Page 25 of Stick Break
“Yeah, well…” he mutters, clearly improvising as he pulls a butcher-paper-wrapped package from the bag. He unfolds it proudly. “I’m the one with the fish.”
I raise a brow. “And that’s supposed to mean…?”
He shrugs, already chuckling as he folds foil around the fish. “Absolutely no idea.”
We’re both laughing now, shoulder to shoulder in the tiny kitchen, and suddenly the world feels a little lighter, the future a little less terrifying.
“Thanks, Rip,” I say quietly.
He looks over at me, his smile softening into something that hits low in my chest. “You’re welcome, Charley,” he says, like he knows that thank you goes deeper than giving me a place to stay, dan food to eat. Then he adds, “Thank you too.”
It’s simple, but there’s weight behind it. Like he knows more than he’s letting on.
Maybe he does.
Maybe he knows I do too.
It’s interesting, because we’re both in hiding, but I have the feeling the universe brought us together for a reason, and that we’re both exactly where we need to be.
Then again, I’ve been wrong before.
7
Rip
Crouched over the fire, I peel back the foil and catch a rush of steam that smells like lemon, herbs, and deliciousness. My stomach growls. I test the baked potatoes with a knife. Smooth glide. Perfect.
“That smells amazing.”
I glance up to see Charley heading over from the house, barefoot and radiant in the golden hour glow, balancing a bowl of salad on her arm, and plates and utensils in her hands. She sets everything down on the rickety table I rescued from the shed, then pops open two lawn chairs like this is exactly where she belongs.
“Drink?” I ask, flipping open the cooler.
She brushes a leaf off her seat and drops into it with a sigh. “Yes, please.”
“I’ve got soda, beer, and sparkling water. I didn’t know what you liked. Goldilocks didn’t raid my beverage stash.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I grin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
I crack open a beer and hand it to her, then crack one for myself. We clink cans before I sink into the chair across from her.
“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. Her shoulders relax, her eyes scan the ocean. “This is... really nice.”
“Yeah.” I nod, staring at the glittering water as the sun dips low. “I might never want to go back to reality.”
“When is that?” she asks softly.
I glance down, play with my can. “Couple more weeks.”
She doesn’t ask what comes after. She doesn’t need to. Just like I don’t ask what she’s running from. It’s an unspoken deal—we’re not here to dissect the damage. We’re just… here.
I stand, check the fish and potatoes again. “Dinner is served.”
She passes me a plate. I grab the foil with my bare hands like a genius, trying to do it fast and smooth.
“Ow. Ow. Ow.” I hiss, juggling the hot foil while attempting not to look like a complete idiot.
“We have these things called tongs, or a spatula,” she says, biting back a smile.
