Page 52 of Wake Me Up
He breaks eye contact now, looking over toward the ocean. “When I was eleven.”
“Oh gosh, Tripp,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. And I hope it’s okay that I asked. I didn’t mean to be pushy.”
His ocean-blue eyes move back to mine now, and he gives a subtle shake of his head. “Nothing to be sorry about, darlin’.” He flashes me a small, reassuring smile. “We’re married, you know. So, you know what that means. You can ask me anything you want.”
“Is that how it goes?” I tease him, understanding that he may want to lighten the mood. “Well … do you mind if I ask how he passed away? And please, don’t feel like you have to answer. It’s just … like I told you before, I understand now why you’re so good with the kids. You’ve been in their shoes. Sadly.”
He runs his hand through his hair impulsively. “Cancer.” The word comes from his mouth roughly, like it wasn’t easy to say. “I got to say goodbye to him though. I’m sure your kids would give anything to have been able to do that.”
It’s almost like he’s downplaying his loss. As if it doesn’t count the way it did for my kids because he knew it was coming. That’s the furthest thing from the truth though.
“That might be true, but they didn’t have to watch him get sick,” I say as gently as I can. “I’m sure that was hard.”
“Yeah,” he utters, looking straight ahead, his eyes no longer connecting with mine. “It fucking sucked, but sometimes, that’s life, right?”
His gaze shifts around, and he looks back at the water again. His eyes squint a bit before he leans forward, holding his hand up. “There’s a seal right there. See him?”
I look, but I don’t see anything. “Where?” I whisper, like I’m actually going to scare the damn thing away, being all the way up here, if I’m too loud.
“Come here,” he says, motioning for me to move toward him.
Standing up, I walk to his side and look out at the ocean. It’s almost dusk now, but there’s still enough daylight to see the water.
Taking my hand in his, he lifts it up, pointing to where the seal is. He positions his body behind me, almost resting his chin on my shoulder.
“I see it,” I say, excited when I finally spot it, but unable to stop myself from thinking about his dick right behind my ass with very little clothing between us.
“He’s out for a night swim,” he murmurs, and my skin erupt into goose bumps.
His hand stays over my own, and he laces his fingers through mine, making my heart lurch. We quietly watch the creature for a few minutes as it swims around before finally going underwater.
Tripp releases my hand and collapses on the seat beside mine, but keeping his hand on mine, he pulls me over onto his lap, so now, I’m straddling him.
“Is this okay?” he asks, looking up at me.
When I give him a small bob of my head, his palms skim to my waist, digging his fingertips in the slightest.
“Tell me something about you, Freya.”
With his hands on my body, my brain doesn’t want to work. I feel drunk, but I know I’m simply under a Tripp Talmage spell.
“There’s not much to know.” I shrug bashfully. “I’m a widow. I have three kids. I work at the bakery.” I wink. “And I make a mean pastry.”
He doesn’t crack a smile or laugh. Instead, he tilts his chin upward more, making it so that our lips are just inches apart.
“I know all of that stuff. What did you want to be when you grew up?” he rattles off.
“Let’s just say, my plans jumped around a lot.” I chuckle. “For a while, a doctor. Then an astronaut. At one point, a pilot.”
“And now?” he drawls.
“Gramp Frank needs me at the bakery,” I say, trying my best to keep my voice unchanged. “And I love to bake.”
His eyes rake over my face, examining me. “So, if you spend your entire life at Frank’s Bakery, you’ll be happy?” There is no judgment in his tone. He’s not trying to make me feel like that dream wouldn’t be enough; he’s just genuinely asking me a question. And from the way he’s gazing up at me, I know he really does care about the answer too.
I should lie and say yes. The truth is, I don’t hate working at the bakery. And besides, my grandparents built the business together, and now that she’s gone, he needs someone to help run it, and I’m the obvious choice.
“Yeah, I guess,” I peep. I know he sees right through me, so I sigh. “Well, I’ve always wanted to own a farm, but one that’s run like a business. You know, a farm to come see animals, but also has all the things like apple picking, strawberry picking, tractor rides … and a bakery too. Maybe even a small café that does pizzas or something.” My eyes widen when I talk about this because no one has ever asked me about my dream now that I’m old enough to actually have one. “I went to this place once in New Hampshire, and it had a corn maze in the fall and a Christmas tree farm in the winter. I would love to have the chance at something like that.”
