Page 84 of Hometown Touchdown
“And men?” I press.
He shoots me a look. “You’re deflecting. Weren’t we talking about you and Brynn?”
“Fine,” I say, holding up my hands. “But just so you know, if you ever want to ask Kate out, I’m not gonna give you a hard time. Much.”
Cam gives me a half-smile, then shakes his head. “We’re friends. Just friends.”
But I catch the hint of something behind his eyes, hesitation, maybe. Or something closer to hope he hasn’t admitted out loud.
Our food arrives—bacon, egg, and cheese for me, avocado toast for Cam because of course—and the conversation shifts to the game, the team, and how many questions Ty can ask about homecoming outfits for chaperones before getting kicked out of the group chat.
Still, even as we laugh and eat and fall into our usual rhythm, I can’t stop thinking about what Cam said. About quiet.
And about how maybe I’m not the only one trying to figure out my feelings.
By the time I get home, it’s late afternoon, and I’ve only got a couple hours before she’s supposed to come over. I should be nervous. I probably am. But more than anything, I’m…excited. Like a kid about to go to prom with the girl he never thought he’d get another shot with.
I put on the suit I save for weddings and interviews. It’s navy. Tailored. Makes me feel like the man I want to be when I look in her eyes. I knot the tie carefully, take one last look in the mirror, and run a hand over my jaw, half considering shaving before deciding against it. She likes the scruff. I know she does.
The living room is already set. I moved the furniture after I got home from Cam’s—rolled up the rug, cleared a space, and strung up twinkle lights across the windows. There’s a playlist queued up, one she’ll recognize from high school slow dances and late-night drives. I even picked up her favorite takeout and hid a bottle of champagne in the fridge.
All of it stupidly romantic. All of it just for her.
I should feel ridiculous for going all out like this. But I don’t. Because when I picture her walking in—seeing what I’ve put together, realizing it’s all for her—it feels right. More than that, it feels like something I could do forever.
The thought sneaks in quietly, uninvited but not unwelcome:marrying her.
It’s not a wild idea. Not anymore. I’d need a bigger place, something with a real yard and more than a shared wall. I’d needa ring—something classic and sturdy, something that doesn’t scream money but screamsI know you. There’d be logistics, sure. Compromise. Her job. My job. The mess of merging two lives that already tried to split apart once.
But it doesn’t feel impossible. It feels like the plan I’ve been carrying around in the back of my head without admitting it. I lean a hand on the back of the couch and exhale slowly.
Jesus, Knox.
Slow down.
This isn’t a proposal. It’s a date. A night meant to remind her that what we have is worth believing in. First, I need to help her see that. Then I’ll convince her she doesn’t have to stay hidden anymore, that love like ours shouldn’t live in the shadows. And maybe someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll ask her to stay for good.
But tonight, I just want to see her walk through that door, pull her into my arms, and make her feel like the only girl in the world. Because to me, she always has been.
Chapter forty-three
Brynn
Gettingreadyforadate with Knox Dalton feels like slipping back into a version of myself I haven’t seen in years, but this time, she’s older, wiser, and a little more terrified.
The dress he picked is even more gorgeous when I put it on. The fabric feels like liquid against my skin, and the heels? Sexy in a “please don’t make me walk very far” kind of way. I’ve been standing in front of the mirror for ten minutes now, trying to decide if I look like a woman who knows what she’s doing, or one who’s about to cry from the sheer emotional weight of wanting too much.
Probably both.
It takes me three tries to clasp the necklace I picked out, mostly because my hands are doing this ridiculous little shake like I’m about to meet a celebrity instead of the guy I already know who looks unfairly good in a suit. My makeup is done, soft and glowy with just enough drama to suggest I might be up to something, and by some miracle, my hair decided to behave. Actual curls. Minimal frizz. We love to see it.
I look good. I feel good. And I’m buzzing like I drank a double espresso made entirely of butterflies.
Because tonight isn’t just about the dress or whatever Knox has planned. It’s abouthim. It’s about us. It’s about the way being with him makes me feel—steady, seen, a little breathless in the best way.
But it can’t stay secret forever.
The thought cuts through the warm haze of my pre-date nerves and settles like a pebble in my stomach. We’ve been dancing in the shadows for a couple weeks now. Pretending we’re just neighbors. Pretending nothing’s changed. But everything has. And if we don’t tell people—if we don’t own it—someone else will do it for us.
