Page 89 of Stick Break
Emma turns to him, wide-eyed. “Really? That’s your favorite?”
He shrugs. “Of course. It’s a classic. Never gets old.”
With Emma now blissfully content, I take off my hat and slide into the tiny bed on her other side, careful not to elbow anyone in the face. I start reading, and it doesn’t take long before her heavy lids begin to flutter like she’s fighting off sleep just to prove she’s still part of the conversation. But honestly, I’m right there with her.
There’s this strange, wonderful feeling blooming in my chest, a cozy warmth that feels suspiciously like longing. A child nestled between us, two grown-ups sharing a book like it’s our normal, nightly routine. Like once the story ends, we’ll tiptoe down the hallway, climb into bed, and fall asleep wrapped around each other while the stars do their thing outside.
And the wildest part is, I want it. All of it. The bedtime stories. The whispered goodnights. The togetherness. I finish reading, and Emma lets out a sleepy little sigh.
“Again?” she mumbles hopefully, already halfway to dreamland.
From the doorway, Betsy’s voice cuts through like a bedtime enforcer. “No, not again. It’s late, and someone still has to wash up before bed.”
Emma rubs at her eyes and yawns. “Okay. Thanks, Charley. Thanks, Rip.”
I slide off the bed to make room for her, and as she scoots across the mattress and around the bed, apparently makes contact with Rip’s baby toe.
“Oof!” he grunts dramatically, toppling sideways like a sack of hockey gear.
Emma giggles as she darts toward the bathroom, not the least bit sorry.
Betsy shakes her head, watching us like we’re the entertainment portion of her evening tea. “I made tea,” she says.
“Thanks,” I reply, as I stifle a yawn. “But I think we’re going to call it a night too. It’s been a full day.”
She gives us a warm, knowing smile. “Thank you for being so kind to Emma. She absolutely adores you both.”
“We adore her too,” I say, and glance behind me to see what’s taking Rip so long.
That’s when I realize he’s still sprawled dramatically on the floor like he’s auditioning for a one-man Shakespearean tragedy. For a second I think maybe he’s injured, but nope. He hops to his feet like he’s just remembered he has urgent business.
And he does. Between my legs. Heat rushes to my face so fast I’m surprised I don’t steam up the windows. Betsy doesn’t miss it either. Her eyes glint with mischief as she smirks.
“Well,” she says, shooing us toward the door like a fairy godmother. “I won’t keep you from bed.”
We step outside, and just as I think we’ve escaped with our dignity intact, she raps twice on the wall with her knuckles. “Yup. Still thin.”
“Oh. My. God,” I groan, laughing as Rip groans beside me. He wraps a strong arm around my waist and hauls me close.
“She’s going to be the death of me,” he mutters.
“You?” I say. “I’ll never be able to make eye contact with her again.”
A few short minutes later, we’re back at our own cottage. The moment the door clicks shut and the lock turns, I feel it…him. That charged silence before the storm.
Rip pins me to the door, his body warm and firm against mine, his eyes simmering with enough heat to raise the ocean’s temperature a few degrees.
“Rip,” I whisper, but that’s all I manage before his mouth is on mine, hungry, hot, and achingly sure. This isn’t the usual heat between us. There’s something deeper here. Something raw and restless. His hands are reverent, his kisses slower but no less intense.
“I want you,” he breathes into my mouth, voice low and rough. “Today was… incredible. I wouldn’t trade a single second. But thinking about being alone with you all day…” He trails off, pressing his forehead to mine. “It’s been killing me.”
He groans, like even talking about it physically pains him. “Fuck, girl,” he murmurs.
And just like that, my heart does another flip. Because for all his fire there’s tenderness beneath it. Longing. A man who doesn’t just want to take—but to keep.
And I might just let him.
Rip grips the hem of my sundress and slowly lifts it, knuckles grazing my skin like he’s unwrapping something precious. I raise my arms, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, eager for the dress to vanish entirely.
