Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(66)

“I’m not a baby hog.” Talia reached for an olive from the snack tray on the counter. “Where’s Hudson?”

“Asleep.” Knox plucked up a pickle and popped it into his mouth as Griffin and Winn joined us.

“Hopefully with a nap he won’t be a terror through dinner,” Winn said. “He was exhausted.”

“Because he wakes up before dawn,” Griffin muttered, pulling out a stool. “My boy’s a morning kid.”

“Not mine.” Knox pulled out the stool beside his brother.

“Mine’s a night owl.”

The entire room went still as my breath caught in my throat.

Mine. One short word, four simple letters, and if there’d been any doubt that I was in love with Knox Eden, it vanished.

I loved him because he loved Drake.

All eyes were on Knox. Anne stared at him with her hands clasped against her heart.

He simply shrugged and ate another pickle. “Lyla?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell Mom that her cranberry sauce is about to boil over.”

“It is no—oh, shit.” Anne flew into action, ripping the pan off the stove.

A tiny cry carried from the hallway and it didn’t belong to my son.

“So much for a nap,” Griff said. “I’ll get him.”

But before he could go rescue Hudson, Talia flew down the hallway. “No, no, no. He’s mine.”

“She has baby fever,” Lyla said. “Thank God it’s not contagious.”

The room laughed and settled into easy conversation.

Griffin and Knox talked about the ranch and the upcoming calving season. Winn told us about the 9-1-1 call that had come in yesterday from a woman who’d mistaken a squirrel in her garage for a burglar. Then her grandpa, Pops, arrived with a small bouquet of flowers for every woman in the house, including me.

I had the bundle pressed to my nose when Mateo returned to the kitchen with Drake on an arm. “Do you need me to take him?”

“Nope. Talia thinks she’s going to be the favorite aunt. But Uncle Mateo is about to steal her thunder.” He tickled Drake.

“Isn’t that right, dude? You ever need anything—candy, toys, junk food—I’m your guy.”

Knox chuckled. “This will be interesting to watch.”

My throat closed. My lungs wouldn’t fill with air. I held up a finger and slipped away, finding a powder room down the hallway. I eased the door closed, forcing oxygen into my lungs as I braced on the counter.

My eyes flooded as the door opened again and Knox was there, wrapping me in his arms.

“Your family is . . .” I looked at him through the mirror.

“It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful I couldn’t breathe.”

“Better now?”

I nodded, blinking away the tears. Happy tears. “This is the third.”

“The third what?”

“The third-best day.”

A magnificent smile stretched across his face. “Like I said, honey. I’ll take them all.”

I stood on my toes, stretching for his lips. “Promise?”

“I swear it.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN

KNOX

It was strange to stand in the kitchen at Knuckles and be nervous. Not even on opening night had I felt this rattled.

My fingers kept skimming the prep table, so I shoved them into my jeans pockets before I smeared my prints everywhere.

I scanned every surface of the room, from the gleaming counters to the polished stoves to the shelves of white dishes that glinted beneath the room’s lights.

The scent of bleach clung to the air. It hadn’t bothered me while I’d been cleaning but now . . . this kitchen should smell like food. Like vanilla and flour and cinnamon.

“Cookies.” I sprang into action, swiping a mixing bowl from its shelf. Then I began hauling out supplies from the pantry. I was just cracking a couple of eggs into my mixture of sugar and butter when the swinging door opened.

Memphis walked in with Drake on her hip. Her smile dropped as she saw the mess on the prep table, then her eyes softened. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m nervous,” I admitted, my shoulders falling. And now, instead of a clean kitchen, I had a half-started batch of cookie dough. “I’d better clean this up.”

“No, don’t.” She walked over and stood on her toes, tugging at my coat so I’d bend and give her a kiss. “Make whatever it is you’re making.”

“Snickerdoodles.”

“Perfect.”

I dropped my forehead to hers. No one else in the world would tell me to keep cooking. They’d look at the clock on the wall, see it was after five and realize the photographer was due here any minute, then they’d help me sweep it all away.

But not Memphis. She knew what I needed. A task. The slight disarray that made this kitchen my sanctuary. And her. I needed her.

For the first time in months, the restaurant was closed.

Mondays were typically slow and I’d wanted to give the staff a day off to rest before the crazed Christmas schedule hit. That, and I’d wanted the day to clean without guests getting in the way.

Two weeks ago, right after Thanksgiving, I’d gotten an email from Lester Novak’s magazine asking when we could work in a photo shoot. I wasn’t sure if they’d want photos of the restaurant and the kitchen, so I’d made sure both were available and pristine.