Page 87 of Stick Break
Warmth. Ease. Laughter. A feeling so effortless, it steals my breath and fills me all at once.
I loved Lyra, once.
But I never loved her like this.
22
Charley
I’m not entirely sure what’s going through Rip’s mind as we walk the sandy path back to the cottage. We’re both running on fumes after a full day of sunshine, fried food, and carnival chaos. Yet, there’s this low, pleasant hum in my chest, equal parts fatigue and the giddy knowledge that I’ll be crawling into bed with Big Bear tonight.
Rip bumps my shoulder. “Something on your mind?” he asks, his voice low and warm, as we lag behind Emma and her grandmother. Emma looks like she’s about to fold in half from exhaustion. Honestly, same. But there’s a tiny thrill bubbling under the tired, a fizzy little reminder that there’s only one bed back at the cottage. Again.
I shrug, playful. “I could ask you the same. Ever since the hot dog stand, you’ve been giving me weird looks. Is it indigestion?
He chuckles, deep and rich. “No, just been practicing the alphabet.”
I blink. “The alphabet?”
He bites his bottom lip. Oh, alphabet.
My body reacts like I just got zapped. “Ripley Hart,” I hiss, slapping his arm. “Stop it.”
He only laughs harder. “Don’t act like you’re not a fan of oral… literacy, Goldilocks.”
I groan, partly because of his terrible pun and partly because I now can’t think of anything but the letter G. “You’re a menace to society.”
“And yet, you keep walking home with me.”
Ahead of us, the sun dips low, golden light bouncing off the water in a way that that makes me sleepier…happier. Emma looks over her shoulder, eyes heavy, limbs dragging.
“Are we going to have a fire and sing songs?” she asks, her voice hopeful even as she covers a massive yawn with one small hand.
Rip slows, rests his hand at the small of my back. It’s warm. Steady.
I glance at Emma’s grandmother, but she beats me to it. “Might be better tomorrow,” she says gently. “Tonight, I think we’re all about to collapse.”
Emma pouts for a second, then rallies with a noble shrug. “Charley, will you read me a bedtime story?”
The question surprises me, and warms something in my chest I didn’t even know was cold. “I… sure. If that’s okay?” I glance at Betsy for permission, not wanting to overstep.
She smiles. “Might be nice. Get a feel for what it’ll be like when you two…” She waggles a finger between us. “…have your own brood.”
“Brood?” Rip echoes, brows lifting as he turns to me with mock horror. “You never mentioned a brood.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes.
He taps his temple, pretending to calculate. “How many kids does a brood involve? Like… twelve? Sixteen? Are we talking hockey team or full marching band?”
Betsy snorts. “You keep talking like that and she’ll give you a whole damn orchestra.”
I clutch my stomach, laughing so hard I nearly double over. “Okay, first of all, I’m not agreeing to anything that involves matching uniforms or recorders.”
Rip grins, eyes twinkling. “So you’re saying there’s a chance.”
He looks so adorable my heart does a full somersault. Without even thinking, I give his hand a gentle squeeze. The smile I get in return is so warm, it could toast marshmallows.
“Oh, Rip,” Emma scolds, hands on her hips. “It’s just a saying.”
