Page 18 of One Last Thing Before You Go

But we don’t. You’re going to leave eventually. One way or another.

“I think you’re delusional. And I think it’s time I go home, leave you to deal with this by yourself.”

Finally, I manage to muster the emotional fortitude to make my way to the door. But just as I’m about to pull it shut behind me, he calls out: “Alright, Pretty Girl. I’ll win you over some other way.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

LOTTIE

Six, seven, eight, nine⁠—

“Morning,” a cheerful voice breaks through my concentration, nearly making me jump out of my seat.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, hand flying to my chest, twenty-dollar bills spilling all over the desk.

“Whoa, you good?” Knox asks, brows raised.

“You scared me. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Are you stalking me or something? Do I need to call the police?”

“Uh, I own part of this store? Plus, I live above it. And it looks to me like I should be the one calling the police. Are you robbing the place or something?” Knox surveys the piles of cash on the desk and the open safe behind Walter’s leather desk chair, where I’m currently seated.

“Wait. You—? What? What the hell are you talking about you living here?” I just finished my first cup of coffee a few minutes ago, but I should’ve guessed after yesterday that today was going to be a two- to three-cup morning.

Knox’s lopsided smile is back. “Did you suffer some sort of major head trauma or something between last night and this morning? Some temporary amnesia I don’t know about?” His eyes widen in mock seriousness. “I’m Knox,” he puts a hand to his chest, speaking slowly. “I inherited the apartment above and part of the store, remember?”

I reach for a Post-It block on the desk and throw it at him. He laughs, dodging it just in time.

“It just made financial sense to move in there while I’m in town, know what I mean? I do own it, after all.”

Knox walks over to the coffee maker on the sideboard and picks out a random mug—his father’s, though I’m sure he has no idea. It’s simple—white with a blue handle.

“No fuss, Lottie. Not like yours,” he would say. “There’s no need to express your every thought on cutesy mugs.”

I smile fondly to myself, remembering how much he teased me for mine: a black mug with a gold outline of a cat and the words, “You’re stressing meowt” emblazoned on the front. Watching Walter huff in annoyance every time he saw me drinking from it was part of my morning entertainment.

Knox’s voice brings me back to the present: “Plus, it means I get to see more of you.” He smiles, making my heart jump in my chest.

“You’re such a flirt,” I try to hide my smile behind my mug.

“Yes,” he nods, not a hint of shame in his voice. “But only with you. And I have a feeling I’ll be a bit relentless, so… fair warning.”

I snort and shake my head.

“Is this the only flavor you have?” He asks, going through the K-cups. “And just almond milk; no regular milk?”

Ignoring his questions, I go back to the topic at hand. “The fact that you own the apartment still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I just told you,” he says, loading the coffee maker.

“Right but⁠—”

He cuts me off, turning to look at me with his piercing blue eyes. “Listen, how about we cut to the ‘too long, didn’t read’ version, okay? I spent the night upstairs because I didn’t want to keep spending money on a shitty motel the next town over that screamed Schitt’s Creek—no offense to the lovely hosts who run it—when I had a perfectly okay-ish apartment I could stay at for free.”

I blink a few times at him. “But… that’s Walter’s apartment.”

“Was. It’s mine now.” He says it so casually, my jaw drops slightly.

“So, you’re just sleeping in his bed?” I ask, my voice dry.