He Loves Me...KNOT

by RC Boldt

  Friends. Part of me is grateful that he thinks of us that way, especially after all that’s gone on. But for that same reason, it also angers me.

  I’m not certain I can truly be friends with someone who’s dealt such a devastating blow to my heart. The old adage about forgiving and forgetting is unfathomable to me because I don’t believe it’s possible to erase the memory of the pain Knox inflicted on my heart. Which means the smart thing to do is to politely decline his offer.

  As it turns out, I’m not smart at all when it comes to this man.

  24

  Knox

  NOVEMBER

  The drive to Mobile goes smoother than I expected.

  “I can’t believe they went out of business,” Emma Jane muses about the one bait and tackle shop a few miles away from where she grew up. “That was where we’d get our supplies to go crabbin’.”

  I can’t disguise the way my mouth curves up in a grin. Since we’ve crossed into Mobile city limits, her Southern accent has made a bit of a comeback.

  It makes me wonder if anything else will return along with it.

  “I’m glad Ella Mae’s alteration shop is still doing well,” she murmurs, facing her window.

  She falls silent the closer we get to my house, likely recalling all the memories it holds. Once I pull up the driveway and park, we exit the vehicle.

  Emma Jane closes her passenger side door and pauses to appraise my house.

  “It looks beautiful.” Her eyes find mine before they dart away. “I love the flowers you planted along the front.”

  I tear my gaze from the scattering of daisies, their bright white petals contrasting with the vivid yellow centers, and open the back door to get our bags. “I planted them a while ago. Thought they’d give the place ‘curb appeal.’”

  When I say I planted them a while ago, I mean I did it a few months after you left. When I still had hope you’d come back.

  I grab our things and carry them up the sidewalk leading to my house. After I punch in the code on the keypad to unlock the door, I open it for us to step inside.

  Once I give her a cursory tour, I show her to the guest room where she’ll be staying. It, along with the guest bathroom, are the only doors left open. Wells helped me with that as soon as I knew she was going to accompany me on this trip.

  I set her bags on the bed and wave a hand to encompass the room. “This is yours.” I point through the doorway to across the hall. “The bathroom is there. Help yourself to any food in the kitchen. Watch whatever you want on TV. I have to unpack and catch up on some emails.” With that, I rush out of the room, to leave the increasingly intimate confines of this space.

  This was an idiotic idea, offering to let her stay with me. It’s difficult enough being around her when we’re at work or out at social gatherings, fighting to escape from beneath the fierce, impenetrable blanket of attraction when she’s near. Especially after that one night…

  As soon as I step one foot over the threshold, she utters a subdued, “Knox?”

  I stop but don’t turn around. “Yes?”

  “Thank you. For letting me stay here.” She pauses. “Especially…after everything.”

  Like you leaving me at the altar? Without an explanation?

  My hand tightens on the straps of my laptop and duffle bags draped over my shoulder while my other hand absently rubs at the center of my chest where there’s a sharp, searing pain.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I head down the hall to what is now my master suite and close the door.

  Only then am I able to breathe easier.

  “Let me guess.” Wells pauses like he’s deep in thought for a moment. “You’re making stir-fry. With extra water chestnuts.”

  For a split second, I pause stirring the vegetables in the pan, my eyes narrowing slightly in irritation. Cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I add more soy sauce.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Shit. He keeps going without even waiting for my answer. “Seduction by water chestnuts. Brilliant.” Wells chortles with laughter.

  “Is this the only reason you called?” My bored tone is obvious.

  “No, actually.” He sobers, sounding more serious now. “I called because I wanted to know exactly what the hell you’re doing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He releases an exasperated sigh. “Come on, man. You brought your ex-fiancée back to your house when she could’ve just as easily stayed in a hotel.”

  “Not that easily if the talk is true about how many people are coming in from out of town for Davis Haywood’s birthday party.”

  “Not buying it.”

  I flip the dial, turning off the heat on the stovetop. Placing the lid over the stir-fry, I turn to lean against the counter across from the stove.

  “Nothing to buy. Her granddad sent us both invitations and personally asked us to attend.”

  “Right,” he remarks dubiously. “And y’all had to drive together for, what? Nearly six hours? She couldn’t drive herself?”

  I drag a hand down my face, my patience running thin with his questioning. “Look, it’s done, okay? She’s here. I’m here. We’re both going to the party. End of story.”

  “Where are you sleeping?”

  My head falls back, and I stare up at the ceiling in confusion. “Where do I normally sleep, Wells?” I ask with weary exasperation.

  He falls silent for a beat until he finally releases an, “Ah, I see.”

  I refuse to fall for his trap so I don’t respond.

  “Someday, you’ll have to figure out what to do with that room.”

  “I’ve got to go and eat dinner.” My steely tone finally seems to get through to him.

  “Fine.” He sighs. “But you know I’m right.” There’s another pause, and his tone softens. “Just be smart.”

  I make a sound of affirmation and hurry to end the call.

  Be smart. I’m not sure if I’ve ever truly been able to do that around Emma Jane. My heart’s always taken the lead.

  Turning, I stare out the large sliding glass doors leading to the porch and dock, with the gleaming waters of Mobile Bay at the shoreline down below, and find my mind wandering.

  “Your dad’s going to shit bricks, EJ,” I muse, shaking my head at the streaks of blue in her hair.

  She shrugs. “Whatever.” Reaching up, she smooths a hand down over her hair. “I love it.” With a mischievous grin, she adds, “So does Granddad.”

  “Of course, he does,” I say with a laugh. Her granddad dotes on her and I can’t say that I blame him. I tug her closer, framing her face with my hands, and gaze down into her blue eyes. “I love you.”

  She smiles up at me and it’s one I cherish because it’s brimming with emotion, her eyes alight with love and crinkling at the corners with happiness. “I love you, too, Knox.” She presses a sweet kiss to my lips. “Always.”

  Always, she’d said. After knowing her for what seems like forever, I know how to decipher when she’s lying and telling the truth. And back then, she’d been telling the truth.

  Hell if I know what made it all change.

  25

  Emma Jane

  “Did you pack the prophylactics?”

  “Becket!” I hiss, darting a glance at my closed bedroom door. Not that I believe Knox can hear my friend over the phone, but still.

  “Hey, I’m looking out for your best interests.”

  “Go an’ tell me more tall tales,” I respond drily.

  He pauses for so long that I frown with concern. “Beck? Are you there?”

  “Did you just hear yourself?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  Amusement is laced in his tone when he speaks. “You’re going back to your roots. I already hear it.” He chuckles softly. “I sometimes hear traces of that thick Southern accent when you’d get fired up over something you were working on. Or when you’re laying on the charm at an event you attended with me.”


  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Anything? Sure, it does. It means a lot.”

  “Like what?”

  Before he can answer, a knock sounds and Knox’s voice carries through the closed door.

  “I’m making stir-fry if you want some.”

  Moving the phone away from my mouth, I call out, “Okay, great. Thanks.”

  “I once heard all great things start with stir-fry,” Becket declares.

  I throw myself back on the bed with a small groan. “Beck, stop.”

  He inhales sharply in dramatic fashion. And I know what’s coming next. “I bet you a ten spot he throws in extra water chestnuts for you. Even after all these years, I’m sure he remembers you love extra in your stir-fry.”

  “A ten spot? Really, Beck?”

  “What? Those little water chestnuts might just be game changers.”

  “For heaven’s sake.” I make an exasperated sound. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “But wait! You haven’t blessed my heart yet. Isn’t that how it’s done in the Deep South?”

  If I roll my eyes any harder, I’m certain they’ll get stuck.

  “Goodbye, Becket.”

  I end the call, toss my phone down on the bed beside me, and continue to stare up at the ceiling.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Knox’s excitement is evident, his grin contagious, as he leads me down the hall of his house.

  He’d finally finished all the renovations he’d planned and had been working on a “surprise” for me. A wedding present of sorts, he’d said. Part of me wondered if he’d set up a nursery or something. Granted, neither of us were ready to start our family quite yet but we’d talked about trying in a few years, once I’d gotten settled with my job at Southern Charm Lifestyle. I’d had my sights set on working hard to gain a promotion in advertising and marketing. It went against many of the old-school “belief systems” that I wanted to have a job and be successful in it, to contribute to our household and future, but I’d always been a rebel when it came to that sort of thing.

  When his surprise for me had been a home office setup in one of the spare bedrooms, I recall vividly how confused I’d been.

  It increases exponentially when he mentions, “This way, you can have a place to do your work.”

  “But I don’t…work from home.”

  He shrugs. “Well, maybe when we have a baby. You’ll obviously have to slow down a bit then, right?” His smile, the obliviousness, stuns me.

  The nature of my work, the contracts, the proposals… The aspects of my job, especially if I were to continue working my way up and gaining more responsibilities, made it crucial that details of deals not be compromised in any way, that no information be exposed to the public. Everything was kept under lock and key at the Southern Charm Lifestyle offices. And he knew that.

  My wedding present from Knox was a home office.

  That had been the first inkling that things weren’t quite as they’d seemed. That maybe I’d somehow failed to notice the shift.

  “Maybe you can do some of that monogram design stuff on the computer. Have a home business.”

  I recall how numb I’d felt when Knox had offered that up. Because monogram designs were an occasional hobby. Every now and then, when I’d wanted to give a special gift to someone dear to me. I didn’t want to make a career of it. It wasn’t a passion of mine like advertising and marketing were.

  And I’d thought he’d understood—recognized—that.

  Then again, I should’ve known my father would’ve had a hand in it. The man had nearly had a coronary when I’d sat down to dinner with the tiniest, most subtle diamond stud in my nose or when I’d had blue streaks dyed in my hair. Or when I’d saved up my own money to buy a used Honda Civic because I didn’t want to be driving around in a snooty BMW when most of my classmates couldn’t even afford the premium gas that kind of car required. My father had always tried to control me with his money—tried to tell me what to do, how to act, who to be friends with, and even what to major in when I went to college.

  I’d thought that Knox was on my side. He’d stood by me when I’d declared to my father that I’d be attending The University of South Alabama because of their accelerated degree program, giving me the opportunity to work toward my bachelor and master’s degrees in one fell swoop. At the news, my father had practically had a stroke and demanded that I attend The University of Alabama because that had been his alma mater. Because he wanted me to have “better choices for my circle of friends.”

  That really translated to him wanting me to have a bunch of snobs as friends. Shocker there. When your father is Davis Haywood, the businessman infamous for having his fingers in just about every “pot” in Mobile, it comes with so many strings and contingencies that it’s ridiculous.

  I still don’t know why he approved of me dating Knox.

  Scratch that. I didn’t know then. Until it was nearly too late.

  I shrug off the melancholy memories and pull myself up off the bed. I take my hanging garment bag from where it’s draped over the chair in the corner and walk to the closet to hang it up. Once that’s done, I unzip my suitcase and withdraw some of my small clothing items with the intent of placing them in the top drawer of the small dresser.

  Sliding out the drawer, I set my underwear and bras inside to the far right and distractedly recognize there’s a large stack of something, placed inside a small, open box, on the other side. When I move to close the drawer, the movement causes the stack to shift slightly within the box and that’s when I truly notice the contents.

  Photos. Of Knox and me.

  I reach out, my fingertips nearly grazing the top of the box before I draw my hand back quickly. It’s like Pandora’s box. I want so badly to look through these photos, but I’m not certain I can handle it.

  With a deep breath, I carefully push the drawer closed and step back from the dresser.

  Even so, I swear it taunts me throughout the evening.

  “Here you go.” Knox slides a bowl in front of me after directing me to take a seat at the large dining room table.

  I stare down at the contents of it, unmoving, and swallow hard.

  Oh, my word.

  “Is something wrong?”

  My head jerks up, my eyes finding Knox looking at me oddly.

  With an overly bright smile, I shake my head. “Not at all. Thank you for making dinner.”

  He nods and plates some stir fry for himself before sitting at the other end of the table. Folding his hands, he darts a quick glance at me.

  “I, uh, usually say grace.”

  I know. We used to say it together. And kiss after we said, “Amen.”

  Knox bows his head, and I do the same, listening to the smooth cadence of his voice as he murmurs a blessing.

  “Thank you, Lord, for this food, for seeing us safely to Mobile, and for granting us this time to spend with loved ones. In your name we pray, Amen.”

  Our eyes connect once we both raise our heads, and he offers me a faint smile as if he, too, recalls what would have come next. I work hard to fight against the urge to admire the curve of his lips and instead focus on my food.

  Oh, hell.

  I’d briefly forgotten what had initially taken me by surprise.

  My stir-fry has extra water chestnuts in it.

  26

  Knox

  Just as Emma Jane mechanically stabs at her stir-fry with a dazed look, there’s a brief knock on my door. Before I can react, it opens and my mother’s cheerful voice calls out, “The welcoming committee is here!”

  Shit. With a wince, I run a hand along my jaw. I didn’t exactly plan on this, and with the knowledge that my mother’s always had a soft spot for Emma Jane—somehow even through everything that’s happened—nervousness unfurls in the pit of my stomach at what she might have up her sleeve.

  When a male voice accompanies hers, I know for a fact she’s up to no good.

  “Why, I know y’all are tired fro
m the drive, so I told Caroline, here”—they emerge from the hallway, and stride into the kitchen—“we need to feed you something g—Oh.” Granddad stops in his tracks, eyebrows shooting up as he takes in the sight of the stir-fry, likely noticing the extra water chestnuts.

  He attempts to school his expression, but fails at stifling the pleased look when he turns to me. “Son, I see you haven’t forgotten certain…culinary skills in the kitchen.” He sets two casserole dishes onto the table before walking around to his granddaughter and greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “I brought my potato salad and some fried chicken.” My mother rushes over to the table and sets down her dishes. First offering Emma Jane the same greeting as her granddad, she withdraws the fork from her grasp, removing the plate as well.

  Turning to me, she holds out the objects. “Put these in some containers for later, honey. And get a few extra plates, please.” She smiles sweetly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mutter and acquiesce.

  Within moments, the four of us are seated at my dining room table, our plates laden with food from my mother’s kitchen, sweet tea poured in everyone’s glasses, and Granddad leads the four of us in saying grace…again.

  Once everyone starts digging in to the fried chicken, potato salad, and cornbread—and I have to admit that this beats my stir-fry any day of the week—the older two start in.

  “Are you staying in Knox’s spare bedroom, honey?” my mother inquires with far too much innocence.

  I flash her a look of warning. “Mother.”

  She waves a hand dismissively. “I was just concerned because”—she turns to Emma Jane with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever—“Knox’s bed is much more comfortable.”

  Emma Jane promptly chokes on her sweet tea.

  If I thought dinner was the pinnacle of awkwardness, with my mother and Emma Jane’s granddad bouncing back and forth between their leading questions and blatant insinuations, things veered into the realm of debilitating awkwardness from there.