Page 42 of Keep Me Close

How can I when the view is this spectacular?

I slow, my lungs burning with the satisfying ache that comes after a hard run, and Knox matches my pace without a word. It’s strange how easily he falls into step beside me, like it’s nothing, like we haven’t spent the entire morning pretending there isn’t tension crackling between us after last night’s kiss.

For a few seconds, we stand shoulder to shoulder, breathing hard, staring out at the water.

The silence isn’t awkward.

And that’s the problem. It would be so much easier if it were.

Instead, it feels charged and far too comfortable. I’m painfully aware of the heat rolling off his body and the rise and fall of his chest. Then there’s the way he jumped into action, tugging me out of the path of an oncoming cyclist before I even realized the guy was about to run me over.

My skin still tingles where he touched me.

I hug my arms around myself, more for something to do than because I’m cold. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It certainly is,” he says, voice low and rough from the run.

I make the mistake of glancing in his direction only to find that he’s not staring at the water but at me. A second later, his gaze flicks away, and I can’t tell if I imagined the entire thing or not.

This man is impossible to read.

I turn back toward the lake before I can embarrass myself. “I like it here.”

The words slip out before I’ve had a chance to fully think them through.

He stills. “You do?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, even though there’s nothing casual about it. “It feels real in a way my life doesn’t back home.”

That’s the only way to describe it. Chicago doesn’t shimmer the way LA does. It doesn’t feel polished within an inch of its life. Out here, nobody seems to care who I am. No one gives me a second glance or stares, trying to place me.

There’s a freedom here I didn’t realize I’d been craving.

Here, I just feel like a person. Not a product or a brand. Or someone who needs to be managed.

Knox looks back out over the water with his hands braced on his hips. “Could you see yourself living here permanently?”

“Yeah, I could.”

What I don’t mention is that it might not be as far-fetched as it sounds. If my plan works out and the audition leads where I hope it does, there’s a real chance I could wind up here for more than a visit. A flicker of hope stirs in me before I can tamp it down.

For a few seconds, the only sounds are the wind whistling by and the water slapping against the shoreline. I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying to get a read on his expression, but it remains carefully blank.

Does he like the idea of us being in the same city?

Or hate it?

Does it even matter to him?

Probably not.

His jaw flexes once before he says, “That’d be a pretty big move.”

That’s it. There’s no surprise or curiosity. No sign that the possibility of me staying affects him at all. It’s just a careful, neutral observation that gives nothing away.

The tiny spark of hope inside me gutters.

Why do I keep forgetting that what I do doesn’t matter to Knox McNichols?