Chapter 39 #2
I nod, the motion pressing my forehead further into his shoulder.
He unbuckles and strolls around the car, opening my door and reaching a palm out to me.
I slip my hand into his, not because I need help, but because I’m still in disbelief this is real and will take any opportunity to feel his skin against mine.
Trip pushes up the sleeves of his sweater, opens the trunk, and lifts the grocery bags out. Touching him is thrilling, but so is seeing him interact with the physical world. The way his forearms flex with the movement, the way his mouth draws tight with the effort.
His eyes shift my direction. “Enjoying the show?”
I cross my arms. “Thoroughly. Watching you lift things does something for me.”
Trip cants his head. “Get over here.”
I oblige and as soon as I’m in front of him, he wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the trunk of the car.
“And what exactly does this do for you?” He nuzzles the nape of my neck and presses his lips to my collarbone.
Everything.
I bring his lips to mine and run my hands through his hair while his thumbs trace my rib cage.
Our mouths only pull apart for the briefest of seconds to take in air.
A slant of sunlight peeks through an opening in the parking garage and shines through my eyelids, forcing me to twist my head away.
Trip, undeterred, shifts his mouth to my jaw, my neck.
I grab a tuft of his hair and pull his head up, as much as it pains me. “Alright, Sparky. I was promised the ocean.”
His smile is a devil’s as he pulls me off the edge of the car. “So you were.”
We stroll down the sidewalk, each of us carrying a grocery bag.
Trip also holds a large, quilted blanket he dug out of the trunk and still manages to have one hand wrapped around my waist the entire time.
As we near the beach, the salt hits my nose and I breathe deeply, as though I haven’t tasted fresh air in a decade.
Runners tread along the boardwalk and folks bundled up in windbreakers walk their dogs in the sand. It isn’t deserted, but also not nearly the madhouse this place will become when summer arrives. We find our own private patch of sand easily enough and Trip lays out the blanket.
He sits with his elbows propped on his knees and I scoot between his legs, laying my head back onto his chest. His warmth cocoons me, the softness of his sweater cradling my neck.
How strange to feel the heat emanating from his body, to be physically supported by him.
There’s the crinkling of a bag and suddenly a paper plate with cheese, crackers, and prosciutto materializes in front of me.
I turn my cheek into his chest. “You assembled all of this with me leaning on you? Your dexterity must be off the charts.”
His laughter vibrates against my head. “I have a lot of talents still to show you.”
I assemble a cracker sandwich and slide it into my mouth. Oh, he got the fancy cheese. “I think I could get used to this as a daily breakfast ritual.”
“Whatever you want,” Trip whispers into my hair.
I snuggle deeper into his touch and close my eyes. The breeze dances across the bridge of my nose and tickles my cheeks. I could spend forever in his arms.
He clears his throat. “Tell me about coming here. With her.” The last two words are a near whisper.
I shift in his arms and stare out at the ocean. In the distance, a child squeals and kicks at the waves.
“She was happiest here.” I swallow. “In the ocean, really. She always said, ‘There’s something about the water.’ ” The blue-gray waves roll toward the beach, then break into an effervescent white.
“She was right too. There’s something so magical about floating.
About the silence when you dive beneath the surface.
” I envision her smile—the biggest I’d ever seen it—as she called for me to join her in the surf.
“What was her name?” Trip’s arms tighten around me.
“Kassia.”
“Kassia,” he exhales. Her name sounds beautiful in his deep baritone.
I squeeze my eyelids tight as a single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. “She would’ve loved this. Would’ve loved you.”
Wiping my face with the sleeve of the denim jacket, I shift out of Trip’s arms and turn to face him. He looks at me through dark lashes.
I toy with the hem of his pants. “What do you think you’ll do now? The article made it sound like you’ll take over the company.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and it sticks up on end. “You read that?”
“I think anyone who subscribes to The New York Times probably read it, yes.”
Trip exhales one long breath. His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ve been thinking about reaching out to Carter.”
“Oh?”
“To break the ice.” He fidgets with his sleeve. “Maybe we can get back some of that bond we had as kids. Before we realized we were competitors—after our dads…” He runs his hand along his jaw in a mannerism so similar to Carter’s that a smile tugs at my lips.
Trip continues. “Once we were vying for our grandfather’s favor, something shifted. To be honest, I shut down. Maybe I could take the first step in repairing things.”
I nod, considering. “Are you thinking of going in on the business together with him?”
“I’m actually thinking of asking him to manage it.
If he’s interested.” He studies the ground.
“He has a knack for it. And Grandfather wasn’t totally wrong.
Carter is willing to make compromises for the good of the business in a way I never could.
Plus, I’ve been thinking of doing something a bit different.
Philanthropy, perhaps.” He toes at the sand.
I don’t take my eyes off him and weave my fingers through his. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Trip tilts his head, an errant hair falling into his face. “Yeah?” One side of his mouth lifts and he gives my fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry it’s not warm enough for swimming.”
Gulls squawk in the distance, diving toward the water. The breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders, but there’s no chill.
I press my lips together. “Isn’t it?”
Trip’s eyes shift to me through the hair that hangs in his face. I shrug off the denim jacket and stand.
“Elz…”
“What?” I walk toward the water and look back at him over my shoulder. “Care to join me?”
The wind whips at the hem of my dress. When I get close enough for the waves to lap at my ankles, I tie the bottom of the skirt at my thighs and jog the rest of the way in.
My abdomen turns to ice and I suck in my cheeks. It’s all or nothing. I dive below the surface and air leaves my lungs. The water sends shock waves of cold that start at my chest and work their way to my extremities. I break through the surface, gasping.
Trip is already at the shoreline. He’s ditched his sweater and pants, leaving just his boxer briefs and undershirt from this morning. His hair blows in all directions, and even from here I can tell his eyes are wild.
He cups his hands around his mouth. “How is it?”
“Not cold in the slightest!” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’d dive right in if I were you.”
Trip shrugs, the movement lifting his T-shirt just enough to show an inch of his bare stomach. The skin exposure has me shivering on his behalf.
Then he’s running into the water, kicking up spray behind him. He dives headfirst into an oncoming wave.
I wait.
Trip emerges a few feet from me, sputtering and gasping for air. He shakes his hair like a wet dog, droplets flying from the nearly black strands. I send a splash in his direction and his eyes narrow at me.
His shoulders roll back and he extends his arms in long strokes, swimming toward me. “Oh, you are so dead.”
His hand wraps around my ankle and I kick him off, laughing so hard my belly hurts.
Trip’s wrong, though. I’ve never felt more alive.