Page 93 of One Last Thing Before You Go

I can’t make myself stop hyperventilating. It’s like my lungs forget how to work. “I—I⁠—”

“Knox, please.” And now she’s crying, too. Pulling me into her arms, wrapping me tightly against her chest. “Feel the rhythm of my breathing. Try to match it. Please. Focus on me.”

So I do. My true north. I close my eyes and listen to her breathing, trying to match my own to it. I focus on the way her fingertips trace my skin softly, the way she runs them over the lines of my tattoos. Her scent floods my lungs, and I welcome it with open arms, letting it soothe me like a balm.

“Lottie.”

“I’ve got you.” She wraps her arms tighter around me. “Just like you had me, I’ve got you. It’s my turn now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

KNOX

Iwatch with wide eyes as Lottie shoves another thick sweater into a very large suitcase. My god. “How much are you packing, exactly?” I chuckle when she shoots me a look bent over the gigantic blue roller.

Her once pristine and organized loft decorated in a white, cream, and birch palette, is now littered with clothes, shoes, and makeup on what looks like every available surface.

“I have to be prepared for every occasion.”

“Every occasion? We’re going to a book trade convention. For three days.” Except she doesn’t know the surprise I have waiting for her.

I pull out a sparkly silver dress I’d kill to see her in from the heap of clothes on the floor.

“Yes, but you never know.” She shrugs, my little over-packer.

“Well, I can assure you we have no plans for anything that fancy. But I can certainly make something happen just so I can see you in this dress.” I watch as she tries to suppress a smile, as she struggles to keep up her annoyed act. But I know her better by now. She’s just fighting off the excitement she feels at the prospect of us having three days to ourselves. Even if it is just a business trip.

Because, even though these past couple of weeks together have been epic, we’ve also had to contend with a lot. The first being, of course, what happened while going through my father’s journals. After my breakdown, I couldn’t get past another entry. Not then. And I think certainly not now.

“With time, you will,” Lottie had said.

I knew she was right. With time and especially with her by my side, I could do it. But for right now, I wasn’t ready to keep reading his innermost thoughts. The things that are in those journals will have to be unpacked carefully, too delicate to just go through haphazardly while finalizing everything with the renovation and sale.

The second thing we’ve had to deal with lately is the constant watchful eyes of the members of Ceres Cove. Though I love how supportive people close to us have been about this… situationship, sometimes it feels like the entire town is watching. Like we’re their favorite reality show, unveiling right before their eyes.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind, because even though it’s incredibly weird, I’ve never been happier. But since I know Lottie, I’m always scared I’m one busy-bodied comment away from losing it all.

Last Sunday, for example, we decided to spend the morning at the local park. I wanted to explore more of the town since arriving anyway, so I took my camera and a well-packed basket. I was excited to spend the day just lazing out in the sun, kissing her, and maybe getting to act out a particular scene from one of her many romance novels.

Unfortunately for us, we were ambushed by what Lottie calls The Mommy Mafia—a group of young mothers around her age that power walk around town with their strollers during weekend mornings as they gossip and plot the demise of whoever goes against them in town (her words, not mine). As soon as we heard their saccharine voices, I could tell something was off. Lottie tensed, her spine straightened, and the blood drained from her face. In a split second, I saw my beautiful, strong, confident Lottie turn into a submissive, self-effacing version of herself.

Lottie had stuttered through a greeting, trying to control her features as one of the Mommy Mafia announced a pregnancy. She only answered in short, precise sentences when asked about how the store reno was going. And things got even worse when they looked over at me and one of them asked, “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us? Who’s your friend?” Even though every person in this nosy town already knew who I was.

Sensing her reluctance, I chose to answer for her, shooting the women a smile. “Hey. I’m Knox Riddick, part owner of the Adams’s Bookstore.”

We engaged in polite conversation surrounding how saddened they were to hear about the death of my father, how excited they were to see what new business would come to town, and how happy they were to have met me. Lottie was mute throughout its entirety, her eyes glazed over as if lost in thought.

I couldn’t wait until the women left us and went back to whatever the hell it was they were doing before they ruined my day. I wanted my girl back, and they had completely fucked the rest of my afternoon, even though I had no idea why.

Again, I asked Lottie what was wrong, asked her why she called them a mafia when they looked perfectly nice and non-murderous. And again, all I got from her was a vague non-answer. Slightly irritated by feeling her pull back from me once more, I decided it was time to do something about it.

I couldn’t change the way this town reacted to us dating—I still don’t understand the fascination behind it. But after an uncomfortably quiet rest of the afternoon together, I went back to my apartment after dropping her off before dinner and devised a plan to get us some alone time.

I hoped the time away from this town, these people who so lovingly keep a watchful eye over our relationship and the woman I’m beginning to care so deeply about, would give Lottie the space to focus on us. I wanted the space for both of us to focus on each other. I want her to see that we can exist outside of this damn town, outside of the store reno. Because the project’s days are numbered and, whether I like it or not, so is our relationship.

This time with Lottie has meant so much to me, there’s not a chance in hell I won’t fight for it to continue after. I need to make her want to fight just as hard for it, too.

I’m not quite sure what will come for me after this reno and sale is all over—I’ve lived a transient existence for most of my life, so staying in one place isn’t exactly my forte. But for her, I’d more than try to make it work. We could do long-distance while I travel for photo assignments, or she could even come with me to the non-dangerous locations. I wouldn’t care either way.