Page 9

CHAPTER 9

LARK

What kind of surprise could Knox be bringing?

He left right after breakfast this morning with an enigmatic smile and instructions to be ready for a surprise sometime around noon.

“Do I need to do anything?” I asked.

“Nope.” He just hugged me—gone are the days of keeping our distance—and added, “Just relax. It’ll be nice. I promise.”

I wasn’t worried. How could I be? There isn’t a single thing Knox has done that hasn’t been nice.

Actually, nice is a tremendous understatement. Since the break-in ten days ago, Knox has been incredible.

He’s stayed over every night, watching movies and bringing games that are guaranteed to make me laugh, even when the stress of the still-unidentified gunman gets to me.

When I wake him up with yet another nightmare, even when he has to get up at the literal crack of dawn to be ready for work the next morning, he never complains. He just hugs me and rubs my back until I feel calm enough to try to fall asleep again.

He keeps me entertained throughout the day, texting funny stories about his clients—like Mrs. Adamson, the well-meaning but slightly nosy widow who asked him about installing one-way windows so she could spy on the neighbors without them realizing.

I didn’t want to tell her no , he texted. But I’m not crazy about encouraging her to spy on her neighbors, either. So I told her it wouldn’t be good for resale value and she changed her mind. But now she’s talking about building a deck on the roof. For her telescope, she says. I doubt she wants to look at the stars.

Honestly, Mrs. Adamson sounds like a hoot. Although it’s probably easier for me to say since I’m not her neighbor.

But Knox is always coming up with ways to make me smile. Buying me little presents that he always brushes off as nothing, saying things like, Oh, these books? I just happened to be walking past Books n’ Bliss and I remembered you saying this was your favorite author. Plus, they were having a sale. So it just made sense to buy them.

While I’d tell any of my investment clients that’s a terrible way to handle money, I wouldn’t dream of saying it to Knox. Especially when he looked so sweet and earnest as he gave them to me, all neatly packaged in a fancy gift bag I just know he paid extra for at the store.

Just like I couldn’t say no when he showed up a few days ago with a desk and office chair to set up in the guest bedroom. I’d just started working remotely again, and was using the dining room table as my workspace. But Knox insisted I should have a dedicated office instead.

“You’re working for hours, Lark,” he explained. “The dining room chairs aren’t that comfortable. And you have to pick up everything when you want to eat. This way you have a dedicated space. And”—he eyeballed the dining chair in question with a narrowed glare—“the chair I brought over has lumbar support. These don’t.”

I never imagined as a teenager I’d feel like swooning when a man talks about lumbar support, but here I am. My stomach all fluttery because a man brings me an office chair.

Well. If Everett, the annoying account manager who seems to think dating me will get him a promotion—spoiler, it won’t—gave it to me, I don’t think I’d feel quite the same. But Knox? He could talk about lumbar support all day and I’d be okay with it.

But after everything he’s already done, what else could Knox possibly have in mind for a surprise?

As it’s done at least twenty times since eleven, my gaze slides to my phone, searching for a text from Knox. Even though he said around noon, and it’s still fifteen minutes short of that, I can’t keep myself from checking again.

It’s not so much that I’m excited about the surprise—okay, I am—but it’s more the anticipation of spending the day together.

He asked me about it on the way home from Enzo’s last night, as we walked back along the snowy trail, still stuffed full of turkey and at least a dozen side dishes and a whole buffet of desserts. “I’m giving the crew the whole holiday weekend off,” Knox explained. “So I have three days free. And I was wondering if you’d like to spend them with me.”

Did I? Absolutely.

Because I realized something somewhere between sitting on Knox’s lap watching football and watching him cut all my turkey for me because he didn’t want me straining my arm—which I could have handled, but wouldn’t have dreamed of telling him no.

I realized I don’t care about the possibility of getting hurt. If I put my heart on the line with Knox and it doesn’t work out, it’ll still be better than never trying at all.

But then the big question is, when? When do I bring it up? Today? But what if I’m wrong and Knox isn’t interested in me that way? Will it make things weird with me staying here? Not that I think he’d ask me to leave, Knox is much too honorable for that, but to have to face him after being rejected? I’m not sure I could take it.

I sneak another glance at the phone—still no message—before forcing my attention back to my laptop. I’ve been trying to focus on getting some work done, but my mind keeps wandering to other, non work-related things. Like does my hair look nice in braids, or do I look like Pippi Longstocking? Does the bra I’m wearing make my boobs appear one size bigger like the product description promises? Is wearing green again overkill, or is it festive?

As I catch my reflection on the laptop screen, I wonder, is thirty-four too old for pigtails ?

Maybe I should take them out. But then my hair will be all kinked up, and not in that sexy waves kind of way.

Midway through my internal debate, my phone chimes with a text.

Just went through the gate. I’ll be there soon.

Well, braids it is.

Jumping up from my desk, I grab my phone and speed downstairs, resisting the urge to check myself one more time in the bathroom mirror on the way. Once I get into the open living space, I do a quick circuit of it, smoothing throws and fluffing pillows and straightening the small stack of books on the coffee table.

Just as I’m flicking a bit of fuzz off the couch, my phone chimes again. A second later, a knock sounds at the door.

Bypassing the text—I know who it is—I race to the front door, feeling much like I did before my first official date when I was fifteen.

But Knox is so much better than Weston, the boy I had a crush on back then.

Knox is a man. A very sexy man who is sweet and gentle beneath his tough exterior. A man who makes me feel safe and protected and when he looks at me in a certain way, desired.

After making quick work of the locks, I pull the door open, already smiling as I say unnecessarily, “You’re here!”

He grins. “I am.”

“I mean, obviously you’re here,” I say. “But—” Just say it. “I know it’s only been a few hours, but I missed you.”

“Lark.” He pulls me into his arms, notching my head under his chin. A light brush of something—his lips?—touches the top of my head. “I missed you, too.”

After far too short of a time, he releases me and takes a step back, letting his gaze sweep from my head to feet and back again. “You look beautiful.” He touches the end of one of my braids. “And I love these.”

“I don’t look like Pippi Longstocking?”

His brow creases. “Pippi who?”

“Um. Just a book character. It’s not important.”

“Okay…”

“Anyway,” I say brightly. “I’m just glad you’re here. And you look really handsome, too.”

Knox gives me an unexpectedly shy smile. “Thanks.” After a pause, he adds, “But your surprise. I have everything here. If you could just—” He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch. “Just sit here with your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.”

Dutifully I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to a series of rustlings and thuds and soft thunks only feet from me. Just as the aroma of fresh pine hits me, Knox announces, “Okay. You can open your eyes.”

For a second, all I can do is stare.

It’s everything I could need to decorate for Christmas.

There’s a gorgeous pine tree, tall enough to brush the ceiling, its branches already relaxed and ready for trimming.

Boxes of ornaments sit beside it, multi-colored bulbs and blown glass figures and tiny stuffed woodland animals with adorable faces.

At least a dozen sets of white lights are piled next to them, more than enough to wrap around the tree twenty times.

Knox follows my gaze and explains, “So I can put some outside. On the porch and the little trees, just like you said you wanted.”

I’m close to tears already, and that’s not all of it. Amid all the ornaments and lights, there are large, red velvet bows, just enough for one to go on each window. An assortment of indoor decorations are set across the floor—delicate carved deer and chubby little snowmen and red and green candles in etched glass holders.

“Knox,” I breathe, my throat too tight to speak any louder. “How?—”

“I know how much you love Christmas,” he starts, looking both hopeful and nervous at the same time. “It’s not the same as being home, but I just thought this might make you happy. And we can decorate it today if you want, and I have eggnog and cookies still in the car, and?—”

“Knox.” I jump off the couch and rush to him, hugging him with my good arm. As he wraps his arms around me, I say, “This is incredible. It’s so… I can’t believe it. That you did this for me.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then he looks down at me, emotion darkening his gaze. “I would do anything to make you happy, Lark.”

Oh, my.

I can’t be wrong about this, can I?

What if I just tell him now? What if I?—

So of course, one of our phones decides to start buzzing. Of course .

“Crap.” Knox’s voice dips in apology. He reaches into his pocket and slides out his phone. “Sorry. It’s my foreman calling. I wouldn’t answer otherwise. But it’ll only be a second.”

“It’s fine.” I gesture at the stack of ornaments. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take a look and start planning the best placement on the tree.”

A minute later, he’s off the phone, frowning slightly as he sets it on the coffee table.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He stops. “Well. Pete—he’s my foreman—had some news. It’s not great. He was driving past a house we’re renovating while the owners are down in Florida. And he spotted one of the crew member’s trucks there. Which it shouldn’t have been.”

I get off the floor and come to stand next to him. “And?”

“Pete went inside. He found Ric—one of my employees—passed out inside. When he woke Ric up, Pete could tell he was still drunk.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah.” Knox shakes his head. “I’ve had some problems with Ric already, and after this… I might have to fire him. Which I hate.”

Clasping his hand, I give it a little squeeze. “I know it’s hard. But this is your business, Knox. And if this employee is putting your reputation at risk…”

“I know.” He shakes his head again. “Anyway. I didn’t mean to ruin your big surprise.”

“You didn’t. It’s still wonderful. And I want you to feel like you can talk to me if something’s bothering you.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “I know. And the same goes for you.” Knox pulls me in for another hug. “Now, let’s get decorating. Those ornaments aren’t going to jump onto the branches by themselves, are they?”

“Nope.” I grin at him. “But I’ll warn you now, I’m pretty particular about hanging ornaments. Making sure they’re evenly placed, that sort of thing.”

He reaches for a box of glass bulbs and gives me a confident smile. “I think I can handle it.”

But half an hour later, after watching me move the same ornament five times, Knox laughs as he says, “I think it looks fine, Lark. Really.”

Stepping back from the tree, I give the ornament an assessing look. “Well. I guess. But are you sure it’s not too close to the raccoon? They seem kind of cramped.”

He sets down his glass of eggnog and walks over to me, looping his arm around my waist. “I think it looks perfect.”

“Sorry.” My cheeks warm. “When I said particular, I think I actually meant verging on obsessive. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve spent hours decorating the tree. Fortunately, my dad didn’t mind.”

His thumb lightly strokes my side, almost absentmindedly. “So you and your dad always did all the Christmas stuff together?”

“Yes. Even though my dad was really busy with his company, he always made time for me. And for celebrating all the holidays.”

A shadow moves across his gaze. Several moments later, he says, “I’m really glad you had that. Such a close bond with your dad. I’m sorry you couldn’t spend Thanksgiving with him this year.”

“It’s okay. He understood that it was safer that way. And he went over to a friend’s—well, a long-time employee’s—house and they watched football all day. So it wasn’t too bad.”

Knox glances back at the tree, already twinkling with hundreds of lights and more than half decorated. As he stares at it, he says, “I didn’t celebrate holidays as a kid. My parents… well. They weren’t around enough for that.”

My heart twists at the sadness in his voice. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates. Lets out a slow sigh. Then he rests his cheek on my head, his warm breath feathering across my hair. “It wasn’t horrible. I wasn’t beaten or anything. But my father… he was a gambler. He picked up enough temporary work—day labor, landscaping crews—to cover his bets for the week. And he was gone every weekend gambling at some casino, coming back home late Sunday night with nothing.”

Not wanting to interrupt, I nod for him to continue.

“My mother tried when I was little. I have vague memories of cookies and a fake tree in the living room. But by the time I was in elementary school, she gave up. I think my father wore her down. Always taking money from her, forcing her to work double shifts to cover the bills… So when I was eight, she kicked him out.”

Pausing, he says, “He never came back. But honestly, I thought things would be better without him. But… it wasn’t.”

Dread fills my stomach. “What happened?”

“Nothing like what you’re thinking. I wasn’t abused. She just… checked out. Started dating a series of asshole me n who weren’t interested in being a father. More often than not, she’d spent the night at their place because our apartment was so terrible.” Bitterness tinges his tone. “She didn’t care about leaving me there. Just as long as she had a nicer place to sleep.”

“Oh, Knox.”

“I tried to spend as much time as I could with my friends. But I didn’t want them to know how bad it was. I was afraid of getting my mother in trouble. Isn’t that crazy? She didn’t care about me, but I still worried about her.”

“It’s not crazy.”

“When I was fourteen, I met Tom. I was looking for part-time work, raking lawns, cleaning gutters, that sort of thing. So I put up a sign at the library, offering my services. He was the only person who responded.”

Voice softening with affection, Knox adds, “Tom was great. He realized I was going through some shit, and he helped me out. Always had extra for dinner on the days I came to work for him. He hooked me up with a new bike when the one I used to get to his house broke. He paid me way more than the going rate because he knew I was struggling.”

“He sounds like an amazing person.”

I can feel Knox smile. “He is.” A beat, and then, “I told you I grew up in Morristown, right?”

“Yes.”

“The house I live in? It was Tom’s. He wanted to move to Florida, and I was separating from the Army around the same time. So he offered to sell it to me for a bargain. He said he knew I used to love the house and thought I might want to fix it up. Come home again. ”

Knox turns to face me, his handsome features solemn as he says, “I wasn’t sure if I made the right choice at first. Coming back to a town with such bad memories. And everything was so different from what I was used to—the Army, my GB teammates, the missions—I didn’t know if I could be happy here.”

My breath catches at the look in his eyes.

“And are you happy?”

He stares at me for a second, emotion working in his gaze. “It’s funny. I thought I was. With the company, and the Guardians, and the friends I’ve made here… I thought it was enough.”

Almost whispering, I ask, “And now?”

“Now.” Knox takes my hands. “Now that I’ve met you, I understand what real happiness is.”

Oh.

Tears burn behind my eyes.

Hope takes wing in my chest.

“I make you happy?”

“Songbird. You make me incredibly happy.”

“Songbird?”

His ears go pink. “It’s nothing.”

“No.” I squeeze his hands. “Tell me.”

“Well. I just think of you like that.”

“Because of my name?”

“No. Because…” Ruddy spots appear on his cheeks. “You’re bright. And beautiful. And cheerful. And I love listening to you.”

OH.

I have to tell him.

“Knox.” As he watches me with a worried gaze, I move closer to him. “I know we’re friends. But… ”

“But?”

“I… I want to be more than that. More than just friends.”

His concerned expression shifts to relief. On an exhale, he says, “Oh, Lark. So do I.”

Everything else fades in importance to this moment. To the beginning of something special.

“So…” I move closer still; until our chests are flush and his face is inches from mine. “If we’re more than friends now, does that mean we can…”

“Yes.” His hand cups my cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do this for… longer than I let myself admit.”

Desire heats his gaze.

He dips his head.

Our lips are a breath apart.

My heart races.

And then?—

We kiss.

His mouth covers mine, and for a second, or an hour, everything stills.

It’s just me and him. Falling into something I’ve only dreamed about until now.

Knox nips at my lip, then caresses the tiny sting away with his tongue.

One hand moves to my lower back, pressing me against him.

He teases my mouth open and dips inside, tasting of sugar and nutmeg and cinnamon.

Need coils in my belly.

My lungs demand air, but I ignore them in favor of this incredible feeling.

But too soon, Knox breaks the kiss, gazing down at me with a mixture of hunger and affection. “That was even better than I imagined it.”

“Have you imagined kissing me a lot?”

He brushes his finger across my kiss-swollen lips. “Every day.”

Joy fizzes up inside me. “Then I guess we should make up for lost time, shouldn’t we?”

“Songbird.” His gaze burns into mine. “We absolutely should.”