“How I feel about her has nothing to do with the co-op.”
“How do you feel about her?”
“I’m not answering that.” Tripp stood with his empty plate.
“Because you don’t know, or you don’t want me to know?” Jared called after him as Tripp entered the house through the sliding glass doorway.
He paused and stuck his head back outside. “Because I don’t know. I’ve been on one date with her. She’s interesting. I’m interested. That’s it.”
“So you did kiss her.” Jared’s wicked grin made Tripp want to confess. Instead, he rolled his eyes and kept quiet. He set up the card table and checked the fridge in the garage for sodas and beer. Jared cleaned up the kitchen and got out the pretzels, chocolate, and potato chips.
“Blaine said he’d bring whatever Lucy had left over,” Jared said.
“Great.” Tripp paused. “Jared, I’m really glad you’re staying with me.”
A moment of silence passed between them. “Yeah, you can’t get rid of me quite yet.” He flashed a smile and turned back to the oven to set it to warm his favorite artichoke dip.
“When do you think you and Millie will get married?” Tripp asked like he didn’t much care, but he’d need time to prepare himself to live alone again. He hadn’t realized how much it meant to him to have someone to talk to over dinner, even if he didn’t like it when the conversation topics centered on him.
“She thinks spring is the best time for a wedding,” he said. “So next year.”
“When you gonna move in with her?”
“After that.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
“She’s more traditional than I am. She thinks we need to be married before we live together.” Jared shrugged. “It’s okay with me. And she, well, she’s still working through some personal things. Sometimes she needs more space than living together would provide.”
Tripp nodded, secretly glad that Jared would be staying with him for close to another year. If things went south with Hilary, he’d at least have a friendly face to come home to.
He shook the negative thoughts from his mind. He shouldn’t assume the fledging relationship was already doomed. Nothing Hilary had done would suggest she wasn’t also interested. He just hoped his non-glamorous life of fishing and building furniture wouldn’t bore her to tears.
Tripp relaxed on the couch, a baseball game on the TV, until someone knocked on the door. Taylor entered in the next moment. “Hey, boys. Hope you’re ready to lose some serious money tonight.”
Chapter Ten
Hilary slept like the dead, her dreams blank for the first time in weeks. When she woke, the soft moments before she became fully aware were filled with the scent of Tripp’s cologne, the taste of his lips.
Still under the covers, she smiled to herself and tucked the blankets tighter under her chin. She felt safe and cozy, her mind filled with thoughts of Tripp and her muscles humming with the memory of his skin against hers.
Her fingers wandered to the scars along her collar, the way they always did when a little bit of happiness started to seep into her soul. She wondered if she’d ever be able to ignore them, to not even think about them. Something cold wound through her at the thought of showing them to Tripp.
“It’s still early to be thinking about that,” she told herself as she unearthed herself from the comforter. Even though he’d kissed her, she’d felt his hesitation, sensed that he’d been holding back. Why, she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t entirely mind. She needed to go slow right now. She didn’t want to make any mistakes, couldn’t afford to share her life with him if he wasn’t going to keep it secret and safe.
Dante was in prison, but the drug cartel he ran with wasn’t. They didn’t know where she’d gone, and she didn’t think they had any reason to hunt her down, but she’d left Miami to protect her family. She wouldn’t risk anyone in Redwood Bay, especially Tripp.
And it wasn’t just the people around her at risk if the cartel decided she was a threat. It was her entire way of life, down to where she lived—and if she could survive a second assault. She’d heard nothing from her contacts in Miami. Dante was in jail. The drug cartel didn’t have her in their sights.
She exhaled away her worries, heated up her leftovers for dinner, and watched TV for a couple of hours before falling asleep on the couch. Her alarm woke her just after two o’clock, and she groaned. She fumbled for the phone, fully intending to hit snooze for another five minutes of rest.
Then she remembered why her phone was chiming so early. Tripp. Her mind formed his name almost reverently, and her eyes jerked open. Half an hour later, she pulled into the parking lot at the wharf. She zipped her hoodie all the way up, then studied herself in the rearview mirror. She let the zipper down a couple of inches, nodded, and got out of the car.
Tripp met her on the pier tonight, separating himself from the shadows of his boat as effortlessly as fog lifts off the ocean. “Morning,” he said, his voice low and sexy.
“I’d say it was good, but I don’t think good comes until seven.” She grinned and stepped into his embrace.
“Well, I think it just got a lot better.” The tip of his nose traced a line along the side of her face as he drank her in. In that moment, with his hands resting lightly on her waist and his adoration for her evident in the gentleness of his gestures, she felt cherished. A thread of longing swept through her. She hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. Long before Dante. Long before adulthood.
In fact, the last time she’d felt this cherished was when she was cooking with her grandmother. Valuable memories marched through her mind, reminding her that not everything in her life had been traumatic.
She wrapped her arms around Tripp. “Should we go?”
“Can I kiss you first?” His hands moved up her back.
“Out here in the open?”
“It’s bad luck to kiss on the boat.”
Hilary giggled. “Is that so? Some sort of superstition or something?”
He ran his lips along her cheekbone, causing a shudder to shake her body. “Not every boat. Just mine.”
“Is that why you didn’t kiss me yesterday morning?”
He pulled back and met her eyes. Under the orange light from the streetlamp, she couldn’t quite see as far into his eyes as she sometimes could. “No, that was just me trying to figure out where we were.”
“And did you?”
He chuckled. “I have no idea. I’m just playing it by ear.” He dipped his head again as if to kiss her. “I just know when I see you, I want to kiss you.” His words faded into a whisper she could barely hear by the end of the sentence.
She swayed in his arms. “But not on the boat.”
“Betsy Ross has a jealous streak.”
“Betsy Ross?”
“My boat.”
“You named your boat Betsy Ross?”
He sighed. “Well, now we’ve run out of time for kissing.” He removed his hands from her back and stepped away. “Come on. Those fish don’t catch themselves.”
With the loss of his touch, she felt like she’d been doused with ice water. “You said that yesterday.”
“I say it every day. It’s how I can force myself to get out of bed this early in the morning.”
“Ah-ha! So you don’t like it either.”
“I don’t have to like something to do it.” He gestured for her to go first, and she realized he was serious about not kissing her—now or on the boat.
Sharp disappointment cut through her. “So what would happen if we kissed on the boat?” She moved past him and stepped onto the gangplank.
“There’s no telling,” he said, following her. “Could call up a storm, or Betsy could decide to throw an engine.”
Hilary laughed before she realized he was being serious. “Tripp, come on. Those are superstitions. They’re not real.”
“Sure. But I’m still not bringing any bananas on board.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Ban
anas?”
“They bring bad luck, much the same way women do.” He threw her a smirk.
“But you’ve let me on your boat.”
He shrugged as he worked the lines to get them ready to cast off. “You smell better than a banana.”
She blinked at his seemingly serious comment. “Great,” she said dryly. “I can put that on my Internet dating profile.”
He froze for one, two, three heartbeats. Then his head swung toward her, the only part of his body that moved. “You have an Internet dating profile?”
“Oh, so maybe it’s not only Betsy Ross who’s jealous.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and grinned.
Tripp ducked his head and got back to work, his mood sending stormy waves in all directions. She stepped over to him and ran her hand over his shoulder. His muscles bunched and tightened, and she wanted to explore a lot more of his body.
“I don’t have an Internet dating profile.” The very idea was horrifying, and an invitation for Dante’s crew to find her.
“Hm.” His dark eyes swirled with a storm of emotions she didn’t have time to decipher before he resumed his work.
“You’re the first man I’ve dated in years.” Her voice came out a bit squeaky, but she continued on. “So maybe I’m not good at this flirting thing.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“Can’t kiss you on the boat.”
“What?”
He finally stopped working and looked at her. “When I look at you, I want to kiss you. And I can’t kiss you on the boat.” He scrubbed one hand through his hair, making it stand up in several places. “You’re not wearing makeup this morning.”
“You said it wasn’t necessary.”
“It’s not.” He stared at her with such heat in his expression, her own internal temperature rose at least ten degrees. He blinked, breaking the connection between them. “You think you can gut a fish today?”
“I think I can do whatever I want.”
He grinned, a slow, lazy smile that made her want to drag him back to the pier so they could share their good morning kiss. She leaned closer to him, and she swore he swayed toward her. When their mouths were only inches apart, she whispered, “Whatever I want, except kiss on the boat.”
She pranced away from him, a laugh lighting up the night sky. When she looked back at him, he was shaking his head, his own smile radiant. She took a moment to enjoy him this way: quiet, and strong, and steady. A man with principles and a work ethic. A man worth waiting to kiss until they could disembark.
Still, she gave Betsy Ross a good thunk with her fist when Tripp turned his back.
* * * *
Hilary slid into one of the last remaining seats in Lucy’s large room in the back. She usually only used it for wedding receptions or family reunions—and the co-op every other Saturday afternoon. Even in the summer, Lucy had slow times, and that happened to be about three o’clock on Saturday.
Tripp stood at the front, talking to Lucy and her boyfriend, Blaine. Sophie sat next to Jared, with Polly facing them. Hilary knew everyone in the room. They knew her. She knew what they did for a living, and she appreciated their talents, from Millie’s ability to sew fabric into beautiful dresses, and Diana’s gift of turning flour and butter into flaky pie crusts.
Truth be told, Hilary had always felt a bit isolated in Redwood Bay. She knew she’d done that, she’d caged herself off, but it didn’t lessen the sting of seeing the townspeople talk and laugh with each other. She knew Tripp had poker night at his house, and she knew Millie spent time with her girlfriends.
Hilary hadn’t invited anyone to her house, ever—until Tripp. She wasn’t sure that counted, because he hadn’t actually come inside. They hadn’t actually spent any time there. Her stomach twisted at the thought of letting him that far in.
She reached up and touched her lips, the last thing Tripp had touched that morning after they’d hauled in two hundred pounds of halibut and a healthy amount of cod. She’d cleaned and gutted exactly two fish—one of each—before settling in to watch Tripp, the king of fishermen. His strength was incredibly sexy to her, something she wanted to emulate in herself if only she knew how.
He finished his conversation and turned toward the gathered crowd. “Good afternoon,” he started, and Hilary got drunk on his voice. She smiled as his gaze flitted around the room and finally landed on her. His eyes crinkled for half a second but long enough for her to notice.
He’d asked her to come to his family lunch the next day. She’d put him off earlier, but standing in the circle of his arms and seeing how much his family meant to him, she couldn’t say no again.
She wondered if he’d told any of them about her. You need to call Polly, she told herself as Tripp turned the floor over to Lucy. Hilary wasn’t sure why she came to these meetings. She didn’t have much to offer—only her support in buying from the local fishermen, which she already did. Still, she came, if only to get out from behind her own walls and be seen.
The meeting ended, and she wove through the crowd to Polly’s table. “I need to talk to you.” She cast a quick glance toward the front, where Tripp stood surrounded by several business owners.
“What’s going on?” Polly hushed her voice and glanced around too. “What’s the secret?”
Hilary hooked her elbow through Polly’s and led her out of the room. They found a booth near the bathrooms and Hilary asked for water with lemon. Polly waved the waitress away. “I can’t stay long. I have a funeral on Monday and I only have half the arrangements done.”
“Will you be hosting the family lunch tomorrow?”
Polly’s head jerked the tiniest bit. “I usually do, yes. I’ll probably enlist Sophie and Jared to cook, though, because of the funeral.” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed like that would help her see right through Hilary’s skull and into her brain.
“I’m dating your brother,” Hilary blurted. Her fingers wove around each other, and when the waitress set down her water, she grabbed it and gulped.
Polly started laughing, pressing her palm against her chest. When Hilary didn’t join her, she sobered. “Oh, you’re serious.”
Hilary nodded.
Polly looked around like she needed to find something to anchor her gaze to.
“Are you mad?” Hilary asked.
“Why would I be mad?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t want him to get hurt, or maybe you think we’re not a match.”
“I don’t think that.”
“You burst out laughing when I told you.”
“I just….” She glanced over her shoulder. “I was just surprised. You’ve known each other for two years. What changed?”
Hilary shrugged. “I’ve always thought he was handsome and kind.” Her muscles spasmed when she realized what had changed. “I’ve changed, Polly.” She willed her fingers to stay on the table in front of her instead of wandering to her scars. “I’m finally ready to have someone like him in my life.”
“You know he’s a fisherman, right? He fishes for a living. Fish, Hilary.” Polly spoke like Hilary didn’t know what a fish was.
“I sell fish, Polly.”
“There’s a difference between selling them and catching them.”
Hilary took another swig of her water. “I’ve been out fishing with him twice. It’s actually quite soothing.”
Polly’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “He let you on Betsy Ross?”
Hilary was really starting to dislike that boat. “Twice.”
“Hm.” She looked up to the right, obviously lost inside her own head. “He’s really serious about you then.”
Her heart tried to bolt out of her body. “He is? By taking me out fishing twice?”
“Tripp doesn’t let anyone on his boat.” Polly leaned forward. “No one. Ever. Not since—” She clamped her lips shut.
“Not since what?” Hilary asked, but Polly shook her head.
“You’ll have to ask him.”
Hilary took some comfort in knowing that Tripp had some secrets of his own. It would make divulging hers easier. Polly excused herself, but Hilary ordered a milkshake. She found she thought through problems best when digesting ice cream. She’d only taken two bites of her peanut butter cup shake when she realized she’d asked Polly the wrong question.
It wasn’t since what.
It was since who.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday morning, Tripp fished alone. Yesterday, after the meeting, he’d found Hilary sitting alone in a booth, an empty cup in front of her. He’d taken her to the beach and they’d walked in bare feet until the sun set.
He’d kissed her in the fading light and said, “Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow?” He loved the way she leaned into him, the way she clung to him like she needed his strength to stay standing.
“I’d like that.”
“You’ll still have to get up early to come buy your catch.”
She’d shaken her head, tiny almost imperceptible movements against his chest. “I think I’m going to take a day off.”
His heart had stalled for a beat or two. “Have you thought about coming to lunch with my family?”
“Yeah.” She’d tilted her head back and kissed him. A fast yet amazing union of their mouths. “I’m going to come.”
So Tripp fished, and sold his catch, and hurried home to shower. He smelled wood smoke when he pulled into the garage, and Jared had chicken marinating and potatoes boiling in the kitchen.
“Potato salad?” Tripp asked as he dropped his backpack in the mudroom and saw the mayo, mustard, and pickles on the counter.
“Potato salad,” Jared confirmed. “Polly’s making that salad with the cookies in it. And her famous Parker House rolls.”
“What’s on the grill?”
“Brisket.”
Tripp’s stomach roared. “Hilary’s coming.” A smile formed on his face, and he didn’t even try to wipe it away when Jared looked at him, surprise in the lines around his eyes.
“She is, huh?”
Until Autumn Falls Page 7