Page 56 of Stick Break
“Are you flirting with me through produce?” he asks, mouth still full, eyes dancing.
I shrug, smug. “Depends. Is it working?”
“What are you going to do if she asks you to give her great-granddaughter lessons?” Rip asks, bumping my hip gently with his.
I shrug, but there’s this little bubble of excitement rising inside me. “Honestly? I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t see the harm. I could teach her a few chords—just the basics. You know, future rock star starter pack.”
“I’m sure she’ll love it.”
He leans in and brushes a kiss against my lips. Soft, easy, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve done it a thousand times before. And somehow, with him, it feels like we have. This effortless comfort. This...rightness.
His ex must be out of her damn mind. Really, who walks away from this? And worse, who strings someone like him along, making him question his worth? I hate the damage she’s done. How it’s still hanging over him. How he still pines for her. I hope he finds someone soon, someone who makes him forget she ever existed, and remind him what love is supposed to feel like.
...God, that person can’t…can’t be me.
Right?
“Okay,” I say, snapping myself out of it. “Let me pour the dressing and we’re good to go.”
I drizzle the citrusy blend over the quinoa and toss everything together with practiced confidence. It smells like summer and fresh herbs and maybe new beginnings. I scoop up the bowl and nod toward the guitar propped by the door. “Can you grab that?”
He slings it over his shoulder and follows me out, locking the door behind us. We make our way down the narrow rock path between the cottages, my bare feet brushing the uneven stones. The air is warm, the kind that clings to your skin and makes you feel alive. I’m about to say something, probably something dorky, but then?—
I stop short.
Rip collides into my back with an “oof,” and I nearly lose the salad to the dirt.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, steadying me with a hand on my hip.
I blink at the scene in front of me. “I didn’t think the entire community was going to be here.”
A sea of unfamiliar faces fills the yard. Laughter, lawn chairs, beer bottles, children darting between legs. It’s a full-on block party. My skin suddenly feels too tight.
I scan the crowd, searching for anyone who might recognize me. But I don’t see anyone familiar. That doesn’t mean they don’t know me.
“Want to head back?” Rip murmurs, his voice low and protective. “I don’t want to be recognized either.”
I nod. “Yeah. Me neither.” I don’t explain why. And he doesn’t either. We might be sharing kisses and sunscreen and quinoa, but the deeper stuff, well, that’s still locked up.
I take a breath and steady the bowl in my arms. I came here to disappear, to outrun the mess I left behind. The scandal, the betrayal. The video. The fallout. But I can’t run forever. People are going to connect the dots eventually.
Then again, I don’t even look like her anymore. That girl had dramatic makeup, long dark hair, and a stage persona that sparkled louder than her voice. This version of me is muted. Raw. Bare-faced, sun-kissed, and blonde. I barely recognize her myself.
I hover on the edge of retreat, every part of me torn between going back and stepping forward.
Rip leans in, his breath brushing my ear. “I can go grab your hat if you want.”
I glance up at him, his brows drawn in a worried line, and something inside me settles. “I think…” I inhale slowly. “I think it’ll be okay.”
I smile, but I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
He must sense it, because he smirks. “Want to pick a safe word?”
My head jerks in his direction. “A safe word?”
“You know,” Rip says, his voice low and secretive, “A signal between us. For when we need rescuing or want to make a discreet exit. How about casserole.”
I laugh despite the knot in my stomach. “Why does that sound oddly appropriate?”
