Page 77 of By the Book

As if sensing my thoughts, Ivy shifts in my arms and gently kisses my jaw. “What was that you said about going home?”

“You’re leaving? I figured you’d want to be the one taking him in and officially locking him up,” Millie says, looking between us.

“I have a feeling there are plenty of people that would happily volunteer to do that,” I point out, taking Ivy’s face in my hands. “But I have plans with my girl.”

“I really don’t want to be the one to kill the mood here. But this was technically my case. So, I have to ask, did you get her statement?” Millie replies.

“I’ll do that later,” I say quickly. I need to get her out of here. I need to get myself out of here and allow the emotions to come.

“And what about your statement?” she asks more gently, her eyes catching the way my jaw jumps at her question.

“I figured out it was him, went looking for him, and found him at the bookstore. He had her against her will, so I didn’t wait, I entered the shop and apprehended him. Good?”

“For now,” Millie agrees with a soft smile. “Have a nice night, you two.”

“Thanks, Millie,” Ivy murmurs, curling tighter against me. I nod to my deputy as I lead us out.

There is a rhythmic patter of rain lulling Ivy to sleep, her head on my chest. She spent the past hour promising that she was fine, and based on the steady rise and fall of her breathing, I’m tempted to believe her.

“You know,” she murmurs. “When Wes came home talking about his latest adventure, I was sure he was living out his dreams and I wasn’t. I felt all the doubt rush back. But tonight, I could have lost everything.”

A suffocating feeling overcomes me. She could have lost everything, meaning her life. A world without Ivy is inconceivable. And she might be fine, but I am far from being over the events of tonight. I focus on the feeling of her body against mine. Her flowery scent. Her sweet, tired voice.

“Do you still feel like you ran from your dreams?” I ask carefully.

“I realized, what I’ve been doing all along was running towards them, instead,” she replies with certainty. “I love this town and my own little corner of it at the store. It’s mine, and I wouldn’t trade it. And I love my family, and my friends. And… I love you, Tripp. And I don’t care if it’s too fast to say it, because I have loved you for some time. You are my dream.”

“Your dreamman?” I murmur. I feel pretty lucky that I pickedPractical Magicfor the drive-in that night.

A melodic little laugh escapes her. “Yes. You, Tripp Forester, are my dream man.”

“Good,” I say, kissing her forehead. The heaviness of the day lifts a bit with her words. “Because I love you, Ivy. I love you more than anything, I always have.”

She reaches up, her hand finding my face in the moonlight passing through the blinds. Taking hold of me, she pulls me down to kiss her. I greedily oblige, taking my time to savor her. Because finally, we can slow down. We have all the time in the world.

Ivy

It happened slowly, from that first day. The first time he smiled at me, genuine and kind. The first time he noticed my absence and looked for me in a crowd. The first time he hung back to ask me about the book I was reading, or offered to pick all the olives off the pizza when he found out Wes ordered something I didn’t like. And then one day, it was simply a part of me.

And now, in the early morning light, I can fully bask in the fact that we are in love. Crossing into the kitchen, I pull Tripp’s flannel back up on my shoulder and wrap my arms around him from behind. I have a feeling that each day, I’ll only continue to fall deeper and deeper in love with him.

I press a kiss between his shoulder blades and murmur, “I just got off the phone with my mom, I couldn’t stop my parents from rushing over here. I’m sorry, they insisted.”

“I’m glad they’re coming, they should want to see that you’re okay,” he says, turning to face me and placing a fresh mug of coffee into my hands.

“No mention of Wes though,” I add, my shoulders slumping, and the flannel slipping off one side once again.

“He’ll come around. Maybe he hasn’t heard yet,” Tripp replies gently.

“They’ve probably heard up in Fenbury by now.”

“He’ll come around.” He guides me to the back patio, overlooking the sea. The fog is cleared, the sun working its way through the thick gray clouds. “Nothing’s ever as bad in the morning light,” he reminds me, his lips tickling my ear.

“Well sure, when I get to spend the morning like this.”

A satisfyingly deep chuckle rumbles in Tripp’s chest before fading into the ocean breeze. And then the only remaining sound is that of the waves crashing on the rocks, until a doorbell chime carries through the house and out the open patio doors to reach us.

I look down at the article of clothing I’m wearing and turn to a shirtless Tripp. “Clothes first?”

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