His words tug at my heartstrings. My eyes trail over his features, drawn tight with a quiet ache.
I see him. Every bit of him. I always have.
But admitting that might be too much.
“I’m sorry they don’t get it,” I say. “I see how hard you work, and how much you care, even when you act like you don’t.”
He exhales, the tension in his body loosening a bit. I bump his shoulder with mine.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” I add, half teasing.
He turns toward me, eyes soft and maybe a little grateful. Time stands still as he takes me in, the heaviness of his gaze making my stomach flutter in anticipation.
And for a second, I think we’re about to have a moment. A real one.
But then Megan runs over, flicking water at Tripp and giggling. “Come swim with me, Tripp!”
And just like that, our moment is gone.
He hesitates—just for a beat—before getting up and jogging after her toward the lake.
I stay rooted where I am, ignoring the sting in my chest as the can of Diet Coke turns warm in my hand.
And I tell myself itdidn’t mean anything.
That I imagined the way he looked at me.
The sun glints off the lake, and I shut the Tripp-shaped compartment in my brain.
Then, I put a smile on my face—even though it hurts.
Just a little.
Gettin' Dirty
Quinn
Casanova
I never got to return the favor. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to taste you.
Too bad Pops is right down the hall. I think he’d notice you in my room.
He never noticed all those other times I climbed in through your bedroom window...
Getting a little old to be climbing in bedroom windows, don’t youthink?
Not if it means I get to watch you come.
I’ll see you in the morning, Casanova.
I’ve been up since five. I made Pops an egg-white omelet and listened to him complain about the “rabbit food” I put in it like he’s never eaten a vegetable in his life. He’s not usually so surly, but he hates needing help.
He’s a terrible patient. I’d rather deal with the screeching howls of a Husky than listen to Pops bark at me for hovering.
So, I’m thankful I can get outside and give him a little space while Tripp and I work on the new enclosure for Winston. I fill two travel mugs with coffee and add cream and sugar to both as I go over the to-do list in my head.
I’m out on the porch the moment I hear the rattle of the gravel under tires. Tripp climbs out of his truck with an affable grin. “Hey, Quinnie. You ready to get dirty?”
