Page 75 of Hometown Touchdown
I exhale slowly, watching her. She’s not asking for sex. She’s asking for comfort.
I nod. “I’ll grab Priscilla and come over.”
Her eyes soften. “Okay.”
We walk off into the night, quiet between us, then her hand brushes mine as she walks to her Uber and I to my truck.
Chapter thirty-eight
Brynn
TheUberridebackto the duplex is only seven minutes, but it feels like forever. It’s silly that I didn’t ride back with Knox, but if anyone had seen me get into the passenger seat of his truck, our cover would have been blown.
The night was fun. Easy. A mix of familiar faces and new rhythms. It should’ve been perfect. But the whole time, I felt like I had my foot on the brake. Smiling at the right times, laughing when I should, while every cell in my body was straining toward Knox.
The driver stops in front of our place and I climb the steps to the door, no sign of Knox yet. I unlock the door and step inside, taking off my shoes and casually flipping through the pile of mail on my entryway table, mainly for something to do.
A minute later, there’s a soft knock on my door. When I open it, he’s there in his black hoodie and jeans, the sleeves pushed to his forearms, his eyes soft. “Still feel like sharing a bed with me tonight?” he asks, voice low.
I don’t answer. I just step back and let him in.
We don’t talk much after that. We brush our teeth in silence, trade tired smiles, and slip under the covers like this is normal. Like we’ve done it a hundred times.
Priscilla hops up and takes her spot at the foot of the bed. Knox stretches out beside me and lifts his arm like a silent invitation. I go without thinking, curling into his side, head tucked against his chest, one hand fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt.
His body is warm and solid, and his heartbeat thuds a calm, steady rhythm beneath my cheek. He smells like clean laundry and aftershave.
And I melt.
Tonight, it’s about comfort. The quiet. The fact that I don’t have to explain why I didn’t want to be alone, because he already understood. I feel his hand drift through my hair, slow and gentle. My throat tightens.
We spent the entire night pretending we weren’t together. Sitting across from each other like strangers with history, like a love story waiting to implode. I hated every second of it.
But I know it’s for the best—for now.
We’re figuring things out. Untangling knots. Building something new, even if it looks a lot like what we had before.
Still, I can’t help wishing I’d gotten to lean over and kiss him at the table. That I could’ve laced my fingers with his under the string lights instead of keeping my hands folded in my lap.
But here, in the dark, I have him. And for tonight, that’s enough.
I wake slowly to the smell of coffee and eggs.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming. Then I hear pans clinking in the kitchen and the quiet, low thrum of Knox talking to Priscilla, probably giving her cooking tips.
I roll out of bed, tug on a sweatshirt, and shuffle into the kitchen to find him barefoot, flipping toast and pouring coffee with the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still rough.
He glances over his shoulder, grinning. “Morning. I made eggs and toast. Hope that’s okay.”
I smile and lean against the doorway, just watching him.
He grabs a mug and fills it, then adds a splash of milk and one sugar—exactly the way I take it. When he hands it to me, our fingers brush, and something soft and warm buzzes under my skin.
“You remembered how I take it.”
He shrugs, casual. “Course I did.”
