Page 115 of Say It Isn't So

Well, if he was an adorable pomeranian, then I was an Italian greyhound—sweet but snappy and aggressive when I needed to be.

Before I could respond, that mischief was back and his hands were all over my stomach, tickling me like no tomorrow. Due to our previous friendship status two years ago, he happened to know a lot of my dirty little secrets. Well, this one was less dirty, but I’d definitely tried to keep it a secret. I was ticklish. Like laugh-so-hard-I-could-pee-my-pants ticklish.

I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t keep a straight face. At all. I was in stitches. He found my ultimate ticklish spot on my stomach (around my belly button) and wasn’t letting up. “Knox,” I begged, my hands around his wrists. “Stop, stop.”

He paused long enough to ask, “Are you going to tell me?”

I sucked on my lips and shook my head. “Never!” If he wanted to know that bad, it would have to be over my dead body.

“I know what you’re hiding!” he said, his eyes widening as though a lightbulb had gone off. He continued tickling me until I was almost a ball on the floor. He crouched down on the floor, too, to continue his all-out tickle war. “You have pornographic drawings in there!” Relenting, he paused and looked at me, waiting for an answer.

Catching my breath finally, I exhaled deeply. “You wish!” I pushed my hands out, holding him at bay.

He slipped off the couch and sat on the floor in front of it next to me. There was something so casual about his demeanor right now, I was so attracted to him in this moment but remembered his request that we keep things friendly. That was right, I was being mature and had been since our hot dog moment.

I mean, come on, I’d given it the best I had, pushing his buttons in all the ways I knew and nothing. Literally nothing. Zip. Zilch. Like liquid, this man seemed to be unbreakable. Or that egg the other morning when I had tried my hand at making an omelet—also unbreakable.

So, I decided toying with him was the wrong play here. I needed to respect his wishes, so I had been and was right now, too, even though it was killing me. I called that personal growth, thank you very much!

“Seriously, what’s going on with the notebook?” Knox turned to me, his arms hanging over his knees that were up in front of him as he sat on the floor with me. “I’ve never known you to be secretive.”

I shrugged and flipped my hair. “I’m usually not, but this is something I haven’t shared with anyone.” I was more than a little nervous about it, if I was being honest. No one knew my fantasy about designing wedding dresses. I was afraid if they did, no one would take it seriously or they’d pacify me, saying I should go for it, but not really meaning it.

Right now it was only mine and it felt safe that way. I already knew the facts:

1. I had no background in design.

2. I worked in ad sales and was good at that (thank you, Karoline, for the reminder).

3. The likelihood that I’d make it as a wedding dress designer was slim to none.

I knew all of this.

But sometimes it was nice to push it to the back of my mind and do something I loved. Even if it was silly. It wasmysilly thing to do.

“Not even your sisters?” Knox’s question broke me from my reverie.

I shook my head and he let out a low whistle. Let’s just say this was one of those things I wish I would’ve talked about with Mom before she died, but I couldn’t go back in time as much as I wanted to.

For some reason I’d always found it easier to open up to her about any and everything. I’d imagined how the conversation would go a thousand times. I always believed she’d be happy for me and wish me luck.

She had supported me in everything I’d ever done and never faulted me when I made a bad choice. In fact, she’d lived by the notion that the worst choices brought about the most beautiful discoveries. Mom was a beautiful soul.

I placed my head on the top of my knees and looked down.

I could tell Knox. Or I could keep it to myself, reserving my sketches just for me and take it to my grave. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, but it was a lonely one.

I should share this with someone, right?

Lifting my head, I rubbed my hands down my thighs as he said, “You don’t have to tell me, but if you need to talk, remember I’m here.”

Absorbing his words, I sat in silence for a second and thought about what he’d said. I nodded my understanding and watched as he placed his hand on the floor for leverage as he started to lift himself up. But I stopped him. “Wait,” I finally said and reached behind me to pull my sketchbook out from under the pillow. “I’d like to share it with you.”

Otherwise unmoving, he hitched an eyebrow in the air. “You sure?”

Again, I nodded. “Yes.” The full weight of that one word rocked me to my very core.

There was no going back now. Technically I was still holding it and didn’t have to give it to him, but I should, I should give it to him. I should let someone in.

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