Cheyenne
Even after we settle in Knox’s Maserati, I refrain from asking questions.
Mostly because I’m still thinking about what we discussed in the kitchen.
And then there’s the fact that Knox looks entirely too pleased with himself, with one hand draped over the wheel while the other rests on the center console.
The bruise under his eye has darkened into a deep purple, but it doesn’t make him look weak. If anything, it makes him look rougher. More formidable. Which isn’t helping my ability to think clearly when it comes to this man.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I comment, watching as the city slips past the windows.
He glances at me, his mouth twitching. “Enjoying what?”
“The fact that I have no idea where we’re going.”
“Maybe.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You realize this is how people end up being discussed on true crime podcasts, right?”
He snorts. “Relax. If I were going to kidnap you, I wouldn’t have bothered to feed you first.”
“That’s not actually comforting.”
“It should be. I made Nutella-stuffed French toast. That took major effort on my part.”
I try not to smile. I get the feeling this is how Knox shows he cares. He doesn’t make big speeches or grand gestures. He saw that I was stuck in my head, and did something about it.
He turns onto Cannon Drive before pulling into a parking lot a minute later. I look up, confused for half a second until my gaze lands on the sign.
Lincoln Park Zoo.
I blink. “You brought me to the zoo?”
This isn’t what I was expecting.
He cuts the engine and looks at me like it’s the most obvious place in the world. “Yup.”
“You’re actually serious?”
With a shrug, he glances at the entrance. “Kind of hard to spiral when you’re looking at goats.”
I laugh. “Goats?”
“Sure. They’re pretty cute.”
My chest already feels lighter than it did fifteen minutes ago when we climbed into the car.
The air is cool and the sky bright blue.
It’s the kind of day that makes the city feel crisp and alive.
Families walk by with strollers, and kids tug on their parents’ hands as couples wander without any obvious destination.
It’s ordinary.
Normal.
There aren’t any cameras, assistants, or handlers. No one’s telling me where to stand or who to smile at. It’s just a zoo on a weekend with Knox. And somehow that feels more surreal than any red carpet.
We fall into step and head toward the entrance. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. As we pass through the gate, Knox reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers lace through mine, and my heart stutters. I glance around, scanning faces, looking for phones or cameras.
“Is someone watching us?” I ask under my breath.
Instead of slowing or looking around, he keeps walking. “Nope. But that’s kind of the point.”
I frown. “What is?”
“There aren’t any cameras or reporters. No fans screaming your name.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “It’s just us.”
It’s a strange thought. I can’t remember the last time it was just me and another person without an audience.
I glance around again, half expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree with a telephoto lens.
But there’s just a dad trying to wrangle two kids in matching jackets, and a couple arguing quietly over a zoo map.
I huff out a breath. “Aren’t we supposed to be convincing people you’re my boyfriend?”
“We are.” He nods toward a couple of kids sprinting past us, screaming like tiny maniacs hyped-up on sugar. “We’ll start with them.”
I snort-laugh. “I’m pretty sure they care more about the pretzel cart than our fake relationship.”
“Well, I can’t blame them for that. Zoo pretzels are top-notch.”
I angle a look at him. “Wow. Bold claim.”
“Stick with me, Hollywood. I know where all the best soft pretzels are in the city.”
My lips twitch. “That might be the weirdest attempt at flirting I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet you’re still holding my hand.”
I glance down at our joined fingers, then back up again. “Maybe I’m just here for the pretzel.”
His grin turns slow and wicked. “Then I guess I better buy you one and make sure it’s unforgettable.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for a snack food.”
He leans closer. “Luckily for you, I’m not afraid of a challenge.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and his smirk only deepens as he walks without letting go of my hand.
We wander past the first enclosure and stop to watch a group of kids press their faces to the glass while a sleepy snow leopard ignores them completely. One little boy is narrating the animal’s life story to anyone who’ll listen.
Knox leans on the railing beside me. “You ever come here before?”
I shake my head. “No. Zoos weren’t really part of my childhood.”
He glances over. “Seriously?”
“Yup.”
We start walking again at a slower pace with no real destination in mind. He keeps my fingers enveloped in his, like he forgot they’re there. Instead of pulling away, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine. It’s comforting in a way I can’t explain.
“So, if you didn’t go to zoos, what was your childhood like?”
I shrug. “A lot of sets, cameras, hotels, events.” I pause. “And more cameras.”
He grimaces. “That sounds terrible.”
“Yeah,” I say with a small laugh. “But it was normal. At least I thought it was. I didn’t know there was any other way to grow up.” The realization tumbles through my head. “I guess part of me still doesn’t.”
After a while, we stop near a food stand, and Knox buys two hot dogs, a pretzel, and a soda without asking what I want. It should annoy me, but instead it feels weirdly easy. Like he already knows enough about me to understand what I like.
We settle at one of the picnic tables, knees bumping beneath the metal top.
For a few minutes, we simply eat and watch people stroll by.
A family of four passes with matching zoo cups.
A little girl in pigtails drags a stuffed giraffe by one leg.
Somewhere behind us, a kid cries because he wanted the blue balloon, not the red one.
It all feels wonderfully ordinary.
“What about you?” I ask, breaking off a piece of the pretzel. And, yeah, it’s delicious. “What was your childhood like?”
“Probably more ordinary than you’d think.”
“How so?”
He wipes his hands on a napkin. “When we were little, Dad was still playing in the NHL and on the road a lot. We’d travel to watch him when we could, but once we got older, that wasn’t always possible.
Colby, Brooks, and I all played hockey, and Annabelle was into horses.
So there were lots of practices and carpools. ”
With a smile, I picture what it must’ve been like. “Sounds idyllic.”
“It was, but there was plenty of chaos. Friends were always over. My mom made sure our childhood felt normal. We had rules. Chores. Family dinners. All that stuff.” His mouth tilts up at the corners.
“Summers were always the best. No school or travel. It was just us being kids. Street hockey. Backyard barbecues. My brothers trying to kill each other every five minutes.”
“Poor Whitney. She must have had her hands full with all of you,” I say with a laugh.
“Pretty sure she wanted to tear her hair out by August.” He studies me for a second. “You seem pretty close with Britt. Have you always been that tight?”
I glance down at my hands for a moment before answering. “Not always. When we were teens, it felt more like a rivalry.”
“With Britt?”
“Yeah. She’s got natural talent and became an overnight success.” I shrug. “I worked through it eventually, but when you grow up in a family where attention feels like its own kind of currency, it’s easy to view each other as competition instead of the people who are supposed to have your back.”
“I can understand how that could happen,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you’re close now.”
I nod. “We are. She’s my best friend. There aren’t many people who understand what it’s like to grow up in the spotlight, performing from a young age, and she does.”
He studies me for another second, as if he realizes there’s so much more I’m leaving out.
“Do you remember what life was like before the show?”
I open my mouth and then close it again as my brain tumbles back in time.
“Not really,” I admit. “I mean, I know there was a before. But everything prior to the cameras showing up is sort of a blur.” A breeze lifts a strand of hair across my cheek, and I tuck it behind my ear. “When I have kids,” I say without thinking, “they’re not going to grow up the way I did.”
I still because that just came out of nowhere. Or maybe not nowhere, but from a place I don’t talk about much. I stare past him toward the enclosure across from us.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I don’t want them under a microscope 24/7 or feeling like they have to be on all the time, as if their life belongs to everyone but themselves.” My throat constricts. “And I want them to be kids for as long as they can.”
Silence settles over us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like we’ve peeled back even more layers.
“You’d be a good mom.”
The comment robs the air from my lungs. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”
His gaze stays pinned to mine. “Kind of feels like I’m starting to.”
Butterflies wing their way to life at the bottom of my belly. I can’t remember the last time that happened with a man who wasn’t Knox McNichols. The scary part is that he’s right. In the past week, I’ve learned more about him than I have in years of seeing him at family parties and gatherings.
And he’s gotten to know more about me too.
The real Cheyenne Benson. Not the one splashed across Page Six. Or the one my mother has spent years trying to shape into someone else.
The most surprising part is that I like who I am when I’m with Knox. I like how easy it feels. How normal and real we can be with each other. Not wanting to examine that thought too closely, I push back from the table and pop to my feet with the urge to move.
“You haven’t even shown me the goats after totally talking them up.”
A lopsided smile tugs at his mouth, and it lands square in the center of my chest.
Once we start walking again, slower this time, he slips my hand into his. He pulls me a little closer as we pass a group of people, his arm brushing mine, his body warm against my side.
My pulse picks up for no reason.
Or maybe it’s for all the reasons.
We stop near the railing of another enclosure, and when I turn, I find him closer than before. Close enough for his masculine scent to wrap around me, making it difficult to think.
When he stares, I shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
“What?”
Instead of answering, his gaze drops to my mouth. The world seems to pause for one suspended second as his hand settles on my hip before tugging me closer. His grip is firm but careful as his lips hover over mine, and the warmth of his breath makes my stomach twist.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a man standing a dozen feet away with a phone angled toward us. My brain barely has time to register it before Knox kisses me.
The first press of his lips is hard and fast. A mixture of heat and pressure that feels like it’s been building for days. His hand on my hip tightens while the other slides up to cradle the back of my neck, holding me still.
For just a second, I remember the camera.
That’s what this is all about, right?
Our fake relationship.
Making sure Dakota understands that we’re over.
His lips move against mine, slower this time, before the kiss deepens. Whatever part of this started out for someone else’s benefit disappears completely, until the only thing I’m aware of is Knox.
The taste of him.
The way my fingers curl into his sweatshirt, only wanting to pull him closer.
And the worst part?
Somewhere between noticing the phone and getting lost in his kiss, I stopped caring about our audience altogether.
Fake or not…
This no longer feels like acting.