Page 8 of One Last Thing Before You Go

Trying my best to catch my breath, I turn towards the door, bracing myself to face the man I’ve been dying to see, yet also hoping to never meet again.

Just like that night, I’m surprised by the immediate attraction I feel. Even more so now, since I know how great of a guy he is and what hides beneath that black henley and faded jeans.

It’s like a high-speed montage of the other night flashes before my eyes, blinding me, throwing me completely off balance. It leaves me breathless, my body heating everywhere he touched it, my mind running through all the things he said.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice me as his eyes scan the bookstore with skepticism. But as soon as Knox’s gaze lands on me, a slow, broad smile spreads across his face, my knees weakening.

“Hey, Pretty Girl.”

“Knox,” I breathe. “Wh—What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?” My mind races with fantasies of him hunting me down, of him needing to find me after I left him in the middle of the night. Surprised, I stop myself from running through movie-like scenarios, because what the actual fuck, Lottie?

“So you were hiding from me, then? Is that why you snuck outta my room without saying goodbye the other night?” His tone is light, but I can tell there’s something deeper behind his playful words. “I didn’t even get to take you out for breakfast.”

Jenn chokes on a laugh, but I ignore her.

“You—You’re here… How did you⁠—”

“You two know each other, then?” Jenn snickers, eyes bouncing between us. I shoot her a glare, because it’s painfully obvious we do. She presses her lips together, stifling a laugh.

“That’s it,” I whisper at her. “You’re getting nothing but opening shifts from now on.”

Her back straightens and she sobers up. Marginally.

“Oh, yeah,” Knox grins. “Lottie and I go way back.”

My cheeks redden beneath my wire-rimmed glasses, and suddenly I am very conscious of the way I look. My dark bangs hang in front of my face, hair piled up high in a messy “I haven’t washed my hair in three days” way. I look down to check out my outfit and grimace, wondering why the hell I decided to go with a plaid green skirt that, though cute, hasn’t fit right for a couple of years. That, combined with the oversized olive cardigan over my shoulders has certainly shifted me into librarian status—and not the sexy kind. But oversized tops are a need for me, unless I want people to mistake being bloated for being six months pregnant.

Oh, the irony of endometriosis and PCOS. I get to look pregnant even though it’s not a possibility. At least it never happened for me.

Meanwhile, Knox looks like an artsy, edgy Greek god with that leather jacket and camera bag strapped across his wide chest.

“Fantastic, then! This should make things easier. Let’s get down to business.” Leroy claps his hands once, choosing to ignore the obvious sexual tension. Either that or he’s completely oblivious to it. But from his surprising no-nonsense demeanor, I’d gather it’s the former.

“To business? Are you here for the same meeting we are?” I frown, so confused.

“I guess so? You are Walter’s lawyer, aren’t you?” he asks Leroy.

“Obviously. So, shall we? As executor of Doctor Adams’s estate, it is my responsibility to carry out the provisions set forth in his last will and testament. I’ve asked you three here because he chose to leave you each with something.”

Jenn and I glance at each other in confusion. “Like, he left us money?” Jenn asks.

I frown, my heart growing a few sizes in my chest. For all his stoicism and occasional coldness, Walter did care—always in his own way.

“Doctor Adams did leave you both something, but, ah, it is not in the way of cash, per se.”

Mr. Jones pulls out a folder from the suitcase resting next to the register while I continue to try and process the fact that Knox is here. He’s here. How???

Knox and I gaze anxiously at each other, both completely at a loss for words as we wait to hear more.

The lawyer flips through his things before pulling out a document. From my vantage point, I can see it is no longer than three paragraphs. Concise, of few words, but filled with meaning—just like Walter.

“Brevity is the soul of wit, Lottie,” he always liked to tell me. Shakespeare, of course.

As Mr. Jones reads the will aloud, I watch Knox from the corner of my eye. A part of me is happy to run into him again, while another wishes he would have never come back into my life—even for this brief moment.

That night with Knox, though incredible, was an indulgence. Nothing more than a moment of weakness. I was grieving and… and… Yes, grief. That’s all it was.

But even now, as I watch Knox, I know I can’t put it all on that. Maybe losing Walter, my quiet champion, did bring down my walls. But it’s clear Knox and I share something we simply cannot have. This connection that just⁠—