Page 56 of Rhett

Rhett nods. “Yeah, together.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rhett

We don’t speakabout anything else heavy as we finish getting the ziti ready to go into the oven.

Once it’s baking, Tripp and I sit at the table, each with a beer, and talk. I can’t remember a time I ever talked to anyone as much as I do Tripp. Probably because I never have.

I still can’t believe I shared all that. I feel like I’m a different person with him, like I don’t have all this weight on top of me, or at least, like the load is lighter. And honestly, it feels good to let someone in, to show someone pieces of myself I’ve been too afraid to let anyone else see, and so far, they haven’t chased Tripp away.

“I’m in deep,”he’d said, and while I find that hard to believe, I have to because it’s Tripp. He’s too damn good to lie about something like that.

A little while later, while I’m pulling the ziti out of the oven, he says, “It smells good.”

“I haven’t made it since my mom died. I hope it turned out right.”

“I’m sure it did.” He’s so sure about everything. Tripp walks through life with this confidence that everything will be okay. I’ve never been like that. I’ve always faked it. But when I’m with him, it’s easy to believe that everything will, in fact, be okay.

I scoop a helping onto each plate, then watch as Tripp digs his fork into the pasta—I’m not able to take a bite until he does. Tripp blows on it for a moment, then pushes his fork into his mouth. He gives a deep moan that somehow vibrates inside me,waking up more parts of me that have been asleep for years, maybe forever.

“Fuck, baby. This is good.”

Baby. This isn’t the first time he’s said that tonight. My pulse beats frantically. “You keep calling me that.”

“Does it bother you when I call you that?”

“No,” I admit. “I like it.”

“Good. I like it too. Now take a bite of your food because it’s fucking incredible.”

I have no choice but to smile in response. That’s what Tripp does to me. So I taste the ziti, and can’t help letting out a moan of my own. “Jesus, thisisgood.”

“Fuck yes, it is.” He takes another bite, and I do the same. It’s such a simple thing, but I feel almost giddy about it all…and wish Mom could be here to taste my ziti. I’m proud that for the first time in too long, I made it.

When we’re finished, Tripp takes the dishes to the sink and begins rinsing them. I have a feeling he’s a little laxer on that when I’m not around, but it means a lot that he tries for me.

I put the ziti away, and before I know it, he’s hooking his finger in my belt loop and tugging me toward him. “So…I’m working on a new storage unit for Meadow’s sewing supplies. Did you want to help me with that?”

I grin. “That’s maybe the best question you could have asked me.”

“Perfect fucking relationship. I have a man who wants to build things with me all night. Want to go out to a romantic dinner? Nope. We’d rather sit in my shop and talk dirty to each other while we…rub wood…?”

I can’t help laughing. “Rubis definitely a better word thansand.” But then I’m stuck on another word.Relationship.Is that officially what we are? That’s what it feels like, but we talkedabout taking it slow. He’s got Meadow to worry about, and I’m a fucking mess.

But for tonight at least, or maybe longer, I just want to pretend.

We bundle up and head out to the shop. Tripp’s building her a large unit with drawers and cabinets, and we get busy right away.

Tripp and I work well together. We have from the start. I’ve learned a lot from him too. Everything I’ve done has been on my own, self-taught, but Tripp gives me pointers, helps me figure out better or more efficient ways to do things.

I can’t say I’ve always been good at taking constructive criticism or not being able to do things right the first time, but it feels different with carpentry, and with Tripp, maybe because I’ve never actually wanted anything as much as I want this.

We work for hours, and where this used to be something I liked to do alone, it’s nice to do it with Tripp by my side.

It’s close to midnight when Tripp yawns. “Ready to call it a night?” He must see something on my face because he lets out one of his deep, happy laughs. “Okay, so clearly, you’re not. Are you superhuman? Not require sleep?”

I chuckle at his playfulness. It’s one of my favorite things about Tripp. “We can go in.” My gaze lands on his mouth, the same mouth that had been on my dick not that long ago, the mouth that feels so good against mine.

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