FIFTY-SIX
F
resh from a lovely hot shower after the best night’s sleep she’d had in ten days, Willow twisted her hair up in a damp bun and went downstairs to Tripp’s kitchen.
It was empty.
Rufus was nowhere to be seen either.He normally waited just outside the bathroom door and followed her around like a shadow.Maybe they were out for a walk together.
She spotted a note under the mug waiting for her by the full coffee pot.
Come out to the shop.
Ooh, she loved surprises.
She poured her coffee and headed outside into the warm, late summer sunshine.It felt good to be back into a bit of a routine.Felt fantastic to get her life back.
Almost two weeks had passed since Darren Lassiter had been killed in front of them.Rafe was overwhelmed with the investigation on top of all his other duties, and the FBI was involved.Rumors around town were that it was all linked to major gang or drug smuggling operations based on the mainland, but nothing had been proven yet.
She and Tripp were both doing way better, both individually and as a couple.She’d seen a big difference in him since the night they’d talked about Peyton, as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.He smiled more.Seemed far more at peace and excited about their future together.
She had decided not to tell her parents what Tripp had told her.The hypocrisy of lying to them by omission to save them more pain wasn’t lost on her.If anything, it was a reminder that she’d reacted too harshly with Tripp when she’d found out.
They were on solid ground now.With him next to her every night she was sleeping better.She had never felt so loved and had even been painting again.
A cool breeze danced on the air, birds singing in the trees as she made the short walk from the main house to the workshop.The bay doors were open.She walked in, caught her breath when she saw her finished painting displayed on her easel, encased by a gorgeous, carved wooden frame.
Touched by Tripp’s unexpected gift and in awe of his talent, she stepped closer to run her fingers along the intricate design.He’d painted it a rich, burnished gold that made the deep blues and purples of the piece pop while picking up on the colors from the glowing windows in the town.
When had he had time to do this?She’d only finished the piece the other night, throwing herself into her painting as part of her self-care regimen.
“Do you like it?”
She turned around, her heart swelling at the sight of Tripp standing there, his tall, powerful frame silhouetted against the open bay doors.“It’s incredible.When did you do this?It must have taken you dozens of hours.”
“I started working on it when I first saw the blank canvas at your place.I took note of the measurements when you weren’t looking.”
“It’s stunning.Like, museum quality.”She turned back to it and put a hand to her mouth, smiling like an idiot.“It makes it look like I’m a real artist.”
Tripp chuckled and came over to wrap his arms around her from behind.The bandage was off, his wound almost healed.“You are a real artist.A gifted one.”
“Stop.”But she had to admit, it looked damned professional.“The frame just sets it off perfectly.Oh, I love it so much.And you.”She spun to throw her arms around his neck.Breathe him in.“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.I’m happy you like it.”
She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his big, solid arms holding her to his hard chest.Her life had been full of chaos and terror these past few weeks, and through it all, Tripp had been her rock.
She’d tried to be his too, as much as he would allow it.“I can’t wait to hang it.Where should I put it?It’ll get pride of place.Over the fireplace in my living room?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d hang it over mine.”
The way he said it made her ease back to look up at him.His tone made it clear this was about far more than the painting.“What do you mean?”
