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“It would only seem fair now, I suppose.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours type-of-stuff.”

“One person always makes out better than the other in those situations,” I quip. “But to answer your question, I’m from San Francisco.”

“Is that where your family is?”

I smile, but my feet drag slightly against the dirt road, I don’t like where this conversation could head. “I grew up in Miami, but I moved to the Bay Area for college.”

“And you didn’t want to go home when you were done?”I didn’t have a home to go to.I guess technically my family’s house was still there, but it’s not like it ever had a family in it. Camila’s family was there, and they’d always treated me as if I was one of their own, but there was nothing there for me. I’ve found myself in a strange position now, because if he asks me what’s waiting for me back in San Francisco, it would be no different than what’s waiting for me in Miami. Or anywhere else in the world.

Nothing.

“I made a new home,” I say with a faux pep in my step.

Somewhere along the way,the dirt road turned to cobblestone. I was so lost in conversation that I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings and take in the beauty of thislittle town. A stone ledge, a little taller than waist high, separates the sidewalk and a pasture off to the left. I hoist myself up onto the top of it, stretch my arms out for balance, and begin walking it like a tightrope. I barely get one foot in front of the other before Knox’s arm shoots out, his large hand circles around my forearm, and I falter, but recover quickly.

“What’s wrong, Knox? Don’t like heights?” I smile.

“I didn’t know I had an issue with them until this moment.” The thick pads of his fingers trail down my arm, their heat branding as he brushes over the most sensitive part of my wrist. His hand trails until he reaches my palm, and my fingers grip his. With a lift of his chin, he motions for me to keep walking.

“So, what do you do for work that allows you to leave for a month?”

“This and that.” The way his eyebrow lifts tells me we’re no longer getting by on vague answers. I doubt a man who played professional Rugby would have any idea what it’s like to not be obsessed with what you do every day. I doubt he’s ever felt lost for a moment of his life, whereas I’m constantly working a handful of jobs—none of which fulfill me—because I can’t commit to shit or quiet my brain long enough to come up with any other plan.

“I’ve never had a typical nine-five job. I’ve always just picked up some random jobs that I’ll do for a while, sometimes two or three at a time. I let them run their course and then I find something else.” I dip one foot below the ledge, doing scoops with my feet. “I’ve done the nanny gig and dog grooming, I was a bartender for a while but my boss was kind of a womanizer, so that one ran its course sooner than some of the others. I can make a mean kamikaze, though.” I shrug a shoulder.

“Which job was your favorite?”

I pause, looking at this man who I half expected to mock me, but instead chooses to ask which of my random jobs I’ve enjoyed the most.

“Umm…” I resume my steps. “I once did meal prepping for this husband and wife, they were both lawyers and never home enough to cook.”

“So you liked working alone or you liked cooking?”Good insight, sir.

“I liked cooking. Like. I still enjoy it.”

I’ve reached the end of the wall and when I look at Knox, expecting him to let go of my hand so that I can climb down, he doesn’t. His hold only tightens, and he turns to face me. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m going to jump down and potentially knock him over, breaking his other arm.

“Any day now, love.”

“I’m not jumping.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“Are you insane? Look at your shoulder, and you have a broken arm.” I gesture to him as if he didn’t already know.

“You can’t hurt this cast.” He taps his arm with his knuckles. “And the shoulders practically healed.”

Before I know what’s happening, his thick arm is wrapped around my legs, holding tightly just below my ass. My feet leave the ledge and in the next second, I’m being pulled from the wall.

“Oh my god!” I let out an embarrassing squeal and kick my feet once, realize that’s probably more dangerous, and opt to go ‘limp noodle’ instead. “You can put me down now.”

“I will, but we’re passing another small wall, so let’s get past that first, shall we?”

He carries me like a sack of potatoes, like it’s nothing, but I grab the back of his sweatshirt anyway, holding onto two fistfuls of the fabric for dear life. “Knox!”

I twist my hips to wriggle from his grasp.