Chapter 91: How About Now?

NORA’S POV

Knox held the passenger door open for me as I climbed up into the warm cab of his truck. He closed the door with a solid thud, jogged around the hood, and slid behind the steering wheel.

The truck cabin smelled of clean cedar, rich leather, and the sweet aroma of toasted sugar from the white pastry box resting on my lap.

Knox shifted into drive and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.

Soft indie music played from the stereo, and the heater blew a gentle stream of warm air against my tights, chasing away the chill of the autumn evening.

I carefully untied the golden satin ribbon, lifting the cardboard lid of the box. Inside sat four golden-brown almond biscotti, studded with roasted almonds and drizzled with a vanilla glaze.

I picked one up, bringing it to my lips and taking a small, crunchy bite.

The rich, nutty flavor of toasted almonds exploded across my tongue, followed by the perfect hint of sweet vanilla and subtle citrus zest.

A soft, involuntary sound of bliss escaped my throat as I closed my eyes, savoring every single crumb.

"Good?" Knox asked, glancing over at me with an amused grin.

"Incredible," I sighed happily, opening my eyes to look at him. "Fresh almond biscotti might actually be my biggest weakness."

Knox tapped the steering wheel with his thumb, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Give me a bite."

I held the pastry toward him.

Knox didn’t take it from my hand.

Instead, he kept both hands firmly on the wheel, tilting his head slightly in my direction.

"Feed me," Knox said smoothly.

I arched an eyebrow, looking at him with mock skepticism. "Excuse me? What are you, a baby?"

"I’m driving, Bennett," Knox countered, not missing a beat. "Unless you want us to wrap around a telephone pole because I took my hands off the wheel, hand it over."

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. "Are you seriously trying to guilt-trip me into hand-feeding you pastries?"

Knox’s grin widened into that wicked, arrogant smirk that always made my stomach do flip-flops. "Is it working?"

I looked at his sharp jawline, his tousled dark curls, and the cocky tilt of his chin.

"Well..." I sighed in mock surrender, a smile tugging at my lips. "I wouldn’t want to be selfish and wicked."

I leaned across the center console, holding the biscotti up to his lips.

Knox leaned over and took a clean bite.

His warm, slightly rough lips brushed against my fingertips, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up my arm.

He chewed slowly, his gaze holding mine for a split second before returning to the road.

"Damn," Knox murmured. "That really is good."

"Told you," I murmured, pulling my hand back and trying to ignore how fast my pulse was suddenly racing.

—

Fifteen minutes later, Knox pulled the truck into a gravel parking lot overlooking Briar Harbor.

Tucked right along the water’s edge stood The Anchor & Pine... a rustic, two-story stone-and-timber bistro. Warm amber light spilled through panoramic bay windows, glowing softly against the dark water of the harbor.

Knox helped me down from the truck, took my hand, and led me inside.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate.

Dark cedar beams stretched across the ceiling, soft acoustic guitar music drifted through the air, and the scent of roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and sizzling seafood made my mouth water.

There were no rowdy college students chanting hockey fight songs, no flashing cameras or gossiping sorority girls.

The hostess greeted Knox with a polite smile, leading us through the dining room to a private, high-backed wooden booth in the back corner, overlooking the calm black harbor and the distant flashing light of the harbor buoy.

Knox stepped behind me, gently helping me slide my black wool coat off my shoulders before hanging it on the hook beside the booth.

He waited until I was comfortably seated on the cushioned bench before sliding into the seat directly across from me.

A small glass candle flickered between us on the white tablecloth, casting a warm, golden glow across his sharp features.

"This place is beautiful, Knox," I said softly, looking around the candlelit room.

"I wanted somewhere quiet," Knox said, resting his forearms on the table as he looked at me. "Somewhere where we didn’t have to put on a show for anyone."

My chest tightened with warmth.

The waiter arrived, bringing us a basket of crusty, warm garlic sourdough and pouring two glasses of sparkling water. We ordered a seafood linguine tossed with fresh garlic, white wine, and butter to share.

As we broke into the sourdough, I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hand.

"So, Captain Sheridan," I teased lightly, "what do you do on a real date when you’re not memorizing macroeconomic inflation curves?"

Knox let out a low chuckle, taking a piece of bread.

"Honestly? I haven’t been on a real date in... I don’t even know how long," Knox admitted, his smile turning slightly rueful. "For the last four years, my entire life has been hockey, workouts, and trying to stay out of my father’s crosshairs."

"What about before that?" I asked gently. "Before the scouts, the NCAA pressure, and the Sheridan name?"

Knox paused, his expression softening as he looked past the candle toward the dark harbor.

"Before all of that... it was just pond hockey in Vermont with my grandfather," Knox said quietly in a nostalgic voice. "He built a wooden rink on the frozen pond behind his farmhouse. No whistles. No drills. No contracts. Just me, him, and the sound of pucks hitting the wooden boards until the sun went down."

He looked back across the table, meeting my eyes.

"When I was on that pond, I loved the game," Knox whispered. "Somewhere along the way, my father turned it into a business. But when I’m with you, Nora... it feels like that frozen pond again. It feels real."

My eyes stung with sudden, happy tears.

I reached across the white tablecloth, laying my small hand flat over his large, calloused fingers.

Knox turned his palm up, immediately intertwining his fingers with mine, his thumb stroking soothing circles over the back of my hand.

"You’re going to play in the NHL, Knox," I said with certainty. "Not because your father forced you to, but because you love the game. And you’re going to be incredible."

Knox stared at me, his throat working as he swallowed, his grip on my hand tightening with fierce, silent devotion.

"Thank you, Nora," he murmured.

—

After sharing an incredible plate of seafood linguine and lingering over the last drops of our drinks, Knox paid the check.

We stepped out of the restaurant into the night air, taking a brief, peaceful stroll along the wooden harbor boardwalk with our fingers intertwined.

The drive back to campus was quiet, comfortable, and warm. Knox kept one hand on the steering wheel and his other hand resting over mine on the center console, his thumb lightly caressing my knuckles as soft music hummed from the speakers.

At nine-thirty, Knox pulled the truck into the visitor parking lane outside.

He killed the engine, hopped out of the cab, and came around to open my door, helping me down onto the pavement.

Knox walked me up the brick pathway toward the dormitory entrance, the dry autumn leaves crunching softly under our boots. We stopped near the brick archway just outside the heavy glass double doors, beneath the warm amber glow of the entryway lantern.

I turned around to face him, leaning lightly back against the brick column.

Knox unzipped his leather jacket, stepped closer, and wrapped the warm leather around my sides, pulling me flush against his solid chest to shield me from the night air.

I looked up into his handsome face, my hands resting against his chest over his steady, beating heart.

"Best dinner I’ve had in four years," Knox murmured, looking down at me with pure, undisguised adoration.

"It really was," I smiled, my heart fluttering.

Knox tilted his head slightly, his gaze gleaming with a playful, dangerous challenge. "So... would you go on another date with me, Bennett?"

I bit my lower lip, letting a teasing, thoughtful expression cross my face as I looked away for a second.

"I don’t know, Sheridan," I said, a playful smirk curving my lips. "I might have to think about it."

Knox narrowed his eyes, a wicked, possessive grin spreading across his face. "You have to think about it, huh?"

Before I could reply, Knox slid his large hands up to the sides of my neck and captured my mouth in a deep, breathless kiss.

The kiss was slow, consuming, and devastatingly thorough.

He parted my lips with his tongue, tasting of rich espresso and mint, pulling me so close against his muscular frame that my toes barely grazed the concrete.

The heat radiating between us burned away the autumn chill.

My hands tangled deep into his soft dark curls, clinging to him as my knees melted completely into jelly.

When Knox finally pulled back, his breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps against my lips, his forehead resting gently against mine.

His thumb caressed my flushed cheek, his eyes glowing with smug, breathless triumph. "How about now, Bookworm?" he rasped softly against my mouth.

I let out a breathless, dizzy laugh, my eyes shining up at him under the lantern light. "Definitely."