Page 66 of The Quiet After The Fall

He holds the drink up like an offering and I open the door another inch.

“You’re actually wearing it,” I say, tilting my chin at the shirt.

“Of course I am. It’s my new favorite.”

I take the coffee, unsure if I’m making the right move, but it smells so good. It’s warm and I know the caffeine is exactly what I need.

He holds up the box next. It’s tied with string, a little lopsided, like it slid around on the seat of his car. “From that new bakery, Shoreline Sweets.”

I take that too.

We stare at each other, his dark eyes taking in every detail he can. Intense as always. “Knox⁠—”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t trying to come in.” He says exactly what I was thinking. Or at least that’s what I was planning to say—what could’ve actually come out of my mouth, I’ll never know. “I just wanted you to have these. Start your day off right.”

I glance at the box then back at him. He looks genuine, his eyes holding mine.

“Thank you,” I say. “This is really nice.”

Tears threaten to escape again so I quickly close the door. I stand there with my back against it, coffee in one hand and the box in the other, willing myself to accept this kindness and not analyze it too much. I peek through the peephole a few seconds later. He’s still out there.

My breathing picks up but this time for a different reason. Will he knock again? I don’t know if I have the strength to turn him away a second time. Not when I’m upset and lonely and he’s gone and done something so selfless this morning.

I crack the curtain and see him leaning against the hood of his Jeep, arms crossed, facing my door.

Shit.

What is he doing out there? I back away and set the box on the bed, opening it to find a chocolate layer cake and two forks tucked against the side. It looks delicious, exactly what I would have picked for myself. I dab a bit of frosting with my thumb, and bring it to my lips. The sweetness helps to snap me out of my funk.

I move the box and get comfortable again, bringing my coffee to the nightstand. Somehow, I know Knox is still outside and the thought is comforting instead of infuriating like usual. What kind of memories does he hold from my birthday? Maybe they’re swimming to the surface for him too.

I’m not as alone as I thought.

I take my time getting ready for the day. It feels good to have no reason to rush. I brush my teeth with the cartoon crab toothbrush, smirking at the googly eyes, wash my face, and pull my hair back. At least I feel slightly cleaner, even though I have to wear the sundress from yesterday.

Does Knox have clean boxers? Shorts? My cheeks flush remembering how he came in his pants from a few quick strokes. I’ve never felt so powerful before.

I step back and look at myself in the smudged mirror. This is twenty-five. I look the same and feel drained already.

There’s not much to collect around the room. I can carry everything in both arms, cake included. I breathe in, preparing to see Knox again. Wanting him to be there, even if we don’t say a word to each other.

There he is, sitting in his Jeep, windows down, aviators on. He straightens when he sees me, but doesn’t make a move to get out. Two hours. That’s how long he’s been sitting here doing nothing. I don’t remember Knox ever having this much patience.

I walk to the office to drop my key on the counter and come back out to find my door already open, which is annoyingly helpful considering my full hands. There are a dozen roses wrapped in cellophane, sitting on my passenger seat. I have no clue when he had time to buy them, but I’m smiling again and fighting the urge to smell the fragrant petals.

He’s watching me from his Jeep, waiting for me to say something, just like last night when we almost kissed.

It’s a game I wasn’t sure I wanted to play. This back and forth, waiting to see who will break first. But as I take in the intensity of his gaze, my mind sets.

He wants to play. I’m in.

I set the cake box carefully on the passenger floor, load the rest into the backseat, and pull out of the lot without a glance in his direction. A few seconds later, his Jeep is in my rearview, a foot from my bumper. No more pretending to be subtle, I guess.

I take him on a little ride, driving slowly into town, passing every T-shirt shop and candy store at a snail’s pace. I have no plans for the day, and this is bringing me some joy…so why not?

I pass a clearing where the lake’s visible, flat and silver blue in the early afternoon sun. My mind is made up, but first, I’ll make a few stops.

An hour later, armed with sunscreen, the only bathing suit I could find that didn’t cost half my paycheck, and some bottled water, I pull into the secluded beach on the south shore. It’s a hidden gem, one Knox, Owen, and I discovered one of the last years we all came together. I’ve never seen more than a handful of people here, and never families with kids. Not that I hate kids, but the popular beaches are just too crowded to be worth the trouble.