Page 42 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“So…” she drags the word out. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, sliding out of the car. Lottie does the same, rounding the hood, meeting me on the sidewalk. I stare down at my feet for a moment before looking up into her eyes—whiskey brown, so beautiful I could get drunk off them. The tightness in my chest, the one that’s been growing silently all day, suddenly expands to every inch of my body. And I can’t just let things end like this today. I don’t want to.

“Okay, then,” she mutters right before she walks away. But before she makes it far, my hand wraps around her wrist, gently pulling her to a stop.

“You okay?” she asks when she turns to look at me.

The answer is clearly written all over my face, my body. The way my other hand shakes as I wrap it around her free wrist.

No, I am most definitely not okay. For so many different reasons.

“Can I come up?”

“Yes,” she says without a hint of hesitation. She loosens my grip on her wrists, threads her fingers through mine, and pulls me to her apartment. Together, we climb the stairs slowly, stopping only to search for her key at the bottom of her purse.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LOTTIE

With a shaky hand, I push my front door open, painfully aware that I just invited Knox to come into my apartment. Alone. Alone together. But there is no way I’m going to leave him by himself tonight—at least not before knowing he’s okay.

“Jesus,” I hear him whisper behind me, looking into my apartment over my shoulder. “Your place is almost like Walter’s apartment, except everything is bright and insanely organized.”

I smile, hanging my coat and toeing off my white Converse, leaving them on a small rack by the door. “You mean because of the books?” I toss my keys on my kitchen table next to my ereader while Knox unlaces his boots, setting them beside mine. I feel a pang in my chest at the image, something about the domesticity of it all reaching a part of me that craves it—with him, specifically.

“They’re everywhere,” he says, his voice filled with awe, taking in my collection. The built-in shelves wrap around almost every wall of the loft—one of the best features of the place. Organized by color rather than author, the books stand out in a wild rainbow from the rest of my apartment—white bookshelves and furniture, cream blankets and linens, off-white flowers tucked between books or resting in glass vases on every surface of my place. I know some people consider it sacrilege to organize books that way, but the aesthetically pleasing look brings a small, yet significant, joy in my life.

“I love it,” he breathes. “It’s so… bright. A far cry from the brown- and black-spined books from the store.”

I smile, an odd sense of pride filling my chest. It took a lot to make this place into something I could see myself being happy in. But I did it.

Knox looks around the apartment, absentmindedly running his hands over the back of my loveseat, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

I snort. “I know. Ale gave me free reign to renovate it however I wanted when I moved in. It was originally being used for storage and kinda dark and musty. I wanted the complete opposite of that. And I know Walter would’ve killed me if he saw how I organize my bookshelves here, but I just wanted the place to look beautiful.”

“That isn’t a bad thing. To want to make things look beautiful. Though I should tell you, as a photographer, there’s beauty in everything.” He grins his lopsided smile.

“As you’ve mentioned before.”

He laughs once and nods. “Right. But as far as conventional beauty, you succeeded. This place looks amazing.”

I smile ruefully. “Once in fashion, always in fashion. I can’t help but merchandise my own place, I guess. Plus…” I hesitate, considering confessing the truth. “I—I wanted it to feel happy. I desperately needed that after my divorce. A happy place that would help me want to get out of bed in the morning.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could reach out and pull them back in. I groan internally, cursing myself for bringing it up.

“It’s great,” he says with genuine admiration. “I totally get what you mean by it.”

“It’s total ‘coastal mom vibes,’” I say self-deprecatingly with a shrug. “But, yeah.”

“It’s bright and cozy. And I can just see you curled up under a blanket on that little loveseat, reading one of your many books.” He smiles softly, almost as if lost in a daydream. “Or maybe binging a show on your laptop—something from the nineties or early two-thousands— with a mug of tea.”

“Accurate,” I grin. “Though don’t most people do something along those lines, too?”

“I guess so. But something about you being the one doing it makes it special.” I inhale sharply, my eyes widening as I zero in on Knox.

Shit, I think I’ve caught feelings.

His eyes—so goddamn beautiful—land on mine almost sheepishly. His words, the way he’s looking at me, his scent… It’s throwing me for a loop and I desperately need to get a handle on things.

I shake my head slowly, readying myself to have an uncomfortable conversation.