Page 31 of One Last Thing Before You Go

After a busy week of planning and calling up contractors and electricians, negotiating prices and discussing designs, work was set to begin as early as this following Monday— provided we make our initial payment by then. I was prepared to hustle somehow, or even ask one of my siblings for a loan while we figured the whole financial part out, but Knox surprised me by finding a solution before I did. It wasn’t even on the to-do list I’d prepared.

He found a rare book convention that was happening all weekend about two hours away and made plans for us to take some of Walter’s old books, meet with some dealers, and come back with some, if not all, of the money needed for the deposits.

I’m not going to deny that my micromanaging tendencies flared up, but I managed to hold off on getting involved, watching as he made calls and organized the meetings from his father’s old desk throughout the week.

As I watched, I couldn’t help but admit being surprised by his efficiency and… find it kind of hot. Maybe it’s the former type-A personality in me? But watching him take charge felt better than I ever would’ve expected.

His proven efficiency is not enough for me to let go of full control and have him face the buyers on his own, though. It’s why I was left with no choice but to go with him on the road trip—something I immediately began to question as soon as I slipped into his truck.

Can someone please tell me why I thought it would be a fantastic idea to spend the next couple of hours trapped in a metal box with him? Not just that, but I’m only now realizing that this will be the first time since that heated moment in Walter’s bedroom that we’ll be truly alone. No Jenn in the other room, no customer around, no guests in the front of the store. And though I thought that my crush (yes, that’s what I’m calling it, because it’s nothing more—I promise) would have faded by now, I’ve become fully aware at this point that I was terribly, ridiculously wrong. I still feel butterflies around him like some schoolgirl.

“You okay?” he asks, brows pulled together in an impossibly adorable way.

I nod again despite the fact that I can’t—I just can’t—look him in the eye right now. Because, my god, I’m so overwhelmed by all of him—his kind, yet playful voice, his warm demeanor, the way he seems to understand me despite not really knowing 100% what’s wrong, and, most of all, his quiet strength, how it makes me feel safe, protected, and seen. I can barely stand it.

“You sure? Because you won’t even look at me. And you kinda look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“I’m fine,” I mumble. “Just… mentally going through our checklist for today. Everything we need to do,” I lie.

“Don’t worry—I got everything we need. The books are in the back, I have the contact info for the potential buyers, the convention tickets. I’ve got us covered. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

“Thanks.” I finally look over to him and smile because I really am very thankful.

“See? You probably didn’t even need to come. But I know better than to think you’d let me go alone,” he says with a smirk.

I raise a brow because, even though we don’t know each other very well, I feel like he knows enough of me to understand that I’m not one to let go of the reins so easily.

“I don’t trust your negotiation skills and I need to make sure that we’re getting the best deal, here.” I hate the way the words come out, cold and detached. I’d beat myself up internally for my inability to act normal around this man, but I can’t let him catch on to the fact that I love that this feels like a team, that I’m not alone. And I can’t let myself catch on to the fact that I’m not hating this. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking ecstatic you decided to come with me. I feel lucky I get to have hours of drive time to convince you to actually go out with me. Make my case.” I glare at him, but he laughs it off, not a care in the world.

“I should’ve taken my own car.” I roll my eyes, but a secret thrill runs through me, a part of me curious as to how he expects to break me down.

He throws his head back in laughter and shakes his head. “You’re something.” Knox reaches for his phone on the dashboard and passes it to me, all while keeping his eyes on the road. “Do you mind entering the address of the convention? I’m pretty sure I know how to get there, but I don’t want us to get lost. My password is 4-3-2-1.”

I balk at the phone in my hand, at the way he so easily handed it to me—and gave me his password. There are… no words. It might not seem like a lot, but trusting me with this is to me. This man, who I only just met, has given me access to his phone. I could unlock it now and go wild—read his texts, deep-dive into his search history—and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. He’s driving, after all.

A man with nothing to hide.

My ex, on the other hand. Phew. He never let me use his phone. Never even told me what his password was. And we were married.

In retrospect, that should’ve been a major red flag. But sometimes it’s easier to turn a blind eye than to admit to yourself that something’s wrong.

“I know, it’s a dumb password. But honestly, it’s the only thing I’d ever remember.”

I clear my throat, getting myself together as I unlock the damn thing. “You can’t think of one significant date in your life you could use as your password? Like your birthday, perhaps?” I tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a soft smile on his face, and without another word, I enter the convention address into Google Maps.

For the first part of the drive, I’m quiet as I try to process everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks: Walter’s death, the funeral, my night with Knox, inheriting the store, this massive project we’ve taken on. I’m exhausted; this whole thing has been exhausting.

But then I stare at Knox’s profile, and think about how much more difficult this must be for him; about his relationship with Walter and how he’ll never get to fix it.

Knox acts like everything is fine, but is that even possible? It’s just a matter of time before the other shoe will drop. He’ll realize he lost the only father he ever had and it’ll hit him hard.

The urge to comfort him before he even seems to realize he needs it is strong. I clutch my hands together to keep from reaching out, from pulling his hand into mine to offer support.

He’s not mine.