Chapter 209: That Scent

NORA’S POV

"What’s working in that analytical brain of yours, Bennett?" he asked softly. "You’ve been a little quiet since you sat down."

I blinked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Just... thinking about the week ahead," I admitted, leaning forward to brush my thumb across his knuckles. "You’re leaving tomorrow morning. Three away games. Vermont, then Maine."

A soft, understanding look smoothed the lines of his forehead.

"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb stroking the soft skin of my wrist. "Bus rolls out at six sharp. Brennan has us skating in Burlington by three tomorrow afternoon, game Tuesday night, then straight up to Orono for back-to-back matches against Maine on Wednesday and Thursday."

"It’s a brutal schedule," I said softly.

"It’s the job," he shrugged, though his gaze darkened with competitive fire. "Vermont’s defense is physical, but they’re slow through the neutral zone. If Jake and I can push the pace on the power play, we’ll take two points. Plus..." He hesitated, his jaw flexing. "Scouts from four NHL clubs are registered for the Burlington game."

My breath caught. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice level and steady. "Montreal, Boston, Detroit, and Chicago. They want to see how we handle away-ice hostility in late November."

"You’re going to blow them away, Knox," I said with fierce certainty. "You’re the best center in this conference."

A rare, genuine smile broke across his face, lighting up his features. "Keep talking like that and my ego won’t fit through the arena doors."

"I’m serious," I laughed softly.

"I know you are," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Which is why I’m going to hate every second of being four hundred miles away from you."

"We’ll text," I reminded him. "And you have to promise to sleep on the bus."

"I’ll try," he said. Then he tilted his head, remembering something. "What’s your schedule looking like for the week? Classes start tomorrow."

"Full slate," I sighed. "Classes at nine, then my research assistant hours at two. And I actually picked up a closing shift at Rusty’s Diner tonight."

Knox frowned instantly, the protective captain surfacing. "Tonight? Sunday night? What time do you get off?"

"Eleven," I said. "Denise isn’t back from her holiday break, and Gary needed someone reliable to close the register and wipe down the booths. It’s extra holiday cash."

"I’m picking you up," Knox stated without a beat of hesitation. "The street outside Rusty’s is dead after ten, and the temperature is supposed to drop into the teens. Text me when you’re twenty minutes out from closing and I’ll bring the truck."

Warmth flooded my chest at his immediate instinct to protect me, but I shook my head firmly.

"No, Knox. Absolutely not."

His dark brows pulled together. "Bennett..."

"Listen to me," I said, leaning across the table and taking both of his hands in mine. "Brennan is locking you in the film room from one until seven tonight. Then you have team dinner, packing, and mandatory curfew at the SinBin. You have to be up at five in the morning for that bus."

"I can handle five hours of sleep..."

"No," I insisted. "You’re facing the biggest road series of your college career. NHL scouts are sitting in those bleachers on Tuesday night, Knox. You cannot show up exhausted because you drove across town to give me a five-minute ride."

"I don’t like you walking alone at midnight," he muttered, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line.

"I’ll be fine," I promised him.

Knox stared at me, his eyes searching mine. He hated giving up control when it came to my safety, but he knew I was right about his sleep.

"You text me the second you step foot inside North Hall," he commanded in that low, possessive rumble. "I don’t care if it’s eleven-fifteen or midnight. If I don’t see that text, I’m getting in my truck."

"I promise," I smiled softly, my heart fluttering. "The very second my boots cross the threshold."

"Deal," he exhaled, finally relenting.

We finished our coffees in a comfortable, quiet rhythm, talking about Ellen’s bakery plans and the new oven measurements.

For an hour, the outside world... Garrison’s threats, the missing money, Priya’s secrets, faded into the background, leaving just the steady heat of Knox’s presence across the table.

At twelve-forty-five, Knox checked his watch.

"Time," he sighed with clear reluctance. "Brennan will skate my ass into the floorboards if I’m thirty seconds late for video."

"Let’s get you to the rink," I said.

We bundled up, stepping out into the biting cold. Knox kept his arm wrapped firmly around my waist as we walked down the snowy footpath toward the athletic complex.

When we reached the side entrance of the Briar Ice Arena, Knox pulled me into the recessed brick alcove beside the double doors, out of the wind and away from the passing students.

He didn’t say a word.

He simply reached up, cupped the back of my neck with his warm, bare hand, and pulled my mouth to his.

The kiss was slow, deep, and searingly possessive.

It tasted of roasted coffee and cold winter air, stealing every ounce of breath from my lungs until my fingers gripped the thick fabric of his pullover to keep my balance. His lips parted mine with familiar, hungry confidence, claiming me completely against the frozen brick wall.

When he finally broke away, his breathing was rough, his forehead resting against mine.

"Three days without you is going to suck, Bennett," he rasped, his gaze full of raw affection.

"You’ll survive, captain," I whispered, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "Just bring back three wins."

"Yes, ma’am," he murmured, brushing his thumb across my flushed cheek.

He gave me one last, fierce kiss on the lips, turned, and pushed through the double metal doors into the arena depot.

I stood in the cold alcove for a long moment, touching my tingling lips with the tips of my fingers, watching the metal door click shut behind him.

—

A few minutes later, I turned and started the walk back across campus toward North Hall.

The afternoon wind was picking up, swirling dry snow across the wide stone steps of Briar Hall, the university’s historic administration and faculty building.

I pulled my wool scarf tighter around my throat, keeping my head down against the chill.

As I approached the base of the grand stone staircase, the tall, wrought-iron glass doors of the faculty entrance swung open.

A tall man stepped out into the winter air.

He wore a tailored charcoal wool coat, a slate-gray cashmere scarf, and carried a sleek black leather briefcase. Wire-rimmed glasses sat on his sharp nose, and his dark hair was neatly parted.

Professor Adrian Flores.

Briar’s newest visiting professor of Constitutional Jurisprudence.

I had never taken a class with him, but his reputation was legendary across campus. He was the youngest faculty hire in the department, a former federal appellate clerk with a lethal intellect who treated undergraduate pre-law students like junior associates at a cutthroat D.C. firm.

Flores stepped down the granite steps with measured, hurried strides, looking straight ahead as he adjusted the collar of his coat against the wind.

As our paths crossed near the bottom railing, his eyes flicked toward me for a fraction of a second.

He offered a brief, polite nod... the kind professors gave students whose names they didn’t know.

"Afternoon," he said smoothly, his voice low and cultured.

"Afternoon, Professor," I murmured, stepping aside to give him the clear path toward the faculty parking lot.

At that exact second, a sudden gust of winter wind swept between the stone pillars of Briar Hall.

The air stirred, catching the edge of his open coat, and a wave of fragrance washed directly over my face... a rich, unmistakable scent of deep sandalwood, sharp aromatic cedar, and crushed black pepper.

Expensive. Masculine. Unforgettable.

My boots stopped dead on the icy concrete as the cold air rushed into my lungs, catching sharply in my throat.

I turned around slowly, staring after the tall figure in the charcoal coat as he walked briskly across the snow toward an imported sedan in the reserved faculty lot.

The scent still lingered in the frigid air around me, sharp and hauntingly familiar.

Sandalwood.

Cedar.

Crushed pepper.

A strange, prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck.

I knew that scent... I had smelled it somewhere very recently. Somewhere close.

I stood frozen in the falling snow, my heart beating in uneven, erratic thuds as my mind grasped at the edges of a memory I couldn’t quite catch.

Where have I smelled that before?