“Too many to choose from.” I fold both hands over his chest and rest my chin on it. “Okay. I’ve got one. My first driving lesson. Total failure. Tried making a right turn and wound up putting my friend’s Camaro in an orange tree. Everyone was totally safe. And my friend forgave me, even if he never let me drive his car again. Or gave me another driving lesson.”
He laughs, tossing me around a bit with the way his torso shakes from it, making me giggle in turn too. “Why is that your favorite?”
I shrug. “Because I learned how not to end up in a tree from it. And I got a delightful story to tell.” I smirk. “Another fun fail was trying to learn to drive a stick shift.” I hold up a finger before he can ask. “Another time. I get a question now. Favorite goal.”
He thinks for a moment. “Oh. It’s ongoing. I try to read as many books a year as we have shows.”
“That’s a lot of books.”
“I have a lot of travel time. Plus, I usually don’t sleep well.” He drapes both arms across my lower back, relaxing deeper into his pillow. “You’re up. Favorite happy ending.”
“Movie? Book? Life?”
“You pick.”
I pick. “You’re good at this game.”
He smirks lazily, eyelids drooping. “I’m good at everything.”
“Except being humble.” I roll my eyes, laughing quietly while I turn my head and rest my ear to his heart. It steadies me.Hesteadies me. “Favorite happy ending,” I mumble, still mulling it over. Then I realize I’m overthinking it. The answer is obvious. “The ending of your last concert.”
“Really enjoyed that encore, huh?” he teases. I glance up to see his eyes starting to get that glazed-over look, like he’s about to drift off.
“I didn’t mean the literal performance. I meant the whole experience. The way it ended. You, coming outside to find me.”
“Kind of sounds like a happy beginning to me.”
“Well, that’s kind of the whole point of any happy ending,” I enlighten him. Having been a sucker for fairy tales my entire life, I’ve had some time to contemplate these things. “Happy endings aren’t really celebrating the end of something; they’re promising the beginning of something amazing.”
“Like us,” he murmurs, eyes completely closed now, lips resting in a contented smile.
“Yeah.” I lift up enough to reach the light next to the bed and turn it off. Then I settle back into my spot, head nestled to his chest, ear to his heart. “Like us.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KNOX
I wake up early and carefully untangle myself from Kenley without waking her. My gaze keeps pulling back to where she’s sleeping while I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I always thought those lines about waking up to that someone special were overrated, romantic bullshit people just throw around. It’s not. Gratitude hums in my chest when I see her lying there, peaceful expression on her face, hair a wild tangled mess around her head, one leg kicked out from the covers, pajama pants pushed up to her calf. I can’t even put into words why I feel how I feel, I just...feel it.
She’s mine, more than anyone before her. And I don’t need to lay claim to her to know it. She’s a part of me, the way she moves when she’s near me, the way we fit into each other. Hell, the fact we sleep on that fucking couch together and both get a good night’s rest, is all the proof I’ll ever need our bodies have come home to one another.
As quietly as I can, I step out into the hall.
I can see through the crack in the door, Sloan’s still out too. Not that I expected that night owl to be awake at this hour. Only one of the dogs even bothers to follow me down the stairs, the other two stay curled up in the room with Kenley.
Downstairs, I worry a little less about the noise and get busy making coffee. A few minutes later, I’m walking out to the dock again, a mug in one hand and Jarod’s guitar in the other, one of my notebooks folded and stuffed in my back pocket.
I get settled just in time to call in for my radio interview. We stay on for nearly twenty minutes discussing my new album and the current tour. Everyone’s known for years, my private life is always off limits. Some still try to get me to spillsomething personal, but today, they’re kind enough to respect my boundaries and keep it all business.
Once I finish up my bit of work for the morning, I stay out on the dock playing and writing for a good hour before I head back inside.
I’m still the only one up. Well, me and Brinna. I refill my coffee and take her outside to play ball. I spend probably twenty minutes throwing it out across the yard and watching her race, leap and catch it, then running it straight back to me, before she gets tired and starts to hog the ball, no longer willing to give up if all I’ll do is throw it again.
This time, when I walk back inside, Kenley is awake and fixing what looks to be her first cup of joe.
“Thanks for making coffee,” she smiles, about to take her first sip. “And playing with Brin.”
“Of course.”
