But when he entered his house, he found Jared and Millie curled together on the couch, some romantic movie on the TV in front of them.
Tripp didn’t normally mind living with his cousin. He’d been the one to offer the room to Jared, had practically begged him to come live with him. Tripp couldn’t cook to save his life, but Jared could bake and grill and sauté all in the same meal.
“Hey, Tripp.” Jared tossed him a lazy smile. “I ordered pizza for dinner. Should be here any minute.”
“Sounds great.” Tripp moved into the kitchen and opened the third drawer down in the cabinet next to the fridge. He kept antacids there and popped two just as the doorbell rang.
Jared detached himself from Millie to answer the door, and a few seconds later, three piping hot pizzas landed on the counter. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice.
“Fine,” Tripp answered in an equally quiet growl.
“Good, because I called off dinner at Polly’s. She and Sophie will be here in a few minutes.”
Tripp didn’t even blink. “Fantastic.”
“Mills, pizza.” Jared didn’t look away from Tripp as he called to his fiancée. “What do you want?”
“Hawaiian,” she said from her place on the couch. “And my soda from the fridge.”
Jared got her what she wanted and came back to the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the living space. “You seem…angry.”
“I said I was fine.” Tripp took two slices of the pepperoni and sausage pie and headed for the backyard. “I’m going to eat outside.”
Tripp hadn’t told anyone that he’d asked Jared to move in with him because he was lonely. Heck, he’d barely admitted it to himself. And now that Jared was engaged, he’d be moving in with Millie in the next several months, leaving Tripp to himself again.
He lay down in the hammock he’d installed in his willow tree, placing the paper plate of pizza on his chest. A California breeze rustled his hair and sang a low, warbling song. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but as he finished his food and sighed, he thought the ocean currents were saying, Hilary. Hilary.
* * * *
He got up early and went fishing. He sold his catch at the wharf. He answered phones and took tourist groups out on his boat and built a desk for someone who needed it for a gift. Days had passed since his lunch date with Andrea, and he hadn’t called her.
He hadn’t spoken to Hilary about it either. She came by every morning and bought fish from him, but she could barely look him in the face, and he wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject without coming across like a tool.
So he kept his mouth shut and his head down. He worked, because he knew how to do that. Knew the effort he put into his business would be rewarded. Knew he’d be satisfied at the end of a long day if he had something to show for the hours he spent in the shop.
Just before he drifted to sleep on the third night, his phone buzzed. He almost didn’t check it, but with his ties to his family finally starting to strengthen, a vein of worry stole through him that one of them needed him. Sophie lived alone on that isolated beachside lane, six months pregnant. She could be in trouble.
So he picked up his phone. It wasn’t Sophie, or Jared, or Polly.
But Hilary.
Andrea just left.
That was it. Three words. Tripp’s pulse pounded like he’d been dipped in ice water. Shock settled over him. How was he supposed to respond?
And? he typed out and stared at the word. Too aggressive, he told himself. He erased the word and tried again. What did she say?
Will you have time for a late breakfast tomorrow?
That’s what she said?
No, Hilary messaged. I’m wondering if you have time to meet with me tomorrow so we can talk about what she said.
Tripp opened his calendar app on his phone. He had his morning fishing and a meeting with a client at one o’clock.
What time?
Ten-thirty or so? Late breakfast or early lunch. You decide.
Ten-thirty is almost dinnertime for me. He smiled to himself and sent the message. I have a meeting at one I have to be back for.
Sounds great. See you then.
Tripp let his phone fall to his chest. Finally. He was finally going to get to see Hilary. Every muscle in his body relaxed, and he fell asleep almost instantly—the first time he’d done so in three days.
The next morning, the minutes seemed to multiply before they passed. Every breath felt impossibly long, every movement as if encased in quicksand. He usually enjoyed fishing, but every second with his lines in the water meant he wasn’t heading back to the wharf, wasn’t about to see Hilary.
When he pulled in and started selling the halibut he’d netted, he commanded himself to stop with all the pining. He’d never needed a woman in his life. Never. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in five years, and he wouldn’t even know what to do with one.
Sure, he’d looked around town for a while, but no one had caught his eye. Even when Hilary showed up in town, he hadn’t really seen her. Blast Jared and his loud mouth, Tripp thought as he sold half his catch to the Redwood Park chefs.
Still, there must have been something lingering in Tripp’s mind if a simple teasing statement from his cousin could suddenly make his eyes open. He glanced up, and there Hilary stood. Her hair framed her face this morning, and he noticed her overly large necklace did the trick of covering whatever it was she wanted hidden.
“Morning,” he managed to scrape out of his dry throat. “I only have halibut this morning.”
“Makes the best fish and chips.” She smiled. “I’ll take fifty pounds.”
He wrapped her fish, like he’d done countless times before. His hands knew the movements, knew when to pull tighter, when to tape. He inhaled her fruity perfume, like he’d done countless times before. But this time, his pulse drove toward the top of his skull.
“There you go.”
She cradled the weight of the fish in both arms. “See you in a couple of hours.”
“Looking forward to it.” He tried to tame the wide grin that spread across his face, but she saw it before she turned and walked away. He watched her go, enjoying the swing of her hips in those short jean shorts, awed by the length of her legs, downright mad to run his fingers through that dyed hair.
He pulled his attention away from Hilary, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He couldn’t be so openly enamored with her. She wasn’t stupid, and she hadn’t really reciprocated his feelings. Sitting with him while he ate and putting her arm in his for a few minutes didn’t count.
He arrived at Lucy’s twenty minutes early and ordered coffee. He’d consumed three cups—black—by the time Hilary slid into the booth across from him.
“You have some explaining to do.” She pinned him with a glare before ordering orange juice and a short stack of pancakes.
He ordered a ham and cheese omelet, then waited until the waitress was out of earshot. “What do you mean?”
“Andrea said you haven’t called her.”
He leveled his gaze at Hilary, deciding honesty was his only option. “I’m not interested in Andrea.”
Her shoulders came up for half a beat and then sank. Her hazel eyes seemed darker today, or maybe they simply held some emotion he couldn’t quite name. “Why not?”
Tripp exhaled heavily. “I don’t know.”
“Want to know what I think?” She unwrapped a straw and twisted the paper into a tight rope.
“I suppose.” Tripp leaned forward, his eyes grazing the left side of her neck. His fingers tightened into fists and he mentally commanded himself that he could not reach across the table and casually brush her hair off her shoulder.
“Andrea’s great,” Hilary started. “The only reason you wouldn’t be interested in her would be because you’ve got your eye on someone else.”
Chapter Six
Across the table, Tripp choked, a clear indication that Hilary had hit the nail on the head. He was interested
in someone, and a thick coating of jealousy spread from the back of her mouth down into her gut.
“Who is it?” She focused on the straw wrapper so he wouldn’t be able to read the panic and envy in her eyes. Dante had always said she broadcasted how she was feeling, that he could tell if she was happy, or sad, or genuine, simply by looking into her eyes.
And she didn’t want Tripp to see how upsetting his interest in another woman was to her.
“No one,” he said too quickly. He reached for his coffee cup and gulped.
The waitress arrived with their food, and relief roared through Hilary. At least she’d have something else to focus on, though the thought of eating actually made her nauseous. Inviting him to breakfast had been a very bad idea. Since Dante’s attack, whenever she got nervous, she could hardly keep anything down.
He’d eaten half his omelet and she’d taken two bites of whole wheat pancake before she asked, “So Andrea’s a no.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t think you gave her a chance.”
Tripp met her gaze. “Yes, I did. I was nice. I paid for lunch. We walked on the beach for hours.”
Hilary leaned away from her food. “Yeah, I’m not sure that counts.” She flashed him a tiny smirk.
His dark eyes glimmered at her, a hint of danger in them she found appealing. “So you’re not going to come fishing, is that it?”
“When did you know you weren’t interested in Andrea?”
“When you set us up.”
Hilary frowned, her mind racing with confused thoughts. “Why’d you go then?”
He shrugged and took a big bite of egg and ham and cheese.
“Tripp.”
“What?”
“Why’d you go out with her if you knew you weren’t interested?”
He set down his fork deliberately and reached for his napkin. He wiped his mouth, and Hilary had never wanted to be an inanimate object so badly. She found herself licking her own lips and quickly clamped her mouth closed.
“You want to know why?” He crossed his powerful arms. Arms that hauled in hundreds of pounds of fish. Arms that built and lifted heavy furniture. Arms that would make her feel safe.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Because you asked me to.” He held her gaze for a moment, then two, then looked away. “I went out with her because you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
“No?”
“You called me and asked about her. I thought you were interested.”
“You suggested I go out with her.” He leaned forward. “I’m perfectly happy how I am. I don’t need you to fix me up with anyone.”
Her heart boomed against her breastbone. He was perfectly happy how he was? She wasn’t a professional, but she didn’t think so. “Then why were you out with the jewelry-maker?”
The stormy expression on his face smoothed away. “I don’t know. Another mistake? Are you keeping track of them for me?”
“You sure go out with a lot women when you don’t know why.”
He ran a hand across his eyes. “If you must know, I went out with Angela because she flirted with me while I was buying Polly’s birthday gift. That’s all. I asked her to dinner, and well, you saw how that went.” His voice tipped up on the last few words and a handsome flush stained his cheeks.
“So that’s all it takes? A little flirting, and you ask a woman out?”
Tripp took a breath and opened his mouth as if to answer. His eyes searched hers, and something hot, hot, hot passed between them. The ember buried itself in her chest and every breath felt cold against it.
Hilary saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, and she suddenly knew who he was interested in.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to Andrea,” he said, settling against the back of the booth and masking his emotions.
Hilary couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Shock and joy didn’t make great bedfellows as they spiraled through her body.
Tripp was interested in her.
Her fingers flitted as if they’d land on her scarred collarbone, but she pulled them back at the last moment. Tripp still saw, catalogued the movement.
“Did you really try with Andrea?” she asked, finally getting her vocal cords to thaw.
He rolled his eyes. “Did she say I wasn’t nice?”
Hilary shook her head. “She said you were wonderful.” Her voice took on a wistful quality and she swallowed it away.
“I totally tried. She’s just not….” He waved his hand in the air like the rest of his sentence was obvious. But Hilary didn’t know how he would’ve finished.
“So, what time do you normally head out on the trawler?”
He covered his coffee mug when the waitress approached and she went to the next table. When he looked at her again, Hilary saw electricity shooting through the dark depths of his eyes. “You’re going to come fishing?”
“We had a deal.” She watched a pair of elderly gentlemen walk down the ramp to their car. “Getting up early won’t kill me, right?” She tacked a giggle onto the end of her question, hoping it sounded genuine to Tripp. She rarely joked about death or dying, because she’d been on the edge of death and it was no laughing matter.
“We pull anchor at three o’clock,” he said, his voice a little rougher than normal. She liked the deeper quality of it, and she lost herself to a fantasy where he said her name in that voice just before he captured her mouth with his. She closed her eyes and felt the whisper of his whiskers against her face, the taste of his breath in her mouth, the dusty smell of his skin in her nose.
She pulled herself from the fantasy and opened her eyes. “I guess I’ll have to be there a bit early, then?”
His grin painted her life in bright colors. She wanted him to smile at her like that every day, wanted a life where she wasn’t cold all the time, wasn’t alone every afternoon, wasn’t afraid to show her skin.
“Yeah, probably by two forty-five is fine,” he said. “You can sleep while we head out. It’s about an hour. I’ll get you up to cast the lines.”
“Can’t wait,” she said, and though early mornings were not in her repertoire, Hilary had never spoken truer words.
* * * *
Tripp left the diner first to get back to the wharf for his meeting. Hilary stayed in the booth, watching the lunch crowd as they filled the diner with life and chatter and then ebbed back to their regular lives.
Lucy collapsed into the booth where Tripp had been. “Whew. Busy lunch rush.”
“Tourists are back in town.” Hilary sipped the tea she’d ordered a half an hour ago.
“So what were you and Tripp talking about?”
Much as she wished it wouldn’t, heat rose through Hilary at the mere mention of his name. Not that she’d stopped thinking about him. “Oh, you know. Fishing stuff.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
“No, I don’t know anything about fishing stuff.” Lucy reached across the table and Hilary flinched like she might rip her necklace from its place against her chest. Lucy’s blue eyes didn’t miss the jerky movement, and she stared at Hilary, an expectant expression on her pale face.
“Lucy,” Hilary said, adjusting her necklace even though she tried not to. She jerked her head toward the exit, where Tripp had gone a while ago. “Does Tripp, you know, date much?”
Lucy’s eyes softened and she wiped her hand across her forehead. “So you like Tripp Thurgood.”
Hilary hated that she didn’t even try to make it sound like a question. “I don’t like him,” she said. “I was just wondering if he’s dated anyone.”
“Not for a few years, that I know of. Maybe longer than that.”
“How long?” Hilary wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, why she was asking Lucy and not Tripp himself.
Lucy exhaled. “Let’s see, the last woman I know about was Erin Ence. And that was at least five or six years ago.”
“What happened?” If he hadn’t dated anyone i
n six years, it must’ve been terrible.
“You should really ask him.” Lucy liked to gossip as much as the next person, but Hilary also liked that Lucy knew when to draw the line. And it was probably before she’d mentioned Erin Ence.
Hilary picked up her napkin and began shredding off little strips of it. “I’m going fishing with him.”
Lucy’s laughter did little to calm Hilary’s nerves over the sure to be tight spaces on his boat, the hours she’d spend alone with him, the fact that he hadn’t seriously dated anyone in six years.
“Fishing?” Lucy chuckled again. “Wow, Tripp really knows how to charm ’em.” She slid out of the booth. “Come by and tell me if you kiss him.” She smirked and strolled away, leaving the fantasy of kissing Tripp to play in full color in Hilary’s mind.
She distracted herself from Tripp long enough to stop by the grocery store and pick up the ingredients she needed to make her lemon zucchini bread. She expected she’d see Nick the following morning, as he usually came to purchase seafood on the weekends. Since she knew she’d never get out to his restaurant, she wanted to make it up to him however she could. And she’d promised a loaf to Nick’s wife.
And if she were being honest, she’d need to turn her music on loud, focus on making mental measurements as she doubled the recipe, so she wouldn’t lose another afternoon thinking about Tripp. Imagining conversations she could have with Tripp. Pretending she’d ever show her scars to Tripp.
Once at home, she removed the heavy necklace and exhaled with relief. She rubbed the back of her neck before she assembled the ingredients she needed to make the carbs that would sustain her through the evening. She’d need them to get herself out the door by two-thirty in the morning.
Grating zucchini and then lemon zest, sifting flour together with baking soda and baking powder—a secret she’d learned from her grandmother—and adding that secret pinch of fresh ginger occupied her afternoon. That, and the loudest pop music she could cue up on her Internet radio.
Until Autumn Falls Page 4
