Page 81 of Beyond the Stroke

Tripp’s an idiot.

Well, both things can be true.

But also, I have no other experience to disprove him. And I don’t want to make a fool of myself with Rory, so yeah, self-care it is.

I shake off the vivid mental image of Rory pressing me against the wall and dropping to his knees before it can finish playing out.

“That’s right, I don’t,” I say, a little too firmly.

“And if you hadn’t cut me off,” Rory adds, “I was about to say that I think Big Dill is hot. And sexy. And fucking hilarious.”

He casually brushes the rest of the fallen items off and places them back in my bag, as if we’re not standing in a storm of innuendo and tension. I clumsily wedge Big Dill between some clothes like I’m trying to hide a crime scene, and Rory zips the bag closed like a gentleman.

After all the erotic visuals dancing in my head, I’m ready to dive under a cold shower to cool down.

Rory reaches for the door handle, but then stops and turns back toward me.

“Welcome home, Wildflower,” he says, “I hope you and Big Dill will be very happy here. And Edgar, of course.”

Those blue eyes twinkle with mischief. It’s my favorite thing about them.

Dangerous,I remind myself.

But we agreed to the rules.

This is a marriage of convenience—nothing physical.

Just stick with Big Dill, he’ll take care of it.

Inside, Rory walks me through the mudroom and laundry area, then into the living room. When I catch the view from thesliding door in the dining room, something stirs in me. It’s like I’ve been here before.

With Edgar on my heels, I slide the door open and step outside. The moment my feet touch the path, I know exactly where we are. It’s one of my favorite spots to bring the dogs.

From here I can see the dock where Cal sits every day. I rush down the path to the beach, heart pounding. When I turn around and see the house—it hits me.

It’s the gray beach cottage with the yellow door.

The one I fell in love with that first week in Coral Cove.

The one I’ve sketched and painted over and over.

“Summer? You good?” Rory calls.

“I’m fine. Just looking at the water.” Which makes no sense because my back is to the ocean, but Rory doesn’t call me on it.

“You want the rest of the tour?” he asks, scooping Edgar into his arms.

“Sure.”

I follow him in a daze back into the house.

I can’t believe he lives here.

I can’t believeIlive here now.

“It’s not a big house,” he says as we walk through the kitchen and dining area. “But I had it updated a few years ago, and it’s home now.”

I nod, taking in the white oak floors, stone countertops, and soft beachy paint colors.

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