Page 19 of Knotting else Matters

“Not a fan.”

“Figures. Sugar probably runs from you in terror.”

“I just prefer things with substance.”

“Substance? Like dry toast and black coffee?”

He chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a strange warmth curling through my chest. “Something like that.”

“Man of mystery.”

“And you’re a woman of chaos.”

“Nice of you to notice.”

We fell into another comfortable silence, the soft glow of the dashboard lighting his face, shadows dancing over his sharp features. I let my eyes drift to the window, the moonlit trees sliding by, and for the first time all night, the knot in my chest loosened, just a little.

When we pulled up in front of the hotel, I reached for the door handle, already halfway out. “Thanks for the ride. You can head back now.”

“I live here.”

Of course he did.

“Of course you do,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and stepping out onto the curb. The lobby lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, warm and golden, and I suddenly craved that same warm glow wrapping around me. Or maybe just a strong drink. Yeah, definitely that.

Adrian climbed out of the driver’s side, locking the car with a smooth click, but his long strides carried him toward the entrance without another glance in my direction. Always so calm, so composed. So maddening.

“Hey,Mr. Control Freak!”I called, my voice echoing against the polished glass walls of the lobby.

He stopped, turned, one dark eyebrow arched.

“I’m heading to the bar. Want to join? Or would that be too… unstructured for you?”

“Tempting.” His lips twitched in that faint, almost-smile. “But I have work to do.”

“Of course you do.” I tossed him a mock salute. “Well, don’t work too hard. Someone has to keep this place from falling apart, right?”

“Exactly.” And with that, he turned, his tall figure disappearing into the depths of the lobby, leaving me standing in the cool night air.

Infuriating. That was the word. He was infuriating. Smooth, calm, annoyingly in control of everything.

Whatever. I had better company waiting for me—namely, a strong drink and a bar stool.

I stepped into the warm, dimly lit bar, the quiet murmur of low voices and the soft clink of glassware a comforting background. I slipped onto a high stool, the bartender giving me a polite, professional smile.

“What can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Neat. Actually, make it a double.”

“Rough night?”

“You have no idea.”

I leaned back, letting the soft glow of the bar light wash over me, the glass cool in my hand as I took that first, burning sip. It was a pleasant, familiar burn—one that quieted the storm in my chest, dulled the sharp edges of my mother’s words, softened the memory of Adrian’s sharp, knowing gaze.

I’d survived dinner. I’d survived Lena. And now, I was alone. Finally. No sharp remarks, no subtle insults, no perfectly poised masks I had to wear.

Just me, a glass of whiskey, and the gentle hum of strangers living their perfectly ordinary lives around me.

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