Page 73 of Keep Me Close

“Probably more ordinary than you’d think.”

“How so?”

He wipes his hands on a napkin. “When we were little, Dad was still playing in the NHL and on the road a lot. We’d travel to watch him when we could, but once we got older, that wasn’t always possible. Colby, Brooks, and I all played hockey, and Annabelle was into horses. So there were lots of practices and carpools.”

With a smile, I picture what it must’ve been like. “Sounds idyllic.”

“It was, but there was plenty of chaos. Friends were always over. My mom made sure our childhood felt normal. We had rules. Chores. Family dinners. All that stuff.” His mouth tilts up at the corners. “Summers were always the best. No school or travel. It was just us being kids. Street hockey. Backyard barbecues. My brothers trying to kill each other every five minutes.”

“Poor Whitney. She must have had her hands full with all of you,” I say with a laugh.

“Pretty sure she wanted to tear her hair out by August.” He studies me for a second. “You seem pretty close with Britt. Have you always been that tight?”

I glance down at my hands for a moment before answering. “Not always. When we were teens, it felt more like a rivalry.”

“With Britt?”

“Yeah. She’s got natural talent and became an overnight success.” I shrug. “I worked through it eventually, but when you grow up in a family where attention feels like its own kind of currency, it’s easy to view each other as competition instead of the people who are supposed to have your back.”

“I can understand how that could happen,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you’re close now.”

I nod. “We are. She’s my best friend. There aren’t many people who understand what it’s like to grow up in the spotlight, performing from a young age, and she does.”

He studies me for another second, as if he realizes there’s so much more I’m leaving out.

“Do you remember what life was like before the show?”

I open my mouth and then close it again as my brain tumbles back in time.

“Not really,” I admit. “I mean, I know there was a before. But everything prior to the cameras showing up is sort of a blur.” A breeze lifts a strand of hair across my cheek, and I tuck it behind my ear. “When I have kids,” I say without thinking, “they’re not going to grow up the way I did.”

I still because that just came out of nowhere. Or maybe not nowhere, but from a place I don’t talk about much. I stare past him toward the enclosure across from us.

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I don’t want them under a microscope 24/7 or feeling like they have to be on all the time, as if their life belongs to everyone but themselves.” My throat constricts. “And I want them to be kids for as long as they can.”

Silence settles over us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like we’ve peeled back even more layers.

“You’d be a good mom.”

The comment robs the air from my lungs. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”

His gaze stays pinned to mine. “Kind of feels like I’m starting to.”

Butterflies wing their way to life at the bottom of my belly. I can’t remember the last time that happened with a man who wasn’t Knox McNichols. The scary part is that he’s right. In the past week, I’ve learned more about him than I have in years of seeing him at family parties and gatherings.

And he’s gotten to know more about me too.

The real Cheyenne Benson. Not the one splashed across Page Six. Or the one my mother has spent years trying to shape into someone else.

The most surprising part is that I like who I am when I’m with Knox. I like how easy it feels. How normal and real we can be with each other. Not wanting to examine that thought too closely, I push back from the table and pop to my feet with the urge to move.

“You haven’t even shown me the goats after totally talking them up.”

A lopsided smile tugs at his mouth, and it lands square in the center of my chest.

Once we start walking again, slower this time, he slips my hand into his. He pulls me a little closer as we pass a group of people, his arm brushing mine, his body warm against my side.