Page 53 of By the Book

“That was… passionate,” Wes points out once he’s gone.

“Aren’t you upset about that news too?”

“Sure, I don’t want him to be recalled. I just didn’t know you were so concerned about him.”

“If he gets recalled because I withheld evidence…”

“He won’t.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. It’s true, I would feel guilty. But again, this angle is easier to explain to my too observant brother. Because he’s right, my responsewaspassionate, like someone in love.

11 years ago

Ivy

“V, dinner!”

I bound downstairs, my stomach growling. Turning the corner into the kitchen, I find Wes, Hayden, and Tripp standing at the kitchen island with three oversized cardboard boxes before them.

“Did Mom order this before they left?”

“No, I ordered,” Wes says through a mouthful of pizza. “I’m capable of taking care of us.” He flips the lid open once again and pushes it my way. Peering into the box, my nose scrunches in disgust.

“Is this the only kind you ordered?”

“Yeah, why?” He takes out a stack of plates, grabbing the top one and piling three slices from the next box onto it.

“It’s drowning in olives,” I mutter. “Did you order extra of them?”

“Yeah, that’s the best part. What’s with you?”

“Ivy doesn’t like olives,” Tripp says plainly, leaning forward onto the island. He says it like it’s common knowledge my brother should know. And my brother should. But the fact that Tripp knows it causes a flutter to erupt in my stomach.

My brother turns to him. “Since when?”

“Always, I’m assuming,” Tripp snorts, looking at me for confirmation.

I nod, sinking down on a bar stool.

“Huh, sorry. Game’s going to be back on, let’s go guys.”

Hayden snags a plate, tossing some pizza on it and shooting me an apologetic look before following my brother out of the room. Tripp starts to follow suit, grabbing a plate and placing two slices on it. But he doesn’t follow them out. He sits down on a stool beside me and begins plucking olives off the pizza.

“I wasn’t paying attention when he ordered,” he says after a minute. “But if this isn’t okay, I can run out and grab you some food.” He now has a small mountain of olives off to the side of the plate. Satisfied, he nudges the slices towards me.

“No need,” I whisper. “This is perfect.”

“Tripp!” Wes calls from the living room. “Game’s on!”

He rises, grabbing pizza for himself and starting for the other room. “Just let me know,” Tripp tells me with a soft smile before turning and leaving the kitchen.

I look down at the pizza, feeling silly I made such a big deal that he felt obligated to do this. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tuck the sweet gesture away in my heart.

Chapter 22

Tripp

Howard’s home office is straight out of a country club. It’s all mahogany, leather, and dark evergreen, with a large double window stretching out behind a stately desk. I step through the French doors onto the green plaid rug, my feet sinking on the plush fabric. One wall is covered in floor to ceiling wood shelves, but the rest are a textured evergreen color. I cross in front of the shelves taking in the leather-bound books, most pertaining to the study of law. Behind me is a seating area of leather club chairs arranged in the center of the room. And beside them, a bar cart holds crystal glasses sparkling in the sun streaming through the windows.

“Tripp.” Howard enters the room, immediately crossing to the bar cart and lifting a decanter of dark, caramel liquid. Pouring two fingers into a glass, he holds it out to me. “My wife says you asked to speak with me in private. What’s on your mind, son?” He pours himself a glass as well and takes a seat in a club chair, motioning for me to do the same.

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