on his lips, bringing me back to this moment.
“Get back on the counter, baby girl. I want to finish my breakfast.”