Page 77 of Ripple Effect

29

ELIO

When I pullup to Daisy’s apartment on Friday, Bentley’s restless energy mirrors my own. This night is the culmination of our long week: a mix of Daisy’s early morning surfs, followed by lazy strolls along the shoreline.

It’s been a good, stable routine—one that gives us a chance to connect before our classes.

But we’ve also been tiptoeing around more pertinent topics. Namely, my work as Everett. Daisy wanted to keep things simple, carefree, at least for a few days while we adjusted to being together. And I have no issues following her lead.

Tonight, though, it may finally be time to stop pushing the subject aside.

The door swings open before I even knock, and Daisy appears, the golden highlights in her hair catching the evening sun. She’s as stunning as ever.

“There she is,” I say, swooping in to press my lips to hers. My hand brackets her waist, the other cradling the back of her neck while I deepen the kiss. As I pull away, my fingers brush over her sternum and strum lightly along the column of her throat.

She sucks in a sharp breath, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Hi,” she whispers, cheeks stained a rosy hue.

“Hi,” I echo, a grin etched on my lips. One of my hands finds a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear while I lean down, burying my face into the crook of her neck. “Strawberries, again.”

She giggles softly. “I had a glass of wine before you came.”

“I always love the way you smell.”

She bites her lip as I pull back, cheeks flushing, eyes sparkling. “Mm, thank you.”

“You’re really fuckin’ pretty, you know that?”

“Same goes for you,” she murmurs. And then, bending down to give Bentley a loving rub, she adds, “And you too, buddy.” I interlace our fingers as she beckons us both inside. “Come on, I have dinner on the stove. Gracie’s here, too. And, um, another new friend of ours.”

Before I can ask who she means, the scent hits me—earthy mushrooms, the tang of garlic, and a faint hint of simmering wine. I stop in my tracks. Memories surge forward, of Ma’s kitchen, of laughter and shared stories around the dining table, of a time far less complicated than now. “Is that—”

“Your mom’s risotto?” she interrupts, a touch of mischief in her gaze. “Yeah, it is.”

“How did you even ...?”

“Well, I texted Harper for the recipe. We’ve been talking here and there since last weekend. Anyway, she got the details from your older sister a long time ago, and so, here we are.”

A genuine smile tugs at my lips. “You know this is one of Bentley’s favorites, too, right? He used to sit under the family table, waiting for our youngest to hand over the mushrooms.”

She chuckles. “I did hear something about that, actually.”

Emotion tightens my throat. “This is really fucking cool of you, Daze.”

As we move further into the room, a familiar face greets me, and I’m floored by the sight. It’s my sister Taylor, standing right there in the middle of Daisy’s living room.

Bentley, not much for biding his time, immediately gravitates toward her, wagging his tail in sheer joy. Taylor kneels to embrace him, eyes shimmering with a fresh set of happy tears.

“I missed you so much,” she murmurs to him, voice thick. Her gaze shifts to me then, a hesitance in her eyes. “Sorry, El. I didn’t want to intrude, but Daisy insisted.”

Over the past week, I’ve been sharing a little bit more about my family with Daisy. I told her that Taylor and I had always been the closest of my siblings. That she was soft with me growing up—caring and nurturing—whereas our brother played more of a stern role.

I told her that Taylor raised Bentley from just eight weeks old but had to part ways with him last year due to her partner’s allergies. How she asked me of all people for help, and how it was one of the best damn things to ever happen to me.

And despite me feeling like Bentley is mine and I’m his, there will always be a part of him that belongs with my sister.

I know that she’s been busy lately, but I also know that the transition has been rough on her. She hasn’t been able to see Bentley as much as she’d like. The fact that Daisy picked up on that and carried through with this sneaky plan to reunite them ... well, it’s a fucking gift in and of itself.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’re here,” I tell Taylor. “It’s been a while.”

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