“Did you pack the prophylactics?”

“Becket!” I hiss, darting a glance at my closed bedroom door. Not that I believe Knox can hear my friend over the phone, but still.

“Hey, I’m looking out for your best interests.”

“Go an’ tell me more tall tales,” I respond drily.

He pauses for so long that I frown with concern. “Beck? Are you there?”

“Did you just hear yourself?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Amusement is laced in his tone when he speaks. “You’re going back to your roots. I already hear it.” He chuckles softly. “I sometimes hear traces of that thick Southern accent when you’d get fired up over something you were working on. Or when you’re laying on the charm at an event you attended with me.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Anything? Sure, it does. It means a lot.”

“Like what?”

Before he can answer, a knock sounds and Knox’s voice carries through the closed door.

“I’m making stir-fry if you want some.”

Moving the phone away from my mouth, I call out, “Okay, great. Thanks.”

“I once heard all great things start with stir-fry,” Becket declares.

I throw myself back on the bed with a small groan. “Beck, stop.”

He inhales sharply in dramatic fashion. And I know what’s coming next. “I bet you a ten spot he throws in extra water chestnuts for you. Even after all these years, I’m sure he remembers you love extra in your stir-fry.”

“A ten spot? Really, Beck?”

“What? Those little water chestnuts might just be game changers.”

“For heaven’s sake.” I make an exasperated sound. “I’m hanging up now.”

“But wait! You haven’t blessed my heart yet. Isn’t that how it’s done in the Deep South?”

If I roll my eyes any harder, I’m certain they’ll get stuck.

“Goodbye, Becket.”

I end the call, toss my phone down on the bed beside me, and continue to stare up at the ceiling.

“I have a surprise for you.” Knox’s excitement is evident, his grin contagious, as he leads me down the hall of his house.

He’d finally finished all the renovations he’d planned and had been working on a “surprise” for me. A wedding present of sorts, he’d said. Part of me wondered if he’d set up a nursery or something. Granted, neither of us were ready to start our family quite yet but we’d talked about trying in a few years, once I’d gotten settled with my job at Southern Charm Lifestyle. I’d had my sights set on working hard to gain a promotion in advertising and marketing. It went against many of the old-school “belief systems” that I wanted to have a job and be successful in it, to contribute to our household and future, but I’d always been a rebel when it came to that sort of thing.

When his surprise for me had been a home office setup in one of the spare bedrooms, I recall vividly how confused I’d been.

It increases exponentially when he mentions, “This way, you can have a place to do your work.”

“But I don’t…work from home.”

He shrugs. “Well, maybe when we have a baby. You’ll obviously have to slow down a bit then, right?” His smile, the obliviousness, stuns me.

The nature of my work, the contracts, the proposals… The aspects of my job, especially if I were to continue working my way up and gaining more responsibilities, made it crucial that details of deals not be compromised in any way, that no information be exposed to the public. Everything was kept under lock and key at the Southern Charm Lifestyle offices. And he knew that.

My wedding present from Knox was a home office.

That had been the first inkling that things weren’t quite as they’d seemed. That maybe I’d somehow failed to notice the shift.

“Maybe you can do some of that monogram design stuff on the computer. Have a home business.”

I recall how numb I’d felt when Knox had offered that up. Because monogram designs were an occasional hobby. Every now and then, when I’d wanted to give a special gift to someone dear to me. I didn’t want to make a career of it. It wasn’t a passion of mine like advertising and marketing were.

And I’d thought he’d understood—recognized—that.

Then again, I should’ve known my father would’ve had a hand in it. The man had nearly had a coronary when I’d sat down to dinner with the tiniest, most subtle diamond stud in my nose or when I’d had blue streaks dyed in my hair. Or when I’d saved up my own money to buy a used Honda Civic because I didn’t want to be driving around in a snooty BMW when most of my classmates couldn’t even afford the premium gas that kind of car required. My father had always tried to control me with his money—tried to tell me what to do, how to act, who to be friends with, and even what to major in when I went to college.

I’d thought that Knox was on my side. He’d stood by me when I’d declared to my father that I’d be attending The University of South Alabama because of their accelerated degree program, giving me the opportunity to work toward my bachelor and master’s degrees in one fell swoop. At the news, my father had practically had a stroke and demanded that I attend The University of Alabama because that had been his alma mater. Because he wanted me to have “better choices for my circle of friends.”

That really translated to him wanting me to have a bunch of snobs as friends. Shocker there. When your father is Davis Haywood, the businessman infamous for having his fingers in just about every “pot” in Mobile, it comes with so many strings and contingencies that it’s ridiculous.

I still don’t know why he approved of me dating Knox.

Scratch that. I didn’t know then. Until it was nearly too late.

I shrug off the melancholy memories and pull myself up off the bed. I take my hanging garment bag from where it’s draped over the chair in the corner and walk to the closet to hang it up. Once that’s done, I unzip my suitcase and withdraw some of my small clothing items with the intent of placing them in the top drawer of the small dresser.

Sliding out the drawer, I set my underwear and bras inside to the far right and distractedly recognize there’s a large stack of something, placed inside a small, open box, on the other side. When I move to close the drawer, the movement causes the stack to shift slightly within the box and that’s when I truly notice the contents.

Photos. Of Knox and me.

I reach out, my fingertips nearly grazing the top of the box before I draw my hand back quickly. It’s like Pandora’s box. I want so badly to look through these photos, but I’m not certain I can handle it.

With a deep breath, I carefully push the drawer closed and step back from the dresser.

Even so, I swear it taunts me throughout the evening.

* * *

“Here you go.” Knox slides a bowl in front of me after directing me to take a seat at the large dining room table.

I stare down at the contents of it, unmoving, and swallow hard.

Oh, my word.

“Is something wrong?”

My head jerks up, my eyes finding Knox looking at me oddly.

With an overly bright smile, I shake my head. “Not at all. Thank you for making dinner.”

He nods and plates some stir fry for himself before sitting at the other end of the table. Folding his hands, he darts a quick glance at me.

“I, uh, usually say grace.”

I know. We used to say it together. And kiss after we said, “Amen.”

Knox bows his head, and I do the same, listening to the smooth cadence of his voice as he murmurs a blessing.

“Thank you, Lord, for this food, for seeing us safely to Mobile, and for granting us this time to spend with loved ones. In your name we pray, Amen.”

Our eyes connect once we both raise our heads, and he offers me a faint smile as if he, too, recalls what would have come next. I work hard to fight against the urge to admire the curve of his lips and instead focus on my food.

Oh, hell.

I’d briefly forgotten what had initially taken me by surprise.

My stir-fry has extra water chestnuts in it.