Page 42 of Knot the Last Chapter

The words are simple, honest.

Her smile flickers into something softer. Curious. “You’re awfully good at saying the right thing.”

“I mean it. Lila...” I set the book aside. “You like mysteries, and this is embarrassingly cheesy to say while we’re reading one of the best word-spinning novelist of the twentieth century, but my feelings for you are no mystery.” She watched me, gaze steady, and I decide to say what I truly mean, voice low and rumbling from deep within my chest. “I’d claim you, if you let me.”

The fire pops in the grate. Misty stretches in her lap, but Lila doesn’t move. And for a moment, the air between us thickens.

Then, slowly, she says, “A good ending is worth waiting for.”

A smile ghosts across my mouth. Bittersweet. But that wasn’t a no. “Then I’ll wait.”

She unfolds from the chair, standing gracefully. The light glints off the curve of her jaw, and I want to trace it with my fingers.

I rise too. Something instinctive. Respectful. And maybe territorial in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

She turns slightly to go, then pauses. Our bodies are close. Too close. Her breath lifts to meet mine. The tension between us snaps taut like a violin string.

The fire crackles louder, the scent of her weaving around me with almost physical weight—fresh linen and rain-wet earth and the faintest edge of blooming heat.

I reach out, brushing my knuckles along her cheek, then letting the backs of my fingers trace down the line of her jaw. Her skin is warm, soft. Her eyes close briefly, lips parting.

She leans in ever so slightly, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. Her breath mingles with mine, and time slows to a crawl.

My pulse thunders.

I could kiss her. I want to kiss her.

But I don’t.

Instead, I lower my mouth and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. A touch reverent, aching. I linger there for one breath, two, before I force myself to pull away.

Her breath catches.

Mine does too.

I step back, my hands trembling just slightly. I clench them behind my back. “I agree.”

She watches me for a beat longer, eyes wide and luminous. I can see the storm of emotions in her gaze—desire, doubt, curiosity.

Then, quietly, she slips out the door, Misty close behind, her scent still lingering in her wake like the last note of a melody.

And I sit back in the chair, heart racing, Poirot forgotten.

She’s undoing me.

And I think I want her to.

Chapter twenty-three

Tyler

The storm has slowed, but it hasn't left me.

The wind no longer howls, but there's still something restless in the air, in me. I’ve been pacing for an hour, unable to settle, as if the weight in my chest has nowhere else to go. I tell myself it’s the weather, the pressure system shifting, the salt-heavy wind curling off the sea.

But I know the truth.

It’s her.

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