Page 57 of The Quiet After The Fall

“Too bad.” He stands, dropping it in his basket, and I notice that it’s filled with a lot of the same items I came to buy—a travel deodorant, toothpaste, a charger. “Why do you even need a toothbrush? Where’s your stuff? Actually, why did you follow me here?”

“I didn’t follow you, not this time,” he retorts. “And I could ask you the same things. Why are you here and where’s your stuff?”

“I asked you first.”

“I didn’t exactly plan this,” he says.

“Neither did I.”

Our eyes meet and when I see the softness in his expression, I let my emotions win. I’m glad to see him. I hate myself for it, but I can’t ignore how my nerve endings wake up around him.

It’s still awkward, though.

Everything we are to each other sits heavy in the air and I feel the weight of it, the words dying to escape, but I don’t want to make the first move.

He nods toward the crab toothbrush still in my hand. “You should get a keychain to match.”

That takes me by surprise.

I look down at the rack, pick up a little enamel crab and drop it in my basket. “Happy?”

“Extremely.”

I hide my smile behind my palm.

He nods toward the aisle. “You need anything else?”

Am I really going to stand here and have a casual conversation with Knox? I let myself actually look at him. He’s in nice pants that hug his thick thighs—business attire, but instead of a button-down and tie, he’s wearing a navy NASA T-shirt. Of course those damn aviators are on his head, his messy hair pulled back around them. I hate that he looks so good.

I sigh and adjust the basket so it’s against my hip. “Yeah, a couple things. Clothes too. Technically, I have nothing.”

His eyes light up. “There’s a rack of tourist stuff by the front. I checked it out on the way in.”

“I’m sure you found loads of things that match your fashion sense.”

He grabs my basket, holding both with one hand. “Very funny, Thorne.”

We end up in front of a circular rack of the most aggressively Lake Mercer merchandise I’ve ever seen in my life. Sweatshirts with cartoon fish on them. T-shirts that say Lake Life in green font. A rack of tie-dye shorts in neon colors.

“This is bleak,” I say.

“This one’s not bad.” He holds up a navy blue sweatshirt with the silhouette of a fish stitched on it in white. It’s probably the least hideous thing here. I take it from him and check the size. Medium…I could maybe fit one tit in that thing.

I discreetly hang it back on the rack.

He grabs a gray T-shirt that says Trout of Office, featuring a badly drawn trout dressed in a suit, and holds it up. “What do you think?”

“Oh, definitely. That fish dresses for work better than you do.”

“I’m crushed.” He drops it in the basket with a grin. “Let’s see you find something better.”

“You’re on, Aldrich,” I say, flipping through the rack. I’m so focused that I don’t notice he’s inched closer until his body heat permeates the air and his voice is low against my ear.

“There she is.”

My hand freezes on a hanger and I actively fight the urge to lean into him. With a breath, I grab the next shirt on the rack and swing it up between us. Lucky for me, it’s a winner.

“Found it. The GOAT of all T-shirts.”