Page 91 of What We Bury

“It’s even better than I remember.” He scoops in another mouthful. “I will never eat pie anywhere else again.”

“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then,” I say with a smile.

Knox watches the exchange without expression, but I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. When his eyes swing back to me, the smile drops and his pupils blow out.

Maybe I should start packing my vibrator for work.

I’m not going to make it without spontaneously coming if these men keep showing up looking at me like that.

I turn away, check on other customers, bus a few tables. And wonder if I’m broken now. If something in my wiring got crossed the night Brock died, fusing violence and desire into some new, monstrous thing.

Or if maybe—and this is the thought I keep circling back to, the one that scares me most—I’ve always been like this, and it just took the right circumstances to bring it out.

When I return to the counter, Jamie and I fall into easy conversation. He talks about his thesis on environmental policy. I talk about my regulars and their quirks. And we both discuss the mysterious stain on the tiles no one can explain.

He’s easy to talk to. Easy to be around. Someone I’m open to becoming friends with.

It feels good. Normal. And with Amy spending more time at Tyler’s than she spends at home lately, it’s exactly what I need.

Knox stays for hours. He doesn’t order food, just nurses his coffee and watches. When Jamie finally pays his bill and waves goodbye with a promise to come back for more pie, Knox is still there.

“You don’t have to sit at the counter all day,” I tell him during a lull. “You could at least eat something.”

“Maybe a piece of that pie?”

“Cherry?” I ask, already plating a slice.

He nods. “Fine. Sure.”

I set it down and slide him a fork. We’re both quiet as he digs in, but I sense he’s working his way up to something. The way he eats—efficient, methodical, never quite relaxing, never taking his eyes off me for more than a second. I should feel like prey. The rabbit under the hawk’s shadow. Instead I wonder what it would take to make the hawk finally drop.

“I think Jamie likes you,” he says, voice low.

I snort, surprised he thinks that. “I don’t think Jamie is into girls.”

Knox shrugs, the corded muscle of his forearm flexing as he spears the pie. “Doesn’t matter. You light up when you talk to him.”

The statement detonates in my chest. Not because I disagree, but because I feel seen in a way I didn’t agree to. Ever since the jetty, I’ve been longing for normalcy. I’ve wished every day for Amy to walk back through our front door and suggest we watch a reality show together and order takeout. I don’t think she’s avoiding me. Not on purpose, anyway. But I do miss her. And talking to Jamie makes that ache a little less. I just didn’t realize I was wearing the joy of friendship on my face.

“You’ve been watching me a lot, huh?”

He chews, wipes his mouth with a napkin. “That’s the job.”

“For now.” I lean against the counter. “Once you guys are sure I’m not going to run off and tell the world, you leave, right?”

Knox sets his fork down, pie half-eaten. He folds his hands and looks at me for a long time, weighing something. “Is that something you want?”

I flush. Shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He nods, and, for the first time, I see something like uncertainty in him. Like he’s not sure how to answer either, or if he even understands the question.

“Would that bother you?” I ask, pushing the moment forward. “If I wanted you to stay? All of you.”

He thinks about it. The pause stretches until I start to wish I could take the words back, make myself small and invisible.

Finally, he picks up his fork, slices a bite off the pie and holds it out. “No.”

I lean in and let him feed it to me, my eyes locked on his. It’s cold and tart against my tongue and I savor it, deliberately slow,closing my lips around the fork before letting it slide out. His gaze flicks to my mouth, holds for a fraction longer than casual.