Page 6 of By the Book

“What have I missed?”

I feel heat travel through me at the deep, familiar voice. His breath is warm on the shell of my ear, his presence at my back so close that I can feel the collar of his jacket catch in my hair. My insides turn molten, as is usual when Tripp is involved.

Turning, I glance upwards from the hint of a five o’clock shadow he manages to always maintain and meet hiscaptivatingly warm brown eyes. I’m acutely aware of the way the smile lines around his eyes deepen as we make eye contact and the way my friends have noticed his arrival and taken a few steps away, providing me a subtle amount of space with Tripp amongst the crowd. They know all too well how long I’ve harbored a crush on my brother’s best friend.

“Nothing, really. You’re lucky. You made it just in time for my dad to give his welcome remarks. You know he’s going to ask you what you thought of his speech,” I reply in a murmur.

“Why aren’t you up there with them?”

I only scoff in response. Tripp’s question wasn’t serious. He’s found me ducking away in the corner of gatherings our whole lives. If only I could duck away from my feelings when he takes the time to find me.

“I brought you something,” Tripp whispers. Still standing behind me, he reaches around my shoulder and hands me a dainty, ballerina pink parcel. No one else has ever noticed my utter obsession with sea salt dark chocolates from La Petite Confiserie, a small shop an hour up the coast. Or, at the very least, no one else has ever gotten them for me. Tripp makes sure I have a box for any of my celebrations.

“What’s this for?” I ask, peeking inside the box. It’s not like the celebration is for me tonight. My mouth is already watering though, and I take out a square as he responds.

“They’re where I get the cigars for Wes, and I figured you’d like them.” He says it so casually, like this gesture isn’t achingly thoughtful. I slide the chocolate into my mouth and smile contently back at him.

We aren’t doing a very good job of listening to my father’s remarks. And before I know it, a round of “welcome home Wes” rises from the crowd.

“Tripp! You get the Davidoffs?” my brother asks as my family approaches. I take a step away from the sheriff, suddenlynervous about the lack of space between us. Wes hasn’t realized my eons-long crush yet, and I’m determined to keep it that way.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Tripp withdraws two cigars. Wes tilts his head in question, but our father smiles knowingly.

“Ah, a good sheriff through and through,” he says, taking the cigars from Tripp and handing one to Wes. My mother, Wes, and I exchange a confused look. With a chuckle, Dad explains. “It’s illegal for law enforcement to smoke tobacco products in Massachusetts.”

“No one would know,” Wes counters.

“Tripp isn’t that kind of boy,” Ruth pipes in.

Discussing Tripp’s upstanding character is doing strange things to my heart, a tightening feeling building in my chest. Suddenly, I’m fourteen again and my parents are holding an elaborate dinner for Tripp being named lacrosse captain. He’s always been charming and honorable, enough to give me false hope.

“I’ll still come with you,” Tripp reassures my brother. The three men make their way across the yard to the club chairs outside the carriage house.

Alone with my mother now, she tilts her head at the box of chocolates in my hand. “Where did you get those… what are they, candies?” she asks curiously. Of course, Ruth Taylor notices that I didn’t have these before she walked away earlier. She notices everything.

“Just chocolate.” I try to sound as casual as Tripp did when he gave them to me, holding the box out in offering to her.

“These look very nice,” she says, accepting one. Her gaze traveling over my shoulder, Mom motions for me to close the box. “Let me hide those; your friends will wipe out the box.” She takes the chocolates as I turn to find Poppy, Wren, and Stevie reappearing at my side.

“How happy are you that Wes is home?” Wren asks Mom.

“It’s just the best feeling, having all my kids here.Allof you, together and happy,” Mom says with a pat on Wren’s arm beside her. In my mom’s eyes, Wes and I aren’t her only kids. Our friends fall into that category too. “Oh, excuse me, some of Howard’s clients just arrived.”

We watch her elegant frame drift through the party, her dress floating delicately with each step. As soon as the crowd closes around her once again, Poppy throws an arm over my shoulder and points to the bar. There’s that glint in her eye that I’ve come to equally love and fear, never knowing what will come next.

“I say we snag a bottle or two and head to the carriage house,” she suggests.

“I second,” Wren nods.

Growing up, the four of us would have sleepovers in the carriage house. We’d make popcorn and dump way too many M&M’s in it, then rewatchCluelessand recite every line.

Now it’s a man cave. My brother’s home when he’s not abroad.

“Sorry, Wes has taken it over,” I inform them. “What about the garden?”

Making our way to the bar, Stevie, Wren, and I huddle to the side and watch Poppy reach over the bar and flash a brilliant smile to the bartender. I can’t make out what she’s saying, but the tilt of her lips makes it clear she’s flirting. She returns to us triumphantly with two bottles of champagne and a handful of flutes.

Off the far side of the house, a gravel path weaves through the hedges, lit with warm white string lights. Eventually, the hedges open to a small pond. Along the water’s edge are a pair of carved marble seats.

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