Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

9. Taylor

Taylor

My alarm went off at nine a.m., and I only hit the snooze button three times. I metaphorically pat myself on the back because that’s progress, baby! I slip into a pair of jeans and an overpriced crewneck I picked up during one of my layovers and quickly snap a picture of the view from my window to send to Camila before heading downstairs.

I hit the bottom of the stairs, expecting to run into a number of people, but I’m met with near silence instead. So quiet, in fact, I’m able to pick up on the familiar sound of oil sizzling from the swinging door that leads into the kitchen. Even the front desk, being manned by only a hand-painted sign that sits on a little wooden chair in the corner.

Breakfast served daily: 6 a.m. - 8 a.m.

Dinner served daily: 5:00 p.m.

Well, I’m screwed.

I never thought I’d be someone who can be distracted by food, but the glimpse of a photograph snatches my attention. I glance down the length of the wall, realizing that there is an array of them for my nosey butt to study. Most are in black and white, but there is one that is in eye-catching color. A mom stands with a toddler on her hip, and a young boy with a very serious expression stands next to her, holding one side of a piece of wood while his dad holds the other. There is a third little boy standing at his mom’s legs with an ear-to-ear smile, the world’s smallest hammer in his grip.

Instinctively I reach up, tracing the etches in the frame.

“You must be—” My heart lurches into my throat and I practically jump out of my skin. I turn to find an older man smiling at me, dropping my hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Adam Browning.”

It doesn’t take me any time at all to read that he is wearing a friendly smile, and not a murderous one, and my heart regulates.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Browning. I’m Taylor.”

“Oh please, call me Adam.” He waves a tan, weathered hand. “What brings you to Stoney Meadow, Taylor?”

I really should have spent more time coming up with a suitable answer for this question that everyone seems to ask. “How could I not come here? Have you seen this place? It’s incredible. You have a beautiful property.”

His smile is warm, just like Knox’s. Everything about him resembles Knox, minus his height and build. A little more gray hair, and deeper crinkles at his eyes, but they’re the kind of lines that say. ‘Yeah, I’ve had a fun, fulfilled life.’ The kind that somehow keeps him youthful.

“Ahh well, thank you. What are you up to today? Do you need a tour guide? We have some lads around here who would be happy to get out of their stable duties for the day and drive you around. Or we have bikes for use, propped up over here.” He nods his head and moves to head to the front door. “Come, I’ll show ya.”

I’m not much of a bike rider but he’s excited to be helpful so I follow him to the wrap-around porch.

“There.” He points to four pastel-colored, vintage-style beach cruisers and my accident-prone ass could never.

“You know what? I think I’m going to stretch my legs instead. Get a little walk in.”

“Atta girl,” he says, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “If you head just down the dirt driveway and turn left at the cottage down there.” He squints an eye, pointing at my favorite little house on the property. “You’ll run right into the town.”

“Straight then left. Sounds like something I can manage.”

“Perfect!” he beams. “Alright, well I’m off to go pick up some supplies, but I hope we’ll see you for dinner sometime soon. It was nice to meet you, Taylor.” He pats the top of my back on a turn.

“You too, Adam.” I watch him go all the way back inside before turning to face the dirt road ahead of me.

The hill isn’t steep, but it is longer than I expected. Though not nearly as bad without the rain and all my luggage. I make it down to the cottage that I’ve imagined myself living in countless times when I look out my bedroom window, and somehow it’s even more beautiful up close. The white brick with contrasting lavender plants is only broken up by a gorgeous wrap-around porch that overlooks Emerald Browning Cottage . More wildflowers of every color cover the front of the property, going all the way up to the stone-lined entryway. Hundred-year-old trees muffle the sounds of the birds, and a slight trickle of water slips through the quiet. Had I not stopped to snoop around my favorite little house I would have missed it entirely.

Someone could be home and you’re out here sneaking around like a damn cat burglar. Move along.

Speaking of cats.

I’m halfway back to the main road when a large, fluffy black cat saunters out of a bush near the porch.

“Here kitty, kitty.” I crouch down, sucking my teeth. The cat lifts one paw, hesitating as I continue to coo at the little baby.

Hinges creak and wood on wood slams like a gunshot into the cat distribution system, sending the cat fleeing for its life. I watch him take off before looking up to where Knox is standing at the door, smiling down at me.

“Look what you did!” I yell, but he remains motionless, leaning against the doorframe. One arm hangs in its usual sling, the other buried in the pocket of his dark jeans. His black hat sits backward on his head, dark waves falling out around the nape of his neck. He stands there with that sexy little smirk of his, but still doesn’t say anything. “Well! Aren’t you going to go get your cat?” I throw my hand in the direction it ran off.

“It’s not my cat.”

“Oh…” I squint, despite the lack of sunlight, and let out a long, awkward breath. If I stand here any longer, I’m going to curl up and die. “Alright, well, I’m going to get going.” I hike my thumb over my shoulder, as if I hadn’t made this awkward enough already.

“Where ya headed?”

“I’m not sure yet. I planned on walking until I hit the first sign of food.”

He smiles, pulling the door closed behind him, and taking the porch steps two at a time until he clears the gap between us. Once again, I find myself craning my neck just to be able to make eye contact. This position is new for me. I’m not a short girl. At least I’ve never felt small in my five-foot-eight frame—but when Knox towers over me like this, a rush of warmth spreads across my body despite the chilly air.

“Let’s go, Nova.”

I inwardly groan, knowing I’ll never live that greeting down, but still, my lips tug upwards at the sound of my name on his tongue.

“Lead the way then, Browning.”

I walk beside Knox, twisting the ends of my hair around my fingertip.

God, he smells good. I’ve never had a desire to grab a man’s chest and bury my face in it before. Better yet, I want to climb him like a tree and inhale straight from his neck.

“So, were you thinking about me?”

“What?” I stop abruptly and look around for the invisible wall I just encountered.

“I’m trying to think of why else you would be poking around my house.”

Oh.

“I wasn’t poking,” I say, jabbing my finger in his bicep. “I didn’t even know it was your house.” His smile is playful—beautiful. It’s carefree and warm, and it makes me forget that I’m supposed to be laying on the charm, not getting lost in his smile. My mask is slowly slipping, and that’s more startling than Knox catching me outside his house trying to scope out the place and steal the neighborhood cat.

“You don’t sound like the rest of your family.”

“No?”

“Why?” I square my shoulders and look back at him. He lifts his hat, and his wavy hair goes in every direction when he drags his fingers through it before setting it back down.

“I grew up here with my family but my rugby team was based out of London,” he explains. “I’ve had a home there for the last sixteen years and I’ve been around a lot of different accents over that time, mine appears to be a mix of them now, I suppose.” I wonder if that’s the reason his voice has such an effect on me. “You going to tell me where you’re from now?”

“It would only seem fair now, I suppose.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours type-of-stuff.”

“One person always makes out better than the other in those situations,” I quip. “But to answer your question, I’m from San Francisco.”

“Is that where your family is?”

I smile, but my feet drag slightly against the dirt road, I don’t like where this conversation could head. “I grew up in Miami, but I moved to the Bay Area for college.”

“And you didn’t want to go home when you were done?” I didn’t have a home to go to. I guess technically my family’s house was still there, but it’s not like it ever had a family in it. Camila’s family was there, and they’d always treated me as if I was one of their own, but there was nothing there for me. I’ve found myself in a strange position now, because if he asks me what’s waiting for me back in San Francisco, it would be no different than what’s waiting for me in Miami. Or anywhere else in the world.

Nothing.

“I made a new home,” I say with a faux pep in my step.

Somewhere along the way, the dirt road turned to cobblestone. I was so lost in conversation that I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings and take in the beauty of this little town. A stone ledge, a little taller than waist high, separates the sidewalk and a pasture off to the left. I hoist myself up onto the top of it, stretch my arms out for balance, and begin walking it like a tightrope. I barely get one foot in front of the other before Knox’s arm shoots out, his large hand circles around my forearm, and I falter, but recover quickly.

“What’s wrong, Knox? Don’t like heights?” I smile.

“I didn’t know I had an issue with them until this moment.” The thick pads of his fingers trail down my arm, their heat branding as he brushes over the most sensitive part of my wrist. His hand trails until he reaches my palm, and my fingers grip his. With a lift of his chin, he motions for me to keep walking.

“So, what do you do for work that allows you to leave for a month?”

“This and that.” The way his eyebrow lifts tells me we’re no longer getting by on vague answers. I doubt a man who played professional Rugby would have any idea what it’s like to not be obsessed with what you do every day. I doubt he’s ever felt lost for a moment of his life, whereas I’m constantly working a handful of jobs—none of which fulfill me—because I can’t commit to shit or quiet my brain long enough to come up with any other plan.

“I’ve never had a typical nine-five job. I’ve always just picked up some random jobs that I’ll do for a while, sometimes two or three at a time. I let them run their course and then I find something else.” I dip one foot below the ledge, doing scoops with my feet. “I’ve done the nanny gig and dog grooming, I was a bartender for a while but my boss was kind of a womanizer, so that one ran its course sooner than some of the others. I can make a mean kamikaze, though.” I shrug a shoulder.

“Which job was your favorite? ”

I pause, looking at this man who I half expected to mock me, but instead chooses to ask which of my random jobs I’ve enjoyed the most.

“Umm…” I resume my steps. “I once did meal prepping for this husband and wife, they were both lawyers and never home enough to cook.”

“So you liked working alone or you liked cooking?” Good insight, sir.

“I liked cooking. Like. I still enjoy it.”

I’ve reached the end of the wall and when I look at Knox, expecting him to let go of my hand so that I can climb down, he doesn’t. His hold only tightens, and he turns to face me. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m going to jump down and potentially knock him over, breaking his other arm.

“Any day now, love.”

“I’m not jumping.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“Are you insane? Look at your shoulder, and you have a broken arm.” I gesture to him as if he didn’t already know.

“You can’t hurt this cast.” He taps his arm with his knuckles. “And the shoulders practically healed.”

Before I know what’s happening, his thick arm is wrapped around my legs, holding tightly just below my ass. My feet leave the ledge and in the next second, I’m being pulled from the wall.

“Oh my god!” I let out an embarrassing squeal and kick my feet once, realize that’s probably more dangerous, and opt to go ‘limp noodle’ instead. “You can put me down now.”

“I will, but we’re passing another small wall, so let’s get past that first, shall we?”

He carries me like a sack of potatoes, like it’s nothing, but I grab the back of his sweatshirt anyway, holding onto two fistfuls of the fabric for dear life. “Knox! ”

I twist my hips to wriggle from his grasp.

“Alright, hold still. You're gonna go arse over tit.” He slowly adjusts my body in his arms and lowers me. The front of my body slides down the length of his— inch by painful inch. The hem of my shirt lifts, and I feel the rolling slab of his muscles rub against the softest parts of me. The speed at which he lowers me is agonizingly slow, but when I drop down to eye level, he holds me just a little tighter for a brief moment. My breath hitches, and I get lost in his golden eyes. They’re the same golden color that drifts through your windows on a late autumn afternoon. As the tips of my shoes finally connect with the ground, I somehow don’t feel anything concrete beneath me. The cobblestone is there, but I’m too busy floating.

I haven’t let go of his gaze, and he hasn’t let go of me.

“You flirtin’ with me, Browning?”

“You know arse over tit means to fall, right?” His head dips and my heart beats faster.

“So, yes?” I smile. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and the simple movement has the space between my legs throbbing. I slip out of his hold, already regretting the loss of his touch and I lead the rest of our walk. “Just checking.”

“Knox Browning! I heard a rumor you were back, but I couldn’t believe it. Good to see ya, lad.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Alfie. How’s Maeve?” Knox replies.

“Oh, just as fiery as ever. She’s going to be real bummed she missed ya though.” A kind, older-looking man hangs out the window of some kind of food truck .

“I’ll stop by sometime this week then and say hi,” Knox replies with a charming smile.

“You do that,” the man says, pointing at him. “And who do we have here?”

His attention turns to me.

“Alfie, this is Taylor. She’s staying with us for a few weeks.”

“Nice to meet you, Taylor,” he says, reaching his hand through the window. “Ooo, strong grip.”

I shrug, not bothering to act like that’s the first time I’ve heard that. My handshakes and hugs have both been described as bone-crushing before. I can’t help it, I don’t often want to touch people but when I do, I want them to feel my intention.

“Nice to meet you too, Alfie.”

“What can I get you two?”

“Two meat pies,” Knox says, holding up his index and middle finger.

“Wait—are they lamb?” I ask.

Alfie’s nose scrunches and he waves a weathered hand in front of him.

“Beef.”

“Oh. Then I’ll take two please.”

“My kind of girl!” He slaps his hands together before heading to the back.

“Oh my god,” I moan around a bite of food. “This—” I blow a breath around the steamy, buttery-crusted stuffed pie. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. And I’m a foodie, so that’s saying something.”

Knox smiles, taking another bite of his own as we hike back up to the inn. “Alright, what else do you have planned for your trip? I mean, besides the cliffs.”

I playfully lean into him, giving him a little shove but he doesn’t budge. I take another big bite, large enough to give me some time to chew and think. We pass a fenced-in pasture, where I can just make out a man riding a horse in the distance.

“Horseback riding,” I say. Knox stops where he is walking next to me, forcing me to pause. I look back at him. “What?”

“Horseback. You flew all the way across your country and the Atlantic Ocean… to ride a horse?”

No, but it sounds better than saying I have no fucking clue what I want to do here other than escape the shell of myself that I was becoming back home.

I let the idea—which, now looking back at it, might have been the fear of being alone, mixed with my slight abandonment issues, consume me until one night, I was watching a movie set in Ireland. The next thing I knew, I had a flight booked, and a few days later, I found myself in a cab in the middle of the night, driving down the road to Emerald Browning Cottage .

I smile at Knox with a simple shrug of my shoulder. “You really need to stop asking why and start asking why not?”

It’s a bullshit answer, and based on the way he’s studying me right now, he knows it. But other than a slight turn down of his lips, he accepts it with a nod and we continue walking.

“Does all of your family live around here?” He nods his head, pointing to a house far in the distance.

“The house I grew up in is up that way, past the main house.”

“The main house?”

“It’s what we call the inn. Emerald Browning Cottage sounds nice on a brochure, but it’s a mouth-full when you’re telling someone where to drop off supplies.”

“Ahh, gotcha.”

“You can’t see it from here, but behind that barn and over the pasture is where Ryder lives.” We pass the grand willow tree and the flower-lined driveway until we’re back in front of the main house and I lean against the railing.

“And that cottage down there is yours.” It’s not a question but the look in his eyes definitely is.

“It is. You want to come see it?”

What’s that saying, don’t shit where you eat? Well, I’m not usually one to fuck where I sleep. Knox leans over, bracing his good arm on the railing beside me, his thumb strokes over the bracelet on my wrist and my breath shudders. I’m on vacation, and a vacation fling is the dream scenario because there are no hard feelings when it’s over. It’s hard to find someone who just wants to have a casual relationship. Whenever I suggest a hook-up-only relationship, men usually think they’ve hit the jackpot. But it always leads to them wanting more. It starts with ‘Maybe we could grab dinner’ , and by the time it gets to ‘I want you to meet my friends’ , I’m already done. I don’t ever want to be involved with someone to the point that there’s risk involved.

I’ve never had a type before. Short, tall, thin, thick, male, female. For me, good-looking is just good-looking. And Knox Browning is the epitome of good-looking.

I close the distance between us, ready to be led back to his place. The warmth of his hand slides into mine.

“Knox!” a soft voice calls out. I don’t miss the grunt from him when I turn around to find a young girl with strawberry-blonde hair running toward us. “Hey! I’m Olivia.”

She’s out of breath but still beaming.

“Taylor.” I smile, reaching my hand out, but she bypasses it completely, opting to pull me into a hug instead. I’m momentarily thrown off by the contact, but the tightness in her hug reminds me of my own, and there’s something comforting about that. So I squeeze her back.

“I know. I’ve been dying to meet you.” She steps back with a cheerful smile. “My mam’s been wanting to meet you, too. Come on, she just baked fresh soda bread cookies.”

She turns back towards the house with her hand outstretched to me. I look at it and then look back at Knox.

“Another time.” He smiles.

I find myself smiling back at him. “Thanks for the pies, Browning.”

“Anytime, Nova.”