Page 62 of Ripple Effect

DAISY

The warm scentof Elio surrounds me, a mixture of spice and that earthy pine cologne he wears. The gentle flow of his breathing brushes the top of my head. I allow myself to sink into his embrace, the warmth of his chest pressed against my back.

But after five too-short minutes, it’s time to dispel the magic.

Wriggling out of his arms without waking him, I slip from the cocoon we created on his bed. I’m still wearing the same sundress from yesterday, which means I most definitely fell asleep on the couch last night. And though Elio is supposed to avoid heavy lifting, he evidently carried me back to his bedroom.

When he wakes up, that’ll earn him a slap on the wrist from me.

As I putz around, Bentley stirs from his spot at the foot of the bed, watching me with a sleepy gaze. I contemplate taking him downstairs for his morning potty break, but he seems content exactly where he is.

So, I grab the clothes I’d packed for the campus gym—a pair of compression shorts and a tank top with a built-in sports bra—and quickly pull them on. I’ll just do some warm-ups, light calisthenic training inside the apartment. That way, Elio and I can still carpool to classes if he’s feeling up for it.

With a soft click of the door behind me, I wander out of the bedroom and work up to a simple morning routine.

I start with a few poses to stretch, transitioning into dynamic exercises that will help strengthen my core for surfing. It’s been a while since I focused on training these muscles outside of working my board.

Before college, my life was a strict regimen of drills and exercises. I don’t like to brag, but I was a formidable force on the waves, particularly on the East Coast, even earning the title of Junior Champion at sixteen.

Underwater rock running, intensive paddle workouts, and countless hours on the board had been daily staples. My future seemed set on a path that could lead back to the pro circuit after college, a brief stint in the shimmering limelight before settling into my career.

But all those aspirations came to a head during my junior year of high school. A dislocated shoulder halted my training, I lost my sponsorship, and in that vulnerable moment, I realized how fleeting and fragile that dream really was.

Applying for colleges, I wanted distance from the world of surfing for a while, a fresh start.

Dayton was that escape for me, a place where my past felt more like a memory. And it helped that Logan was by my side through it all. But as time wore on, an undeniable emptiness crept in. I thought I was happy, content, but I was directionless, unanchored from my true passion.

And, in many ways, this realization is what prompted my transfer here to Coastal. Being closer to the water was essential, not just for the marine bio courses but to rediscover my connection with the ocean.

Now, I’m standing in the middle of Elio’s living room, a lifetime away from where I once was. But after everything, it just feels right.

From plank jacks to Russian twists, sweat beads on my forehead, my breathing becomes ragged, and every part of me burns with exertion. But it’s not too much longer before the floor beneath me vibrates with footsteps. I know it must be Elio finally waking up, but I’m too lost in a bridge pose to greet him.

That is, until a soft, throaty chuckle breaks my concentration.

Lifting my head, I find the man in question leaning against the wall, sleep-tousled hair, shirtless, his eyes raking over me with a heat that makes my stomach flutter.

“Morning,” he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and something else I can’t quite name.

“Morning, stranger,” I say as I roll to my feet, avoiding the urge to stare. I wasn’t lying when I told him he looked handsome like this. In fact, I think this might just be his best look yet. “Enjoying the show?”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Didn’t know my living room doubled as a personal gym. But I’m not complaining.”

“Well, now you know.” I wipe a thin line of sweat from my forehead. “You should try it sometime. Dr. Foster said yoga would be good for you.”

He cocks a petulant brow. “Oh, did he now? Must have missed that part.”

“It’s all in the notebook, El.” I playfully narrow my eyes. “But you know what’s also in the notebook? The fact that you’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting.”

“Think we’re good there.”

“You carried me into our—your—bed last night.”

He huffs a laugh. “Right, and I could do that in my sleep.”

“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy.”

He gives me a humorless snort, and I return it with a roll of my eyes. Then, doing my best to ignore the charged atmosphere, I breeze past him toward the bathroom, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible on my back.

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