Page 65 of Hometown Touchdown
And as he reaches for his coffee again, I let myself lean just a little closer, tucking my toes under his thigh like this is something we do every Sunday morning. Because, right now, it can be.
Chapter thirty-three
Knox
She’sgonebylunchtime.
Not in a bad way. There was no awkwardness, no rushing out like she’d made a mistake. Just a quiet moment by the door, her fingers brushing mine, a kiss pressed to my jaw that lingered longer than it had to. She slipped out wearing one of my hoodies—one I didn’t offer, by the way, but wasn’t about to ask for back—with the sleeves pushed past her hands and the hood up to guard against the late-autumn chill. Said she was meeting Kinsey and Kate for lunch. Said she’d text me later.
I head back upstairs without really thinking about it, and the stillness hits me in pieces. The smell of her shampoo clings to my pillow. The blankets on her side of the bed are rumpled, shaped faintly around where her body rested. Her coffee mug is still in the sink. There’s a single white sock curled up near the couch like it gave up sometime during the night and decided to stay.
None of it should mean anything. But somehow, it all does.
I sit on the edge of the bed and scrub a hand over my face, still not quite recovered from the way she giggled this morning when Priscilla climbed on top of her like they were already best friends. That damn dog barely tolerates Cam. But Brynn? Instant soulmates. She scratched behind Priscilla’s ears and the smug look on my dog’s face cemented the fact that I want more mornings like that.
It was only one night. We didn’t sleep together, not in the way most people mean, but it still felt like something big. Something that wasn’t about lust or history or trying to prove a point. And somehow it was more intimate than anything we did when we were younger and stupid and half-drunk on hormones.
I’m not overthinking it. I know what it was. I know what I want.
But what I keep circling back to is how badly I wish I could tell someone. Just say it out loud. She came back, and she slept next to me, and it felt like coming home. But she wants to keep things quiet for now—no moms, no gossip mill, no well-meaning townspeople making it bigger than it is. And I told her I’d honor that. I meant it.
Still, it feels strange not to be able to reach for her hand in public or shout to the entire town that I’m done pretending I don’t care.
Because I do. More than I have words for.
I head to Cam’s later that afternoon because I need someone I can trust who’ll listen without making me feel like a dumbass for needing to talk it out.
He opens the door in mesh shorts, a hoodie, and socks that do not match.
“You good?” he asks, already turning back toward the living room.
“Define good,” I mutter, stepping inside.
There’s a football game paused on the screen and an empty takeout container on the coffee table. Cam flops down on the couch and gestures for me to do the same.
“So?” he says, eyebrows raised. “What’s the situation with Brynn?”
I sit, elbows on my knees, heart still kind of slow from this morning. “She stayed over.”
His brows shoot up. “Stayed over-over?”
“Yeah. But—” I cut him a look. “We didn’t sleep together.”
That throws him.
“You’re telling me,” he says slowly, “that your high school sweetheart—who looks like she belongs on the cover of every broken-hearted country album—slept in your bed, and you didn’t—”
“Nope.”
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Just…closeness. Real closeness. Like we finally let the walls down. And yeah, it was tempting, but it didn’t feel like the right time.”
Cam lets out a low whistle. “Man, I respect it. That’s some grown-ass restraint.”
I shrug, but inside, I feel steadier for it. “I want to do this right. Not rush it, not mess it up.”
He leans back, arms crossed. “So where does that leave you now?”
