Page 78 of Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout)
“Can you give me one minute to get Waylay’s department store out of your back seat?”
He muttered a few colorful expletives and yanked open the back door. I looped as many bags as I could over my wrists before his frustration took over. He marched all the new stuff to the porch and set it in a pile next to Stef.
“You did get new underwear,” Stef said, sneaking a peek into the Victoria’s Secret bag.
Another low growl emanated from the vicinity of Knox’s chest, and then he was storming back to his truck.
I rolled my eyes and ran after him.
“Knox?”
“Christ, woman,” he said, rounding on me. “Now what?”
“Nothing. Just… Thank you for everything today. It meant the world to Waylay. And me.”
When I turned to leave, his hand shot out and caught my wrist. “Future reference, Daze. My problem is always you.”
I don’t know why I did what I did next, but I did it. I raised on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He was still standing there when Stef and I walked inside with a dozen shopping bags between us.
With Waylay asleep in a shopping-induced coma, I changed into pajamas and wondered why in the world I’d left my closet doors wide open. Then decided it had probably been Waylay. I was surprised at the effect an additional human had on a household. Toothpaste tubes were squeezed haphazardly in the middle. Snacks disappeared. And the TV remote was never where I left it.
I closed the closet doors firmly and returned downstairs.
The back door was open, and through the screen, I saw Stef on the porch. He’d turned my back porch into a citronella candle fantasy land.
“You can’t tell my parents about any of this yet,” I said without preamble as I stepped out onto the porch.
Stef looked up from the tray of fancy meats and cheeses he was organizing on the picnic table. “Why would you even say that? I’m always Team Naomi,” he said
“I know you talk to them.”
“Just because your mom and I have a standing date at the spa every month doesn’t mean I’d rat you out, Witty. Besides, I didn’t tell them I was coming.”
“I just haven’t figured out how to tell them about Waylay. It took me an hour on the phone after I pulled a runaway bride before Mom agreed to still go on the trip. I know if I were to tell them what was going on, they’d be off the boat and on a plane in a second.”
“That does sound like something your parents would do,” he agreed, handing me a glass of wine. The man had brought an entire case with him. “Your beast wants to devour you like a dozen hot wings.”
I flopped down on the lawn chair next to him. “How is that the first thing you say to me?”
“It’s the most pressing.”
“Not ‘why did you leave Warner at the altar?’ Or ‘what the hell were you thinking answering your sister’s call for help?’”
He propped his long legs on the railing. “You know I never liked Warner. I was ecstatic when you pulled the disappearing act. I only wish you would have let me in on it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said lamely.
“Stop saying you’re sorry.”
“I’m s—our?”
“You’re the one who has to live your life. Don’t apologize to other people
for the decisions you make for yourself.”
My voice of reason best friend. No judgments. No second-guessing. Just unconditional love and support…and the occasional truth bomb. He was one in a billion.
