Chapter 7
KNOX
Acool wave of validation smothers the doubts I’ve been having the last twelve hours since I propositioned Emery. And it doesn’t hurt that I caught her eye fucking me two seconds ago. Today was definitely my day.
“Fair enough,” I say, tossing my used rag into the bucket of dirty towels. “Are you hungry?”
“Excuse me?” she asks, her pretty pink lips pursing in disbelief.
“Do you want food? I’m not sure how else to say it, Bambi,” I comment, knowing the dull pink tint glowing under skin can get darker if I try a little harder.
She lets out a retrained breath. “I was hoping this would be a quick conversation. I’ve got shit to do today.”
“I never do anything quickly,” I fire back with a wink. Emery groans in response, and I feel like I’m on cloud nine.
“Knox,” she scowls, making mini me squirm with excitement. I blink hard and push myself back into business mode. Or whatever version I can offer.
“You’re the one who busted in here during lunch time,” I challenge, crossing my arms. “I’ve got shit to do today too and it will be more productive if I can take my lunch break while we talk.”
“Oh,” she says, schooling her face into a neutral expression that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“See, Bambi. I can be reasonable. Now that we’re officially an item, you can put that in the column of green flags I know you subconsciously think about.”
I let her process my words while I kick off my coveralls and grab the spare T-shirt I keep near my toolbox. I strip off my white tank top and pull on the T-shirt. I swear I can hear Emery’s breath hitch from here, making the room go still. Hope stomps across my chest.
Truthfully, I could’ve thrown the T-shirt over my tank top, but Emery’s reaction makes it worth it. However, when I tug on my hat and face her, she’s already shoved herself back into the calm and collected human in front of me. Pressure weighs on my lips.
Her jaw twitches and her fingers fidget with one of the multiple silver rings decorating her hands. “Nothing is official yet.”
“You better stop acting so excited. I’m going to start thinking you like me for real.”
This time her eyebrows tip down into two angry arches, and I fear I’ve overshot my original goal of getting a blush out of her. This is pure rage, but I think I might like it more.
“Whoa, Bambi. I know a hangry look when I see one. Let’s get you fed, shall we?”
She closes her eyes, and I watch her lips move ever so slightly as she counts to ten. She used to do the same thing when we were teenagers, but it was usually after a call with one of her parents.
“Fine,” she whispers as quiet as a mouse, but then her sparkly eyes peer back at me, and I see a look of determination waiting there. “Let’s do this.”
It only takes a few minutes to walk to the closest diner. I go to the Country Kitchen Café at least once a week, so it’s no surprise that Rosy’s face lights up when we walk through the door. Thankfully, she’s one of the people in town who haven’t resigned from the Knox Cooke fan club.
“Rosy, darling. It’s been way too long,” I say, dramatically clutching my chest. I can feel Emery burning daggers in the back of my head.
“Hey, kid,” she says with a smile that I know she keeps locked and loaded for me. “I see you have a friend today.”
“I do,” I reply, pride glowing warmly across my face. “And it’s kind of our first date, so I’ll take your finest booth.” A tiny mouse-like growl of irritation squeaks out of Emery in response.
Rosy grabs two menus before seating us at one of the booths near the front window. She even picks one that’s been recently patched up, so we won’t have to dodge any loose springs.
“Thanks, Rosy,” I say, flashing her a warm grin. “We’ll take two waters while we look over the menu.”
She nods and skips back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with a very unhappy blast from the past. When I turn back to Emery, her eyes cut through me like two freshly powered lasers.
“I can order for myself,” she grunts, landing a soft kick to my right shin under the table.
“Ouch!” I yelp, grabbing my injured leg. Those boots were no joke. “I know you’re a feminist, but there’s this thing called being a gentleman, and I fully exercise that right.”
“The kick was for telling her it’s our first date before we even set ground rules.”
“I’m sorry I jumped the gun, sugar. Please forgive me? I don’t want this minor inconvenience to ruin our first da—”
“Knox, so help me God, I will walk out of this diner, and you can say goodbye to our deal.”
“Slow down, Bambi,” I say, leaning into the table. “I promise I’ll be good for the next hour.”
Emery rolls her eyes while grabbing the menu in front of her. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
I shrug, leaving my own menu firmly placed on the table.
I get the same thing every time I come here.
“Listen, Emery. This might have been my idea, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re running the show.
If I cross the line or do anything you don’t like, just let me know, and I’ll back off.
I won’t touch you or say anything to other people about you without your consent. ”
“Where was this speech five minutes ago?” she asks, a shadow of a smile teasing me.
“Let me rephrase,” I state, slapping a hand against my chest. “I will not touch you or say anything to other people about you without your consent starting now.”
“Right,” she hums, her eyes running up and down the menu.
“So, what are these ground rules then? I’m on the edge of my seat.”
Emery lets out a frustrated puff of air and sets down her menu before clasping her hands and setting them on the table.
She leans forward and narrows her eyes in a way that makes me squirm.
Not to mention, she looks powerful and commanding with her slicked-back bun. It makes me want to shut up for once.
“Rule one,” she says firmly, “no surprises. That means no calling me ‘sugar,’ ‘babe,’ or any other word you think is charming just because you’re in boots and know how to smile.”
She doesn’t mention Bambi on her little list, so I take that as a win. “Got it. No pet names.” That don’t already exist.
She nods once, flattening her hands against the table. “Rule two: You don’t touch me unless we’ve agreed on it ahead of time. This is fake and boundaries aren’t a suggestion.”
“Fair enough,” I say with one succinct nod. I fight the urge to tell her that her sharp and serious tone is really doing something for me.
“Rule three,” she continues, her eyes still laser-focused on me. “No fucking around behind the scenes. If we’re doing this, then I don’t want people to think you’re cheating on me. Then again, you shouldn’t do that regardless because of the whole image issue.”
“Got it. You want me all to yourself.” Sometimes she makes it way too easy. That’s not my fault.
Emery rolls her eyes, but rattles off a few more rules that I nod my head to like a good little boy. I even keep most of my comments to myself, which is huge for me.
“I have a rule too,” I continue, waiting until after Rosy comes and sets our waters down. “The more people who know we’re not actually together, the less convincing it is. So, we shouldn’t tell anyone else.”
I catch the slightest hint of unease unraveling her composure, but she quickly snaps back into serious mode. “Fine. And finally, if anyone asks how we met, we stick to the story.”
I arch a brow. “Which is?”
“We dated when we were kids and reconnected a few weeks ago after you heard I was moving to Honey Grove. I fell for your bullshit again, and here we are.”
I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. “I think we should come up with something more exciting and romantic.”
She tilts her head and narrows her brows disapprovingly. “No, it’s practical. If people are going to believe our story, then it needs to be somewhat believable.”
“What about,” I say, grabbing the edge of the table for dramatic effect.
“We met at a diner one morning. You were building the cutest house of waffles, and I offered to help you put a door on it, creating the perfect meet-cute. We have an amazing first date, but then I learn you have short-term memory loss from a car accident, so you forget everything that happened the day before. So, I have to win your heart every single day because you keep forgetting about me.”
“You just described the plot to the movie 50 First Dates,” she observes blandly, not giving me so much as a smile or a polite laugh.
I roll my lips together. “Shit. Do you think a lot of people have seen that movie?”
“Maybe a few,” she says, sarcastically, “but we shouldn’t risk it either way.”
I smile, shaking my head. I like it when she’s playful, even if it’s covered up with a bitter frown the entire time. My new challenge for the summer is to make her smile—for real and not as my fake girlfriend.
“Fine, we’ll go with your boring story. Any other ground rules sweet—shit, sorry,” I say, stopping myself before the words can leave my tongue.
Emery’s eyes flicker with the slightest bit of amusement before smoothing her expression back into the stone-cold indifference she reserves for me.
“That was close,” she says, lifting her water to her lips, “but I’ll give you a C plus for effort.”
I slump back in my seat, stretching my legs out underneath the table. “A C? Now that’s cold even for you. I deserve at least a B for those expert censorship skills. Scratch that—I deserve a whole ass ribbon.”
She sets her glass down slowly, swiping her tongue across her lips to collect any drops of condensation. My eyes watch the movement like a hawk. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lot?”
“A lot of fun,” I offer, nodding to Rosy as she stops by to top off our water glasses. “Don’t mind her, Rosy. She’s just so madly in love with me, she doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
Rosy snorts and walks away, muttering something about ‘these damn kids’. When I look back at Emery, she’s pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.