Page 163 of Beyond the Stroke

“So good.” Rory moans around his choco swirl roll like it came from a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Lucky you.”

I sit beside him and watch him chew, my chest tightening in a way I don’t entirely understand. It’s not about the snack cake. It’s about what it represents—everything I left behind. Everything I haven’t told him.

But he doesn’t know that. To him, it’s just something small and sweet. A comfort. And somehow that makes it easier. Or at least...bearable.

“You okay?” he asks, licking a crumb from his thumb.

“Yeah,” I lie softly. “I’m good.”

He leans in to nudge his shoulder against mine. “You sure? You’ve got that look. It’s like you’re painting something in your head.”

I smile at that. “Maybe I am.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, casually, “I hope you know you can tell me anything.”

I nod, but my throat’s too tight to answer. I’m not ready. Not yet. But I will be.

Just not today.

Instead, I watch as he polishes off the cake, grinning like he’s just won a prize, and I wonder how he’d look at me if he knew the truth. If he knew I grew up surrounded by those snack cakes. If he knew how many of them I threw away in silent protest.

But he doesn’t ask again. He just leans back on the towel, sunglasses tipped down his nose, sun glowing across his bare chest. He looks like home. And for now, I’ll let myself be happy here.

forty-five

. . .

RORY

I miss your face

Summer

I miss your cock

Fuck, Wildflower. I’m going to have a boner for the press conference

Summer

Oops

Are you painting?

Summer

Yes! I’m working on my swimmer today. I might be able to finish it.

I snap a selfie and send it to her.

In case you need it for inspiration.

Summer

Gee, thanks

I’ve got to get in there.

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