Chapter 37
May
Two Weeks After The Wedding Date
The brownstone is unchanged. Of course it is.
It’s been only five weeks since I last visited, even though it feels as though I’ve lived a lifetime since then.
Late-afternoon light bathes the front steps and a bead of sweat trickles down my cleavage.
No biting wind like last time. I’ve opted for a breezy olive sundress and flats, not entirely sure the reason I’ve been asked to come here.
Or who sent the card. I have my suspicions, of course.
But entertaining them is like taking a defibrillator to the chest.
I push an errant hair behind my ear and press my hands into my abdomen. Breathe, Libby, breathe.
The pansies on the top step have spread to fill their pots, warmer and more vibrant than in March. I bend but straighten and stop myself from upturning the pot. Right, I don’t need the key. I’ve been invited here. There’s a living person on the other side of that door.
My hand trembles as I raise it to lift the brass knocker. It lands with a loud, metallic clang and I smooth the skirt of my dress, preparing to be terrified or devastated depending on who answers.
“Come in! It’s unlocked.” A voice drifts through the open window to my right. His voice.
Baritone. Smooth with the texture of velvet. I press a hand to my chest and close my eyes.
I’m not a courageous person. Clearly, considering I didn’t have the guts to tell my lifelong crush how I really felt about him. Yet, with steel nerves from some unidentified source within me, I push the door open to face my ghost.
The hinges give the same ominous groan as before, the suspenseful noise the perfect match for the empty foyer greeting me.
It’s hardly the poster child for a haunted house.
The sunlight dances on the ocean-blue entry rug, the lamps cast a warm glow on the paintings lining the walls, and distant jazz music floats down the hall.
Dear lord, Trip. Can we make this less dramatic?
I swallow and my tongue is cotton against the roof of my mouth. My fingers brush against the wainscoting as I float through the halls, the carpet muffling my footsteps. Who’s the ghost now?
The music gives me a breadcrumb trail to follow, the swell of the horns guiding my steps toward the end of the hallway, to an open door and a room Trip and I didn’t explore the last time we were here.
Filling my lungs, I step over the threshold.
He’s faced away from the door, his back hunched over what I assume is the record player. A long-sleeved white cotton shirt stretches across his shoulders as he slaps the machine.
“Damn thing was easier to work without a body.” It comes out as a rumble under his breath.
The roughness of his voice this close sends a shiver down my spine. Goose bumps pop up on my arms and chest. If this is the effect he has without even facing me, without even touching me, then I need a few minutes to prepare myself, to—
A stifled cough escapes my throat. Traitorous lungs.
Trip’s back straightens as though pulled by a string.
Each vertebra of his spine draws to its full height, the curve of his neck disappearing into a smooth column.
This visual—his dark hair closely shaven at his nape, the way his thumb kneads the spot below his ear—is the same as the night in the library. Before I knew his face.
Trip turns to face me, and the smile that stretches his full lips wide is unlike any expression I’ve seen him make. His eyes are a child’s on Christmas morning.
“It’s you. You came.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his joggers and bites at his bottom lip, trying and failing to control the upward curve of his mouth. “I thought you might be one of my family members. They’ve been swarming the place lately.”
I exhale. He remembers me.
“We really need to have a conversation about your security system.” I prop my hands on my hips and furrow my eyebrows, but like him, I seem to have magnets that won’t let the corners of my mouth lie flat.
“Elz,” he breathes.
I drink him in, unable to reconcile that this man in front of me is more physically real than the one I’ve spent months with. Like a game in the Sunday newspaper, I compare the image in front of me with the one in my mind, searching for subtle differences.
He’s thinner, his edges a bit more severe, as though the artist drawing the lines of his face sharpened their pencil.
His hair is deliciously mussed, the same way it was in the hospital, no styling of any kind.
The five-o’clock shadow is gone, the smooth skin underneath a bit paler.
From his earlobe, instead of the diamond now tucked in my purse, hangs a small gold hoop, like when he was a ghost.
Trip steps forward and his hands slip from his pockets, his fingertips brushing against mine.
It startles me. Even though my mind has caught up to the reality of the situation, my body still hasn’t. I half expected his hand to move right through mine.
He must notice my reaction, because he pulls his hand back. “Sorry, I—”
“No, it—surprised me, that’s all.”
Thrilled me. The difference between smelling delicious food and the first bite on your tongue. Between hearing a song through the car stereo and experiencing it live. Between swaying in your seat and spinning around a dance floor.
Trip and I just touched. And now I’m insatiable for more.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. That’s my fault. I know that we ended—things—between us.” He swallows. “But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you so badly. I didn’t know if you’d come—”
“Of course I came.”
How could I not? And give up the chance to see him alive?
His eyes widen, brimming with hope. The air between us crackles and the urge to explore every facet of him overwhelms me. To weave his fingers through mine. To lick the smoothness of his cheek. To wrap my lips around the gold hoop in his ear and suck.
I shake the thought away. “We have some things to discuss.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll say. You broke the curse.”
“Sabrina did, actually.”
He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, further straining the material of his flimsy cotton shirt. “Which she did all on her own, I’m sure.”
“That’s beside the point.” I look at the floor and play with the fabric of my skirt.
Trip’s eyes follow my hands and darken.
I snap my fingers. “Eyes up here, buddy. So…”
He can barely contain the glee on his face. “So.”
“Carter and Sabrina called off the wedding.” It’s a dumb, obvious point, but maybe he’s been playing catch-up since he woke up. Plus I’m not sure how to segue into what I really want to talk about. Us.
“I heard.” He moves back to the turntable and shuts it off. “And how’s Carter doing with that?”
I shrug. “He’s dealing. Thinking of taking a trip to Germany. Some time away.”
Trip nods, as though this is the expected answer. “And you? Did you take him up on his offer?”
“No. I didn’t.”
The air in the room shifts, the silence from the lack of music almost palpable. Trip takes several steps toward me, till he’s close enough I expect to feel that familiar buzz on my skin.
The side of his hand tips my chin up until my eyes meet his. I have to close them against the electricity of his skin on mine. I’m a teenager again, the slightest touch sending me to shambles.
“Why not?”
I lift my lashes. His eyes are dark pools.
“I don’t feel the same way about him anymore.” I want you. I want this.
Trip exhales and his breath caresses the plane of my forehead.
I clear my throat and take a step back. “And you?” My voice cracks and I could kick myself. “How do you feel about it?”
“I think they both deserve to do what’s best for them. Happy they figured it out.” He traces the pad of his thumb along my collarbone and my nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my dress.
I sigh. “That’s not—I meant…”
“I told you I’d wait for you, and I stand by that. It’s you for me, Elz.”
“But maybe your judgment’s clouded. I’m the only person you’ve been able to speak with for months. That has to skew things. I thought maybe once you woke up those feelings would—”
“My feelings haven’t changed.” His hand moves from my collarbone to the curve of my shoulder. “And as for my judgment, it’s crystal clear.”
“Why did you leave?” I narrow my eyes, ignoring the way his touch raises my internal thermostat. “That night at my apartment. You said you would wait for me, and you left.”
His palm slides down the length of my arm, from shoulder to fingertips.
“I was giving you space to think. You knew where I stood. Where I stand.” He weaves his fingers through mine and runs his thumb along the base of my wrist. “I choose you, Elz. Now and every single time. But I won’t push you into choosing me back if I’m not what you want. ”
I shake my head. “You’re telling me what I want to hear. That I’m chosen.”
“Here’s the thing about being chosen, Elz. You have the power to choose back. To choose who you love, who you let into your life. And if those people don’t see being loved by you as the goddamned privilege that it is, then good riddance.” Trip’s palms rise to my face, cradling it between them.
Babcia. Zuri. Sabrina. Carter. Their faces flash before me.
I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to leave me one by one as they realize they’ve made some terrible mistake.
But Trip’s right. I have the power to choose too—to stay, to love them, to cherish them.
To leave the things that no longer serve me.
We write our own fairy tales. How lucky am I that in this one, I get to surround myself with the people I love most?
Tears cling to my lashes and Trip’s thumbs move from my cheeks to wipe them away.
“What is it?” His brow furrows and he scans my body, as though searching for some invisible source of pain.
A half sob, half laugh escapes my mouth. I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I know it to be true. “I love you, Trip.”
The muscles of his face twitch in succession—there’s a tremor in his lips, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows rise until they disappear beneath the curls of hair on his forehead. He pulls my face to his chest and grips me tight against him, his hands running up and down the length of my hair.
“You know I love you. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”
We stand for several moments, bodies swaying in the silence. Trip’s steady heartbeat against my ear soothes my adrenaline. He’s not letting go, and I make no move to break free.
I smile against the soft cotton of his shirt, damp with my tears. “Not having second thoughts, are you?” Pressing my chin into the hardness of his chest, I tip my head back, looking up at him.
It’s still surreal to hold him, to feel the solidness of his body beneath my hands. I never want to let go.
“Not a chance.” He rests his forehead on mine. “Are we done with you ever having any doubts about that?”
I nuzzle his nose, unable to resist more points of contact between us, and lick my lips. “I think so.”
“Good.” Trip’s voice drops along with his hands—to my ass. His lips hover a hair’s breadth from mine before he lifts me off the floor.