Page 10

10

Kali

I follow Ripley into the kitchen, and I’m immediately struck by how impossibly good he looks tonight. The casual T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his chest and shoulders in a way that shows off his lean, athletic build, and the low kitchen light casts subtle shadows along his arms, highlighting the faint lines of muscle. He moves with an easy confidence, every step measured and sure, like a man who’s spent his life training his body to react on a dime. The natural grace pulls me in, makes my heart flutter in a way I can’t quite dismiss.

Even the way he turns to glance back at me—dark hair slightly tousled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—sends a spark through my chest. I wish I could play it cool, but the heat crawling up my neck won’t let me. Maybe he notices, maybe not. My attention breaks when the scent of grilled chicken drifts by, reminding me where I am.

Then I see the table near the window, set with two plates and a little jar of wildflowers in the center. My breath catches. It’s understated and sweet, but beneath that simplicity, there’s something undeniably romantic about it. A warmth stirs in my stomach. Am I ready for this? I’m still not sure. But looking at Ripley—tall, confident, and so damned attractive—I feel a flutter of hope that makes me want to find out.

“How’s the chicken look?” Ripley asks, fiddling with the knobs on the stove. “I tried not to burn it this time.” His gaze flicks to mine, and there’s a playful spark in his eyes.

I give a shaky laugh. “It smells better than the tacos, so you’re already winning.”

He flashes a grin that makes my stomach flip. “That’s a low bar,” he says, gesturing for me to sit. I oblige, smoothing my palms against the fabric of my sundress as I settle into the chair. My nerves feel raw and every sense is heightened, from the clink of silverware to the gentle hum of the fridge.

We start eating, and the chicken is actually delicious. It’s tender, with a hint of lemon and herbs. I’m impressed, but also too distracted by how close his leg is to mine under the table to fully appreciate the taste. The conversation flows, though. We discuss everything from weird baseball superstitions to which Marvel hero is the best. Every exchange is peppered with laughter and sidelong glances that set my blood pumping.

Eventually, we talk about deeper stuff like childhood memories, old regrets, and the wild paths that led us both to Starlight Bay. I confide that I grew up in a crowded city, always searching for a place that felt more like home. He tells me he grew up in a dusty farm town, dreaming of that big-league call-up. The more he talks, the more I sense the old fire he still carries, even if he doesn’t outright admit it.

“So,” I say quietly, finishing off a roasted carrot, “you never gave up that dream? The majors?”

He exhales a soft laugh. “Gave it up a dozen times in my head, but never in my heart. Honestly, though, I’m pushing thirty now. Scouts want hotshot twenty-year-olds with bullet arms. I’ve got responsibilities—a daughter, a life here. I can’t chase the dream full-throttle anymore.”

A pang hits my chest at the weariness in his voice. “Juniper’s mother,” I begin tentatively, “she’s not in the picture?”

His jaw tightens. “No. She left when Juniper was still tiny. Didn’t want the ‘burden,’ I guess.” There’s a flash of anger, then sadness, in his expression. “Truth is, after the shock wore off, I realized we’d be better off. Juniper doesn’t even remember her.”

I reach across the table, resting my hand on his. My heart thuds harder when he turns his palm over and links our fingers. The warmth of his skin is dizzying. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, hoping he hears the sincerity in my voice. “That must’ve been a lot to handle.”

He clears his throat, giving my hand a small squeeze. “It was. But I had Hattie and a few friends who helped. And Juniper… she’s everything. Couldn’t imagine life without her.”

The tenderness in his voice makes my chest ache with something I can’t name—admiration, empathy, maybe longing. I slip my hand free eventually, scared of how my pulse ratchets up with every lingering touch. Yet I miss the contact the moment it’s gone.

We finish dinner, both of us a little quieter, caught up in the feelings swirling between us. When he offers me a glass of wine, I know it’s a bad idea, but I’m already breathless around him without any extra help from alcohol. Yet I agree, because the thought of losing even a minute of this strange, intense closeness feels impossible.

Soon, we’re out on his back porch, a single bulb casting warm light on the small swing. A breeze carries the faint smell of ocean salt, and the sky is colored in shades of deep blue and indigo. We sink onto the swing, the wooden boards creaking as we sway. Our knees brush, a fleeting contact that sends sparks through my body.

He hands me my wine, and we clink glasses lightly. I sip, grateful for something to do with my hands. The silence that settles over us is thick with tension, and neither of us is willing to break it just yet. Finally, Ripley exhales, setting his glass down on the little side table.

“Kali,” he says, turning toward me. His voice is husky, laced with concern. “Look, about last night at Starlight Pi’s… I could tell something was up.”

My heart clenches. Am I really going to tell him? My pride wants me to shrug it off, but I know this moment is too real to hide. “I overheard what you said to those women,” I admit quietly. “When you told them you weren’t looking for anything special and that Juniper takes all your attention. I guess I thought…” My throat tightens, and I have to force the words out. “I thought maybe I was just making a fool of myself, imagining there was something… more … between us.”

His brows furrow. The porch swing creaks as he scoots closer, the heat of his body radiating against my side. “You’re not a fool,” he says firmly. “And I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I was just trying to get them off my back without being a jerk. After everything with Juniper’s mom, the last thing I want is meaningless flirtation. But that doesn’t mean…” He trails off, searching my face. “That doesn’t mean I’m not open to a real connection.”

The knot in my chest loosens, relief mingling with a heady rush of desire. His gaze drops to my lips, and I swallow hard, a wave of heat coursing through me. “So… I overreacted?”

He lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly against my jaw. My entire body tingles at the touch. “Not overreacted. You just didn’t know. Maybe I should’ve found a better way to say it.”

I part my lips to respond, but no words come. My heart is hammering too loudly in my ears. The space between us feels charged, like if we so much as lean in, we’ll ignite. Before I can second-guess myself, I tilt my chin up, letting the quiet longing in my eyes speak for me.

Ripley moves first, bridging the last bit of distance with agonizing slowness. His lips press against mine, a gentle, tentative kiss that has me inhaling sharply. My hand trembles, but I lift it to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The warm, solid feel of him against my palm sends my thoughts into a hazy spin.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his free hand along my waist, pulling me closer. The swing rocks with our movement, and I can’t help a soft gasp. God, he tastes like wine and something purely him—something I want more of. Heat pools low in my belly, and I angle my body toward him, our legs tangling in the small space of the swing.

A low groan rumbles in his throat as he grips my hip, fingertips pressing into the thin fabric of my dress. My skin burns with every point of contact. We break apart only to catch our breath, foreheads touching. The night air feels electric, thick with the promise of something neither of us can deny any longer.

“Kali,” he breathes, his gaze searching mine with a kind of reverent awe. “I don’t… I don’t want to push you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel this.” He lightly trails his thumb over my lower lip, and my heart just about stops.

“I feel it too,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, letting my fingers toy with the hair at his nape. A wave of heady warmth rushes through me at the realization that this is really happening—no more dancing around it.

We kiss again, slower this time but just as intense, exploring each other with more confidence. Each brush of his lips sends a cascade of tingles down my spine, and I cling to him, drowning in the headiness of it all. My pulse thunders, my thoughts scattered. All I know is I want more—more closeness, more honesty, more him.

Eventually, we break apart, breathing hard, and he presses his forehead to mine. “Damn,” he mutters, eyes shining. “You have no idea how long I’ve?—”

“Me too,” I admit, a soft laugh escaping. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

He chuckles, the tension in his posture melting into something easier. “Stay for a while?” he murmurs, voice rough, fingertips tracing circles on my waist through my dress. “We can just talk. Or not talk. Whatever you want.”

I swallow, catching my breath. Every fiber of me screams yes. But a flicker of apprehension still lingers—fear of jumping in too fast, of complicating my carefully constructed life. But I want him. The realization is a hot, insistent pulse, harder to ignore than any rational worry.

I manage a small nod. “Yeah,” I whisper, letting my hand slide over his shoulder to rest on his chest again. “I’d like that.”

Relief sweeps across his face, and he kisses me once more, a sweet, lingering sweep of lips that reassures me. Then he tugs me closer, tucking me against his side on the old porch swing, both of us exhaling as we settle. It’s such a simple moment—a quiet summer night, the creak of wood, and two people finding their way to each other.