Page 98 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“Because if we’re sleeping together and you say you care about me, then what’s left to discuss?”

There’s… so much left to discuss. So much I haven’t said. So much I need to say.

“But—the age difference.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy, because at this point, I’m just grasping at straws. In the two months we’ve been together, I can’t remember the age thing ever really being a problem. Not really.

“Are you seriously using that as an excuse?”

I take a deep, sharp breath.

“No,” I whisper, because it is a pathetic excuse, I realize now. Especially after all this time.

“So? Are we together or not?” he asks, panting, every muscle in his body tense as if he were bracing himself for a huge blow.

“I—Yes, but⁠—”

“No. No buts. Yes or no, Lottie. Because I’m here. I’m in this. I want to be here. I don’t want to be with anyone else but you. I don’t want to kiss or fuck or hold anyone but you. I want to share my days with you. I don’t want to expiration date anymore. I don’t want this to be a for now. I want us to figure things out together. To make this long-term.”

But there’s so much I can’t give you. There’s so much we need to discuss. There’s so much that doesn’t fit.

I can’t have kids. And you’ll want them some day.

But I can’t make the words come out of my mouth. The best I manage is “There’s so much we don’t know about each other, still.” I feel a tear stream down my cheek, which he catches with his thumb just in time.

“We have time to get to know each other. We’ll learn. We’ll grow. And we’ll do it together.” He wraps his arms around my waist, which I’m incredibly thankful for because I feel myself losing my footing.

Ever the coward, I swallow hard once and ask “What about your job? You travel for a living. You don’t even have a permanent residence—not really. The only reason you probably haven’t left is because we’ve been working on the damn store.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, unbothered by the concept of having an income or stability. “Not a big deal. It’s because I don’t have a set home base that this will make things easier. I can even take shorter projects so I can spend more time with you.” He swallows hard once, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Wherever you are will be my home base. If you’ll have me. Even when you move to New York. I don’t care about where I set my roots, so long as they’re where you are.”

I press my hands to his chest as my breath catches, feeling his heart beat a steady rhythm beneath my palms. I keep my gaze on my fingertips, doing everything to avoid the smoldering look in his eyes I know he’s giving me.

“So we’re just going to do this?” I ask, a little dazed, a lot in awe.

He laughs softly. “Be in a relationship?” he asks, pressing his lips just below my ear. His hot breath tickles as he speaks, making me weak-kneed. His arms tighten around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest, and suddenly, I really don’t mind.

“A real one.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the next logical step here.” I can practically feel his smile against my delicate skin.

“I…” I can’t breathe. And I know I need to tell him. I know I need to say the important part. But the truth is, I’ve never been this happy. Not really. And the thought of having to ruin this with reality—with the entire truth—is a little heartbreaking. Being with Knox hasn’t just been a breath of fresh air, it’s made me feel seen. Understood. I’m not ready to give up the happiness of being with someone who cares about me, who I care so deeply about, by telling the truth. And I know it’s selfish, and I know I’m just delaying the inevitable. But as I stand there in his arms, his lips pressed to my ear as he whispers how much he cares about me, how often he thinks of me, how he never wants to let this go, I decide I don’t care anymore.

I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LOTTIE

The smell of warm syrup, baked goods, and bacon as I walk into the dining room of the B&B is glorious. That and the three rounds of sex over the past twelve hours lift my spirits up this morning.

I’m trash for a good breakfast. Give me some crispy waffles, smothered in butter under a tsunami of maple syrup (legit Vermont maple syrup, at that!) and a side of sausage and I turn into a big grin emoji for the rest of the day. So the second I see the self-serve all-you-can-eat buffet and I am living for it, already mentally mapping out my first plate—because I will definitely be going back for seconds.

That is, until I spot Madison waving eagerly at me to come over to her table and remember what I’m doing here in the first place. I cringe, but the mouthwatering scent gives me hope that no matter how painfully awkward this meeting could end up going, at least the food will be good.

“You’re here! Yay!” She gets to her feet, perfect locks bouncing, and comes around the table, wrapping her arms around my waist.

Taken aback by her enthusiasm, I whisper “Hey. Yeah.”