Page 88 of Stick Break
“That girl is too wise for her age,” he mutters under his breath.
Emma straightens, glowing with pride. “I heard that.”
“Ears like her grandmother,” Rip adds, grinning.
Betsy, a few paces ahead, lifts her chin with matching sass. “I heard that.”
Rip throws his hands up in mock defeat. “You know what? I’m just going to stop talking entirely.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, light and full of sunshine. “That’d be my suggestion.”
We reach our cottage, and I reluctantly let go of his hand. “I won’t be long.”
He leans in, aiming for a kiss, but our hats bump like two awkward teens on a first date. He growls in frustration, snatches both off, and plants one on me, soft, unexpected, and hot enough to melt every bit of candy I ate today.
“You better not be,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Rip, can you read to me too?” Emma asks, eyes round and hopeful, wielding the full force of childhood charm. No man could survive it. Not even Ripley Hart.
He sighs, already lost. “Sure. What’s your favorite book?”
Emma frowns. “I don’t have a lot of books here. Just baby ones.” She rolls her eyes.
“Hey, nothing wrong with classics,” Rip says.
We follow Emma past our cottage into Betsy’s, where she immediately grabs both our hands and tugs us toward her bedroom. She flops onto her narrow single bed and pats the space on either side of her.
Rip stares at the tiny mattress, and I can almost hear his brain working as he calculates the space. “Uh… how exactly are we all supposed to fit on that?”
Emma blinks at him like he’s the village idiot. “Don’t be silly, Rip.”
I hide a smile as he slowly, reluctantly lowers himself beside her, limbs dangling off the sides. I head to the bookshelf, scanning until a familiar title jumps out and makes me grin.
But then—my smile falters.
From the kitchen, I hear Betsy humming. The tune drifts through the house like a breeze. It’s a melody I know well. Too well. I played it on The Spotlight. It wasn’t just a song—it was my song.
I freeze.
Panic flares in my chest. What are the odds? It’s on the radio, sure, but still...
Rip eyes me, sensing the shift. My shoulders tense, but I force myself to inhale, then exhale through my nose. Yoga breath. In. Out. Count four.
It’s just a coincidence. It has to be.
I don’t believe in coincidences, of course. And up until Rip, I didn’t believe in fairy tales either.
Feeling steadier, I pluck the book off the shelf and turn to them, holding it up. “How about this one?”
Rip glances over, then groans. He's half on the bed, half off, looking adorable and ridiculous all at once. I burst out laughing.
“Oh yeah, super comfortable,” he says flatly.
Emma nods with dramatic maturity. “Yes. It will have to do.”
There’s a spark in her eyes though. She’s trying to play it cool, like fairy tales are beneath her now, but she’s all in. I walk over and show the cover. Rip’s eyes meet mine, and a slow, mischievous smile forms.
“Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” he says, voice low and suggestive. “My fav.”
