“I think my dog is in love with your niece,” Knox observed. He pulled an open bottle of wine and a beer out of the fridge.
“There’s definitely a crush happening,” I agreed.
He pulled out a wine glass, filled it, and handed it to me.
Okay, maybe there were two crushes happening.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, opening his beer and leaning back against the counter.
“Thanks for haranguing the sales guy into submission,” I said.
“It’s a good vehicle,” he said, hooking his fingers in the waist of my shorts and drawing me closer.
We’d spent the majority of the day together, but without touching. It had been a special kind of torture to be so close to a man who made me feel so much I forgot to think yet not be able to reach out and touch him.
He smelled like smoke and chocolate. My new favorite scent. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to taste him. So I did. Bringing my mouth to his, I sampled his flavor. Leisurely. Deliberately.
His free hand came around me, splaying over my low back, holding me to him.
I breathed him in, letting his heat take the chill off my skin.
Suddenly, there was thunder on the stairs as both Waylay and the dog charged down.
“Damn it,” Knox muttered.
I jumped back and picked up my wine.
“Can we watch TV before bed?” Waylay asked.
“Sure. I’ll just say good night to Knox.” I was giving him his out. The man had to be exhausted, and I was sure he had better things to do than watch YouTube episodes of teen girls doing makeup with us.
“I’m up for some TV,” he said, sauntering into the living room with his beer. Waylay launched herself at the couch, curling into her favorite corner. The dog hopped up next to her. Knox took the opposite end and patted the cushion next to him.
So I sat down with my niece, my sort-of boyfriend, and his dog, and we watched a fifteen-year-old with 2 million subscribers tell us how to choose the right eyeliner for our eye color.
Knox’s arm was warm and comforting behind me on the back of the couch.
Five minutes into the episode, I heard a soft snore. Knox had his feet propped up on the coffee table and his head pitched back against the cushion. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open.
I looked at Waylay, and she grinned at me.
Knox snored again, and we both giggled quietly.
THIRTY-ONE
SHIFTY IN THE STACKS
Naomi
The first week of September steamed into town with summer humidity and the first hint of changing leaves. After a few days of smothering attention, Nash insisted he was well enough for desk duty and returned to work a few hours a day.
The dreadful Mrs. Felch had abruptly announced her retirement and moved to South Carolina to live with her sister. Waylay had a crush on her new teacher, Mr. Michaels, and she’d joined the soccer team. We’d survived our first official interview with the caseworker, and while my niece had made it known she wasn’t a fan of the vegetables I was forcing on her, Ms. Suarez had scheduled the home study, which I took as a hopeful sign.
When I wasn’t cheering from the sidelines or sleeping with Knox or absorbing parenting books, I was working. I’d started my new job at the library and was loving it. Between Honky Tonk and the Community Outreach desk at the library, I felt like I was actually starting to find a groove that was all mine. Especially since most of the town had finally stopped calling me Not Tina.
Naomi,
God, I’m so sorry. I miss you. Things aren’t right here without you. I had no right to take my stress out on you. I was just trying to provide the best life for you. If we would have waited like I’d wanted to none of this would have happened.
Love,
Warner
I exited out of my email inbox with an efficient click and a quiet groan.
“Warner again?” Stef looked up from his laptop. The library was nearly empty today, and my best friend had commandeered the table next to the Community Outreach desk.
“Yes, Warner again,” I said.
“Told you to stop opening them,” Stef said.
“I know. I’m only opening every other one. Progress, right?”
“You’re getting naked with the Viking. You don’t need to be opening another man’s whiny, passive-aggressive, why-aren’t-you-here-to-do-my-laundry emails.”
I winced and looked around to make sure there weren’t any eavesdropping patrons. “Part of me likes seeing him grovel, even passive-aggressively.”
“Fair,” he mused.
“And another more logical part of me realizes that none of this actually matters. The relationship I had with Warner was no more real than the one I’m pretending to have with Knox.”