Page 82 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Good plan.” Inhaling a steadying breath, she considered the best way to introduce herself to people who hadn’t seen her since childhood. “What if they don’t recognize me? What if they don’t care?”

“It’s doubtful your appearance has changed to the point they won’t, and if they don’t care, fuck them. You’ll ask questions, demand answers, and say what you need to. The rest is, as they say, a bow on top.”

“Fitting, considering Christmas is next week.”

“I thought so,” he quipped with a wink.

“Your resemblance to Hermes is pronounced when you do that.”

Tripp dropped her hand. “That’s it. I’m out.”

Laughing, she chased him as he dodged to and fro.

“I’m sorry, you beautiful demigod!” she called out, too out of breath to play anymore. “I didn’t mean it and won’t ever repeat it. You’re way hotter than Hermes.”

Tripp pretended to consider her apology, then shrugged. “You’re forgiven.”

He caught her around the waist with one of those steely bands he called arms, swung her in an arch, and deposited her in the sand facing the ocean before kissing her.

“Dip your toes in the water, flitter-mouse. Recharge.”

“Yesterday, I worried if we knew each other well enough. Now, I fear you know me too well.”

“I merely see you as you are.”

“A hot mess?”

He laughed. “A little of that, but mostly as a woman trying to save her hometown and the people who have come to mean a lot to her.”

“I love you so much,” she said, fierce and proud she’d come far enough to voice her feelings. “So damned much.”

His grin practically melted her clothes right off.

“Okay, new plan.” She gripped his hands in hers and placed them on her butt. “We go back to your apartment and play ‘Pass me the salami.’”

His unrestrained laughter warmed her heart.

And she opened her mouth to tell him when a voice from behind him said, “I hate to break up a poignant moment such as this, but?—”

Elara screamed, sending Tripp over the cliff to hilarity. He hugged his stomach and brayed like a jackass. Having enough of his laughter at her expense, she hooked a leg behind his and shoved him. His tumble onto the sand didn’t shut him up, and she shot the newcomer an exasperated glance.

“I’m sorry. He’s—” Shock closed her throat.

“Hello, Elara,” her father said with a broad, loving smile. Beside him was her mother, looking as serene and beautiful as ever.

A golden couple, with their stunning good looks and light, shining eyes.

For the briefest of moments, she hated them. Never had she allowed herself to feel such an ugly emotion, and she’d been the voice of reason during Payton’s fiery rants. But seeing them standing there, without a care in the world and gazing upon her like they had a right to be proud as punch, helped her to understand her sister’s constant rage.

She’d drown them in the ocean behind her if she didn’t have a town to save and cursed boots to get the hell off her feet.

“Water, love,” Tripp said, capturing her hand and tugging her away. “Recharge and center yourself, or this will end badly.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The acidic purple air swirling around you.”

She glanced up. “Remind me to kick Hermes in the balls before I take off these boots. Maybe the pointy end will hurt that shitbag.”

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