Iced Hearts And Half Time Kisses

Chapter 9 Lines We Don’t Cross

Skye watches Knox from across the booth, her fingers curled around the chipped ceramic mug as she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble as he stares out the diner’s window, where the snow falls in heavy, swirling flakes. His dark eyes flicker with something she can’t quite place, like he’s mentally running through a dozen worst-case scenarios. His hands are still.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Knox says suddenly, his voice low and casual, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as her. His gaze flicks to her, then away, settling on the empty counter where Darlene, the waitress, is now polishing a glass with a rag.

Skye’s brows knit together, her lips parting to press him further, but before she can, he’s already sliding out of the booth, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. “We have to leave now,” he says.

“Why?” Skye’s voice is sharper than she intends. She leans forward, her navy scarf slipping off one shoulder.

Knox doesn’t answer. His eyes dart to the window again, then back to her, and for a moment, she thinks he might say something, something that explains his scary words lately. But he just shakes his head. “Let’s go,” he mutters, already moving toward the door.

Skye hesitates, her stomach twisting with frustration and something unsteady that she refuses to name. She grabs her coat, shrugging it on as she follows him out of Joe’s Diner. The snow is heavier now, blanketing the streets of Stonebridge in a quiet, white haze. The return walk feels quieter, the silence between them filled with unspoken words.

They cross the icy street. Knox walks close, closer than he needs to, his hand hovering near the small of her back. It’s a steady presence, not quite touching, but near enough that she feels the warmth of it through her coat and then he holds her wrist, not giving her a glance as they walk. Her pulse quickens, and she hates herself for it. She wants to ask what was going on, out there in the snow, but his expression was closed off, jaw still tight and tells her he’s not ready to talk. So instead, she stays quiet.

Somewhere behind them, halfway down Main Street, a sudden coming vehicle approaches with speed as the sound is sharp, cutting through the muffled quiet of the snowfall, heading towards Skye’s direction but Knox’s shoulders stiffen beneath his coat, and in one fluid motion, he steps closer, positioning his body in her position while he pulls her out and suddenly, the car diverted to a different direction as it drives with no plate number. Skye’s breath catches, her eyes flicking to his face and then to the moving vehicle as she could hear her heart, beating so fast. His gaze is trained down the street, his posture rigid without saying a word or even glancing at her. His jaw is clenched coldly. She follows his line of sight, but all she sees is the blur of snow and the faint glow of taillights disappearing into the night. The car was gone.

“Knox,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, “what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps walking, his hand still hovering near her back. “Nothing,” he says finally, but the word is hollow, and his eyes don’t meet hers. “Just… keep moving.”

Skye’s lips press into irritation, flaring in her chest. She’s tired of his half-answers, tired of the way he doles out just enough to keep her curious but never enough to make sense. “You keep saying that,” she snaps, her voice stubborn. “Nothing. It’s always nothing with you. If you’re going to drag me into whatever this is, at least tell me what I’m dealing with.”

Knox stops walking. He turns to face her, his eyes searching her face. For a moment, he looks like he might actually tell her something, his lips parting, his hand twitching like he wants to reach for her. But then his expression shuttered. “You are just so naive and whatever is happening it's not your fault and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Skye crosses her arms, her scarf slipping further down her shoulder. “Don’t tell me what you want,” she says. “I’m not some damsel who needs you to decide what I can handle.”

His mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but something close. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he says, his tone softer now, almost teasing. He steps closer, close enough that she can see the faint scar above his eyebrow. “Most people would’ve run the other way by now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Skye shoots back. She holds his gaze, refusing to look away, even as her stomach does a slow flip at the intensity in his eyes as she falls into his mesmerizing gaze.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The snow falls around them, catching in Skye’s hair, on Knox’s jacket. His hand lifts, like he’s going to brush a snowflake from her cheek and caress her lips, but then he lifts her scarf properly, covering her.

“Just… be careful,” he says “That’s all I’m asking.”

Skye’s throat tightens, and she wants to push him, to demand answers, but something in his expression stops her.

“Fine,” she says, her voice barely audible. “But don’t think this means I’m letting it go.”

He huffs a small short cold smirk, shaking his head. “It’s getting dark.”

They keep walking until they reach the corner where their paths diverge, a few distance to the hostel she shared with Maya, the streetlights casting long shadows across the snow. Knox pauses, turning to face her. “Text me when you’re home,” he says, his voice firm, not a request but a command.

Skye raises an eyebrow, her lips quivering. “Do you expect me to feel safe after scaring me?”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t take the bait. “You are safe now.”

She rolls her eyes, pulling her coat tighter around her as she turns down her street. The walk home is short, but every step feels heavier, her mind replaying Knox’s tense expression, the way his body shielded her from that coming car as her heart leaps, eyes continuously scanning around in fear.

By the time she reaches, her fingers are numb, and her breath is fogging in the air from the cold.

Inside, the house is warm, the faint glow of the living room TV spilling into the hallway. Maya sprawled on the couch, in her pajamas, scrolling through her phone. “You’re late,” Maya says without looking up, her voice muffled by the bag of chips she’s holding.

“Had to meet someone,” Skye mutters, kicking off her boots. She locks the front and back doors, double-checking the bolts, but Maya doesn’t notice, too absorbed in her phone. Skye heads to her room. She closes the windows and curtains, but not before catching a glimpse of a figure leaning against the lamppost across the street, face shadowed and head down. Her heart stutters, her fingers freezing on the curtain’s edge. She squints, trying to make out details of the face, but the snow obscures everything.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she jumps, fumbling to pull it out. The screen lights up with a message from an unknown number. “sweet dreams.” The words send a chill down her spine, not because they’re threatening, but because they made her uncomfortable. She closes the message, but the words are ingrained in her memory, and she knows, deep down, that the sender really knew her.

Before she can process it, her phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Knox. “I told you to text me when you get home. Are you home now?”

Skye’s breath catches, her eyes darting back to the window, but the figure is gone.