Undone: The Untangled Series, Book Two

by Layne, Ivy

  I opened my mouth and out came, “Are you hungry? I have leftover lasagna if you want something to eat. You can watch the rest of the movie…”

  I trailed off, not sure where the invitation had come from. I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but it was too late to take it back.

  Knox pulled his eyes from the screen and said, “Sure.”

  Sure? That wasn't what I expected him to say.

  “Do you want me to reheat some pot roast? Popcorn?”

  Knox didn't look away from the screen. “Both.”

  I don't know why I was suddenly so flustered. Knox worked for me. If anyone should be nervous in our relationship, it was him, right? I was the one who'd invited him to stay. It was my house. My couch. My movie.

  None of that soothed the butterflies in my stomach. It wasn't a date or anything—that would be ridiculous—but every time we'd spoken, he'd been strictly business. Watching a movie over popcorn was anything but.

  I paused the movie. “It won't take me long.”

  Knox followed me to the kitchen where I pulled out a well-used pot and turned on the gas flame, grabbing a bottle of popcorn oil from the cabinet and pouring a liberal dose inside, along with a sprinkle of rosemary and garlic powder. Knox leaned against the island, hands shoved into his pockets.

  “You make popcorn from scratch?”

  I swirled the pot with two hands and looked over my shoulder at him. “Of course. Don't tell me, you throw a bag in the microwave and pray it doesn't burn?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then prepare yourself for the real thing. I usually add seasonings and cheese. I hope that's okay.” I hadn't thought about it before adding the rosemary and garlic, but I could pour out the oil and start over.

  “I'll eat pretty much anything, Lily,” Knox said.

  “Except my coffee cake.”

  Knox didn't apologize for passing on my baking. Why should he? It had been terrible. Even I knew that. “I promise my popcorn is good.”

  While the oil heated, I put together a bowl of pot roast from the leftovers and popped it in the microwave. “Bread?”

  “Please.”

  I wondered what it would take to get Knox to say more than a few words at a time. I probably didn't want to know. He didn't talk much, but his eyes were alert, picking up everything, absorbing every detail of his surroundings.

  His dark gaze moved around the room, soaking in the homey, country kitchen that didn't fit with the rest of the house. I'd mostly let Trey do what he wanted. I hadn't wanted to cause friction, hadn't realized how much I'd dislike the end result.

  When it came to the kitchen, I’d dug in my heels. I'd mostly gotten what I’d wanted. Instead of endless stainless steel and glass, there were touches of wood. Counters of warm, gold-flecked granite instead of concrete. Locally-crafted cabinets versus the shiny black Trey had favored. The end result wasn't quite the farmhouse look I'd pictured, but it was as close as I was going to get.

  My back to Knox, I focused on the popcorn rather than trying to come up with empty conversation to fill the silence. I chattered when I was nervous. Knox made me nervous for all sorts of reasons I wasn't ready to explore, but I didn't feel the need to fill the quiet with words. Silence with Knox was comfortable. Maybe because I sensed he didn't need conversation from me.

  I went about making the popcorn, adding thyme and some finely-ground black pepper, swirling the oil and kernels with every addition before putting the lid on, just in time. The first kernel popped, flinging itself across the inside of the aluminum pot with a light, crisp ping.

  Leaving the pot, I grabbed an oversized wooden bowl I'd picked up at the town arts festival a few years before and set it on the counter beside the pot. The popping kernels were coming faster now, so fast I couldn't distinguish one from another. It wasn't long before they slowed, and I waited, listening, trying to find the exact moment when the last kernel had popped but the corn hadn't yet begun to burn.

  Judging it was ready, I turned off the burner, pulled the pot from the stove and dumped the fragrant, steaming popcorn into the wooden bowl. Beside me, the microwave dinged. Leaving the popcorn, I got Knox's dinner from the microwave and made up a tray.

  Throwing a glance over my shoulder at Knox, still leaning against the island with his hands in his pockets, I said, “You can take this into the living room. I'll be right there with the popcorn.”

  Without a word, Knox picked up the tray and left the kitchen. I would have guessed that Knox's absence would ease my nerves. It did, a little, but the sense of loss took me by surprise. Without Knox, the heat and life had been sucked from the room.

  I dusted the popcorn with finely ground salt and parmesan cheese, tossing it so the flavors could work their way into the nooks and crannies of every piece. I thought about getting two bowls, but there was only one couch with a good view of the television. It was easier to put the popcorn between us. We were adults. We could share a bowl of popcorn.

  I entered the living room to find that Knox had made himself comfortable on the opposite end of the couch from my discarded blanket, setting the tray with his pot roast on the coffee table. I put the popcorn beside his tray and sat, busying myself with tucking the blanket around my legs and fumbling for the remote.

  “I like the TV set up,” Knox said, raising his chin in the direction of the screen. “Looks good in here.”

  “Thanks. “

  He was right, it did. Trey, who hadn't been much for television, had refused to put one in the living room. We had a family room down the hall with a big flat screen so Trey could watch sports. In his world, sports and regular tv weren't the same thing. I'm not a fan of football, I don't get baseball, and soccer is boring on tv.

  I wanted a place to watch my shows on the nights a game was on. We compromised with the flat screen built into one of the console tables in the living room. It wasn't much good during the day when shafts of sunlight glared on the screen, but at night, one touch of a button and the TV rose out of the console table to face the couch. Perfect for curling up with a blanket and binge watching.

  Knox used the side of his fork to cut into the pot roast, and I picked up the remote. “I’ll start it over,” I said. “Basically, Rosalyn is on her way out of town with her fiancé, and Cary is trying to use a big story to get her to stay so he can win her back.”

  Knox chewed slowly and nodded, his eyes on the screen. I munched on popcorn and tried to fall into the familiar rhythm of a movie I'd seen countless times before. I'd had trouble focusing earlier, worried the intruder would come back. I wasn't worried about that anymore, but Knox's presence made it equally hard to concentrate.

  He ate every bite of pot roast and set the plate back on the tray before turning to the crusty buttered bread. I hadn't baked the bread, but the garlic and basil butter on top was all me, and it was awesome. Knox must have agreed because the bread disappeared in three big bites.

  He wiped his hands, finger by finger, on the napkin I'd left on the tray and settled back into the couch, his eyes still locked on the screen.

  Knox Sinclair was a contradiction. Good manners. Even eating on the couch, he hadn't made a mess. His tray was as neat as it had been when he picked it up off the counter. The used napkin was folded in half, the utensils side-by-side. I remembered the way he rushed in after I fell from the ladder, his gentle hands checking me for an injury, the concern in his voice.

  Knox didn't talk much, and he looked like a brawler, but he was polite and kind. I'd take kindness over pretty words any day.

  I reached for a handful of popcorn, jolting as my fingertip grazed Knox's wrist. A tingle went up my hand at the brief contact, and I fought the urge to yank my fingers away. We were two adults sharing popcorn. So what if I touched him by accident?

  I shoved popcorn in my mouth to distract myself. Knox did the same. A minute later he said, “This is go
od.”

  “Thanks. Better than the stuff from the microwave?”

  Knox's grunt was brief but full of approval. A warm glow settled in my chest. My coffee cake had been awful, and he hadn't braved my blueberry muffins—smart move on his part—but I'd hit a home run with the roast and popcorn.

  Why it mattered that Knox liked my cooking, I couldn't say. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter at all.

  I ignored that thought and held on to the warm glow in my chest, wondering if our fingers would brush again in the popcorn bowl and ignoring the flare of warning in the back of my head.

  Touching Knox Sinclair was a bad idea.

  I already knew that.

  I knew and I wanted to do it anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  Lily

  Knox was waiting by the Land Rover when Adam and I rushed out of the house. Adam went to preschool three days a week, had been for over a year, and every morning was still a battle.

  He didn't want to get dressed. He didn't like his breakfast. He wanted different sneakers. Not all that different from our bedtime routine.

  I was afraid to ask how long it would take for Adam to grow out of making every chore into a game. I loved his imagination and sense of adventure, I just wished he'd save it for times we weren't running late. Since he'd started talking, it seemed like we were always late.

  We skidded to a halt at the sight of Knox in a black T-shirt and dark jeans leaning against the hood of the Land Rover, arms crossed over his chest. He said, “I'll drive.”

  Adam breathed, “Cool. Are you going to drive faster than Mom?”

  Any thought of objecting to Knox's chauffeur services dissolved as a grin cracked across his rugged face, and he said, “I might. How fast does your mom drive?”

  Adam clambered into his car seat, sitting docile as Knox arranged the straps and secured them with ease. I stood there like an idiot with my jaw hanging open. Adam never sat still to be buckled in. Neither of them noticed me.

  Adam, giggling at Knox's question, considered it seriously before answering. “Mom drives like someone's grandma. My dad used to drive really fast. She yelled at him all the time. Told him to slow down, but he never listened. He had an accident in his car.”

  Adam delivered this information as if he were talking about a stranger and not his father. Knox's eyes flashed to me. I looked away, fumbling with the door and then my seatbelt. I didn't want to talk about Trey's driving habits or the accident that had killed him.

  The police thought he'd swerved to avoid a deer in the road and skidded off the bridge. He could have. Adam was telling the truth. Trey always drove too fast. He'd loved his sleek Mercedes coupe, a car designed more for a racetrack than rural Maine roads.

  The night of his accident had been clear, with a full moon. Dry roads. No traffic. If he'd lost control, it would have been the first time. And the last.

  I wasn't going to think about that. Not right now.

  Knox backed us out of the garage, as comfortable behind the wheel of my Land Rover as if he'd been driving it for years. I imagine Knox did everything with that same relaxed competency.

  I tried not to find it so reassuring. It wasn't smart to trust a virtual stranger too much, to let his strength and capability lull me into complacency.

  I'd decided to trust Knox Sinclair with our safety. I couldn't hire him for security and then go around suspecting his every move. That would be stupid. It didn't mean I should sit back and assume he was the answer to all of our problems.

  “Adam's preschool is in town,” I said, nerves making my voice unsteady before I swallowed and got it under control. “It's at the church on Main Street a few blocks down from Town Hall—”

  “I know where it is,” Knox said.

  I didn't ask what that meant. He knew where the church was, or he knew where Adam went to preschool? It wasn't a stretch for someone new in town to know where the church was. Built in a classic New England style, with white siding and a tall steeple, it anchored the center of Main Street, visible from all sides.

  How did Knox know where Adam went to pre-school? The answer was instantly obvious. He'd investigated us. Sinclair Security probably investigated all of their clients. Trey had been a client for years.

  What did Knox Sinclair know about my dead husband that I didn't?

  Adam chattered as Knox drove, telling him everything he planned to do in preschool that day. He was as comfortable with Knox as he was with adults he'd known his whole life. More comfortable than he'd been with his father.

  I winced at the thought, but my discomfort didn't make it any less true. Trey’d had little patience for a toddler's babbling. More often than not, when Adam had tried to talk to him in the fragmented words of the four-year-old he’d been when Trey died, Trey had brushed him off.

  He didn’t want to be bothered with the ramblings of a baby, he’d told me in annoyance. ‘Shut him up or put him somewhere else.’

  I’d gone out of my way to shield Adam from Trey’s dismissal, but seeing the way he opened up to Knox, who laughed with him and let him talk without interruption, I realized how much Adam had been missing.

  Knox was out of the car a moment after he turned off the engine, helping Adam from the car seat. Preschool was located in a squat brick box of a building, tucked behind the church. The school building wasn’t pretty, but the playground more than made up for it.

  The door swung open, and the sounds of screaming children assaulted our ears. Adam raced ahead of us, calling out to his friends. I put a hand on Knox's arm to stop him. We didn't need to go all the way into the classroom. Twenty kids were nineteen too many before I'd had a cup of coffee.

  “One second. Let me just drop off his backpack.”

  I left Knox standing by the door and was back a minute later, Adam's backpack securely deposited in his cubby.

  “Preschool only lasts until noon. I usually do some grocery shopping and then go to the park. If you have things to do—”

  “Which grocery store?” Knox asked.

  I guess that answered that question. Being trailed by a stranger as I went about my errands might raise some questions, but I couldn't deny the relief I felt having Knox by my side.

  I was good at ignoring my worries during the day. Walking through the grocery store beside Knox, I realized how anxious I'd been since Trey died, always alert for anything out of the ordinary, worried, uncertain, and scared.

  Did I think someone was going to come after me in the produce aisle? Of course not. We were in town, in the middle of the day, at the height of tourist season. I couldn't have been safer, with or without Knox. I still felt better with him by my side.

  I decided not to analyze. I was going to enjoy feeling safe for the first time in months.

  “Do you have a list?” Knox asked.

  I held up my phone with the grocery list app open on the screen. “I don't need much. If there's anything you want for the cottage, just throw it in.”

  I meant it when I said it, but I made a face as a bag of chips hit the cart.

  “Not a fan of junk food?” Knox rumbled. I swear I heard a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

  “Who doesn't like chips? I usually try to keep stuff like that away from Adam. Don't be surprised if he comes begging. And if he does, try not to let him eat the whole bag.”

  “Deal,” Knox said. “I'm assuming soda's out?”

  I slid a glance at Knox. His T-shirt wasn't tight, but what I could see of his arms told me his body fat had to be in the single digits. This was not a guy who drank soda. Was he yanking my chain?

  A little giddy at the thought of Knox teasing me, I let out a halting laugh. “Definitely no soda,” I confirmed. We stopped in the baking aisle, and I grabbed the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

  I refused to give up. I would learn to bake. I'd learned to
cook, hadn't I?

  When Trey and I got married I had no clue in the kitchen, but, between the Internet and cookbooks, I'd learned. I'd learned pretty well if I said so myself.

  Baking, though, that was new. Trey hadn't wanted sweets in the house. He'd discouraged me from baking, and I'd gone along.

  I'd gone along with a lot of things.

  I'd gone so far, I'd almost lost myself.

  A month after he died, I'd been standing in the bathroom with a hair straightener in my hand, ready to torture my curls into the smooth style Trey had loved.

  All of a sudden it hit me.

  Trey was dead.

  Gone.

  I'd dropped the straightener and sunk to the floor, tears flooding my eyes. So much effort to hold myself together, to be strong for Adam. The dam broke, and I wept until I ran out of tears.

  Eyes dry, a few things had come clear.

  Adam and I were on our own.

  I was responsible for everything.

  Including myself.

  Slowly, I'd been regaining bits of my life and trying new things. I'd put the straightener away and hadn't used it since. When Trey and I met, I'd been trying the straight look. He'd hated my curls, so I'd kept up with it. But Trey was gone, and I was tired of trying to make someone else happy at my own expense.

  Leaving my hair to its natural curls was the beginning. Next came my clothes as I traded twin sets and skirts for jeans and t-shirts. I still dressed up now and then, but when I was home by myself all day? Comfort ruled.

  Now I was working on learning to bake. I'd always imagined being the kind of mom who made muffins and cookies, all sorts of yummy treats. I would be. As soon as I figured out how to make them taste like vanilla and sugar instead of baking soda and salt.

  Practice makes perfect, right? I just had to keep trying.

  At that thought, I grabbed extra chocolate chips in case the first batch didn't work out. Who was I kidding? When the first batch didn't work out.