Page 71 of Keep Me Close

I huff out a small laugh. “I knew you would be.”

25

Cheyenne

Even after we settle in Knox’s Maserati, I refrain from asking questions. Mostly because I’m still thinking about what we discussed in the kitchen. And then there’s the fact that Knox looks entirely too pleased with himself, with one hand draped over the wheel while the other rests on the center console.

The bruise under his eye has darkened into a deep purple, but it doesn’t make him look weak. If anything, it makes him look rougher. More formidable. Which isn’t helping my ability to think clearly when it comes to this man.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I comment, watching as the city slips past the windows.

He glances at me, his mouth twitching. “Enjoying what?”

“The fact that I have no idea where we’re going.”

“Maybe.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You realize this is how people end up being discussed on true crime podcasts, right?”

He snorts. “Relax. If I were going to kidnap you, I wouldn’t have bothered to feed you first.”

“That’s not actually comforting.”

“It should be. I made Nutella-stuffed French toast. That took major effort on my part.”

I try not to smile. I get the feeling this is how Knox shows he cares. He doesn’t make big speeches or grand gestures. He saw that I was stuck in my head, and did something about it.

He turns onto Cannon Drive before pulling into a parking lot a minute later. I look up, confused for half a second until my gaze lands on the sign.

Lincoln Park Zoo.

I blink. “You brought me to the zoo?”

This isn’t what I was expecting.

He cuts the engine and looks at me like it’s the most obvious place in the world. “Yup.”

“You’re actually serious?”

With a shrug, he glances at the entrance. “Kind of hard to spiral when you’re looking at goats.”

I laugh. “Goats?”

“Sure. They’re pretty cute.”

My chest already feels lighter than it did fifteen minutes ago when we climbed into the car. The air is cool and the sky bright blue. It’s the kind of day that makes the city feel crisp and alive. Families walk by with strollers, and kids tug on their parents’ hands as couples wander without any obvious destination.

It’s ordinary.

Normal.

There aren’t any cameras, assistants, or handlers. No one’s telling me where to stand or who to smile at. It’s just a zoo on a weekend with Knox. And somehow that feels more surreal than any red carpet.

We fall into step and head toward the entrance. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. As we pass through the gate, Knox reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers lace through mine, and my heart stutters. I glance around, scanning faces, looking for phones or cameras.

“Is someone watching us?” I ask under my breath.

Instead of slowing or looking around, he keeps walking. “Nope. But that’s kind of the point.”