Page 175 of The Silver Fox Brother

It’s been a few days since we returned from Naples. I haven't heard from Knox. I tell myself there are reasons. He's busy. I'm busy. We're both processing what happened between us without the pressure of constant contact.

But it still stings.

I've been running between client meetings all week, making up for the time I spent in Florida. Two consultations got pushed because of Naples, and both clients were understanding but firm about needing to meet this week. I spent yesterday at a townhouse in the Upper East Side discussing a full renovation, and this morning I met with a couple in Brooklyn Heights who want to modernize their brownstone without losing its historic charm.

By the time I arrive at the Tribeca site just after 2PM, I'm exhausted. The development is coming together beautifully. The exterior is nearly complete, the interior framing is done, and now we're in the phase where my designs actually start coming to life.

I walk through the ground floor lobby, taking in the progress. The marble flooring I specified is being installed, the custom millwork is going up, and the lighting fixtures are being mounted. Tom sees me and walks over.

"Winter, good to see you. What do you think?"

"It's looking great. The marble turned out even better than I expected."

"We aim to please." Tom gestures toward the elevators.

"Want to see the model units on twelve?"

"Actually, I wanted to discuss the changes to the penthouse layout first. Is Knox here?"

Tom's expression shifts slightly.

"No, he's in Boston. He’s been there the past few days."

My stomach drops. "Boston?"

"Yeah. Some kind of emergency with one of his developments there. I don't have all the details, but it sounded serious."

I try to keep my face neutral.

"Is everything okay?"

Tom shrugs.

"I assume so. Knox doesn't usually share much unless it directly affects our timeline here. But he said he'd be back early next week."

"Right. Okay."

I'm trying to process this. Knox is in Boston. He's been there all week. That's why he hasn't called. But part of me also wonders if there's another reason. If what happened in Naples scared him off. If he's avoiding me. Tom is still talking, something about the penthouse finishes, but I'm only half listening.

"Winter?"

I snap back. "Sorry. Yes. Let's go look at the model units."

We spend the next hour walking through the building. I make notes, point out adjustments that need to be made, approve sample materials. The work is good. My team is executing the vision perfectly.

But I can't stop thinking about Knox.

An emergency in Boston. That's all I know. I want to text him. Ask if he's okay. But I don't know if that's overstepping. We left things undefined in Naples. No conversation about what we were doing or where this was going. Just goodbye at the airport and separate cars.

..Maybe that was his answer.

***

The flowers start arriving on Thursday. The first bouquet shows up at my studio in the morning. White roses. Two dozen of them. The card reads:

"I'm sorry. Please talk to me.

- R"