Chapter 39
May
Two Weeks After The Wedding Date
I stretch my limbs as far as they’ll go, like Kotka when she spreads out to fill the sunlit spots on our apartment floor.
My body is heavy and tired in the best way, as though I just spent hours soaking in a hot bath.
A humming sound comes from the back of my throat as I roll over, eyelids shutting out the faint light.
My mind is hazy, but my body is alert. Like it’s already second nature, I shift closer to the opposite side of the bed, hands chasing some sign of warmth beneath the sheets, hungry for the touch that will ground me.
For the body that will wrap around mine and fill all my hollow places.
My searching hands become frantic when they find nothing but cotton.
Then, my fingertips graze the edge of the mattress. No one’s here.
My eyes fly open, and I throw a hand up to shield them from the light pouring in through the bedroom window.
It was a dream. I shake my head. That’s not right—I’m in Trip’s bedroom.
I scan the room—the leather couch, the record player, the dresser, the door—hoping to find a familiar, large frame leaning against something.
My senses have deceived me before, not being able to feel him when he’s actually there.
But no, that was when he was a spirit.
I sit up, my heart fluttering in my chest. I’m about to throw the covers off when a deep voice stops me.
“Cream or sugar?” Trip enters the room carrying a French press in one hand and two mugs plus a carton of milk in the other. “Sorry, this place isn’t that well stocked—Elz?” His eyes fall to me, eyebrows knitting together with concern.
My exhale is audible and when I swallow, there’s a tightness in my throat. Trip sets the coffee supplies on the dresser and props himself on the edge of the bed next to me. I cup his face with my hands, feeling the stubble there, the solid jaw beneath his skin.
“You’re real.” I choke out a laugh. “This is real.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners and his thumb strokes my cheek. “It’s always been real.”
We sit there for a few beats, breathing each other in. I study the color palette of his eyes, how in the light they shift from toffee to hazelnut to—
“Coffee?” Trip whispers.
I blink twice, wondering if this second chance at life has also granted him mind-reading abilities, then remember the French press.
“Yes, please.” I smile. “But with cream. I’m not a masochist.”
He rises off the bed, and I try not to ogle his boxer briefs, the fact that his undershirt strains against the width of his shoulders.
Returning to his spot on the edge of the bed, he hands me a steaming mug and I blow on it, taking a tentative sip.
The warmth spreads down my throat to my chest. It’s heaven.
I close my eyes and groan, taking another sip.
When I open them, Trip’s gaze is penetrating, contemplative. His thumb traces its way down the column of my throat as I swallow.
“I’m sorry I can’t make you breakfast.” His voice is hoarse. “Haven’t had much time to grocery shop.”
I cough. “That’s okay. I’m not that hungry.” I pull the sheets higher and bring my knees to my chest, covering myself.
My stomach flip-flops. Why am I so nervous? My body is reacting like I’m a giddy teenager whose crush just spoke to her for the first time. I set my mug on the nightstand, so it won’t be obvious if my hands start to shake.
Everything we did last night—the sex, the euphoria of feeling his skin on mine—was thrilling, but something about this morning feels far more intimate.
Coffee in bed. The scratchiness of sleep in both of our voices.
This is uncharted territory that somehow feels even riskier than the past twelve hours.
Trip rubs the back of his neck, breaking his gaze. “I did have something else in mind for today, if you’re up for leaving the house.”
Truth be told, I’m anxious about what comes next.
About what happens if I decide to trust Trip with my heart as well as my body.
We’ve created a perfect, untouchable bubble in this room, and I’d like to stay in this very bed and repeat our previous activities several times.
It must be written all over my face because he laughs.
His eyes fall to the twisted sheets. “You know, this wasn’t the reason I asked you to come here. Well—not the only reason.” He grins as he takes a sip of his coffee. Rising from the bed, he holds out a palm to me. “Come on, Elz. I have a promise to make good on.”
—
We drive south through Brooklyn with the windows of Trip’s black sports car rolled down.
The wind whipping at our hair is warm—it’s almost summer—but Trip still pairs his sunglasses with a quarter-zip, and I wrap the oversize denim jacket he loaned me tighter around my sundress.
He drives with his left hand on the wheel and threads the fingers of his right through mine.
A small bruise peeks out from the collar of his sweater.
I hide my smile. Guess I got a bit carried away.
We stop only once, for Trip to hop out at a small corner store. He cuts the ignition and brings our joined hands to his mouth, kissing each of my knuckles individually and nipping at some with his teeth.
“Be right back.” He squeezes my hand before opening the door.
Five minutes later, he returns carrying two paper bags with mysterious contents, which he loads into the trunk. I raise an eyebrow when he slides back into the driver’s seat.
“Still not going to tell me where we’re headed?”
Trip turns the key. “Nah, I’m confident that brain of yours will figure it out soon enough. You’re great at solving mysteries, remember?”
I roll my eyes and sit back in the leather seat, but the corners of my mouth turn upward.
We continue in comfortable silence, the only sound the wind and the city noises.
Trip caresses the back of my hand with his thumb and my nerves from earlier start to dissipate.
I stick my hand out the window and try to catch the wind as it slides through my fingertips, the feeling of trying to grasp something that’s not actually there both familiar and insufficient.
I turn to face him. The real thing is so much better.
The buildings become shorter and more residential the farther we drive, and though impossible, the sky is somehow bluer. I read the street signs as we pass, and the pieces start to come together in my brain, although I haven’t been down these roads in at least ten years.
My head whips toward Trip. “We’re not—you’re not taking us to—?”
One corner of his mouth turns up and his thumb toys with my palm. “I asked if you’d let me take you to the ocean, Elz.” His fingers still and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Is this okay with you?” His voice softens.
Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s nervous about what comes next.
“Of course.” I smile and squeeze his hand.
My heart is a balloon injected with helium, ready to float off into the sky. How am I supposed to hold this much happiness inside my body? How do I enjoy it without the fear it will be ripped away?
Trip pulls the car into a public parking garage a few blocks from the shore, navigates to a spot, and turns off the ignition.
“Hey.” He presses his thumb to the space between my eyebrows. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just—I haven’t felt this happy in a while.” I don’t trust it.
He unbuckles and turns to face me. “It’s okay. I’m scared too.”
I fidget with the sleeves of the denim jacket. “What if—?” This doesn’t work out? You get bored of me? Something happens? My unspoken words hang in the air, invisible. “How do you see this working, exactly? Me and you.”
Trip smirks. “Well, I’d like to date you, if that’s okay.”
My heart ricochets against my ribs. “So we’ll be a couple? Stay at each other’s places? Learn each other’s flaws?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
I bite my nail. “I can be pretty boring, you know.” I wave my hand in the air. “Without all the excitement of a life-or-death curse to break, my life is a bit mundane.”
He presses his forehead to mine, cupping my cheek. “Somehow, I doubt that. But with everything that’s happened in the past year, I could use some mundane.”
A knot tightens in my throat. “What if we fight? We’ve already had our share of arguments without even dating.”
Trip’s thumb strokes my cheekbone. “What are you worried about, Elz?”
I glance down at my hands in my lap. “Losing you.” I clear my throat.
“But also, if I’m being honest, losing this new part of myself.
This person who knows her worth, who fights to be valued.
I lost sight of myself in my relationship with Carter.
I won’t risk losing myself as the price for keeping someone again. ”
His fingers flex on my cheek. “I won’t ever let that happen.” His gaze burns into mine. “And if it does—though it would kill me—I would want you to leave.”
He runs a hand through his hair and sits back against his seat.
“But I also want you to know that I love the woman you are, your sharp mouth and all. I want every side of you, and you don’t have to worry about losing me.
Even if we fight, even if—when—things are difficult.
” He grips the steering wheel, knuckles twisting over the leather.
“I’ve done that too many times with the people I love.
Bowing out when things get hard. But the truth is, walking away doesn’t actually make it any easier, doesn’t take the pain away. I’d rather stay.”
He reaches for my hand and presses it against his chest. “You have me, Elz, body and soul.”
I snort. “Okay, Mr. Darcy.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I press my lips to his and lean my head on his shoulder. My eyelids flutter closed, and I sink into the warmth of his touch. The parking garage walls block the brightness of the sun. We might as well be in our own little cocoon. I have no concept of how much time passes.
“Ready?” The rumble of Trip’s baritone vibrates against my skin.