Page 132 of Wallflower
“Okay, then I’d prefer sneakers since we have to walk back, and probably have to walk some more when we get to wherever we’re going.”
His mouth shifts, as he reaches for a box. He pulls his hand back, then reaches for a different one.
“Black is my favourite colour,” I whisper, hoping to make his decision easier.
“I know. They’re all black.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Slip-on or laces? And how many laces? Do you want lace up ones you can slip on?”
“Ripley…” I touch his cheek, turning it my way. “Something comfortable, easy on and easy off. Good with socks or without.”
He slightly nods, turning back as his eyes zip around the closet, landing on a box. He gently slides it out from beneath three others, trying not to topple the stack. Silently, he hands it to me.
The logo on the box matches the one on both our pants, and I fight the smile pulling at my cheeks. “Do these match yours as well?”
“No,” he jokes. “Well… actually…”
“Jesus,” I huff, ribbing him.
“What do you consider matching? They aren’t the same colour, but they are the same brand as mine. I just know they’re comfortable, which is why I bought them, it’s not that I want you to match meallthe time.” I drop the box, turning to him. “I—“ he starts, but I cut him off when I press my lips to his. It’s a single moment, a flicker of time in the grand scheme of things, but I feel his tension dissolve.
“I love them, thank you.”
“You haven’t even seen them.”
“I don’t need to.”
The rhythmic crashing of the waves follow us despite the distance we put between us and Rip’s place, his modern, two-story beach house disappearing into the fog at our backs. Even if it’s not ‘on the sand’, the view of the ocean is spectacular from the balcony in the morning, and because of the distance, the bustling sounds of families on the beach is nothing but a far away murmur swallowed up by the water’s ebb and flow.
The breeze is blowing, rustling the leaves of the palm trees. It’s still night as he leads me down a deserted road, duffle bag slung across his back, lit only by the light of the descending moon and stars.
Dipping into a darkened alley, he tugs me along, a panty-melting grin upon his face. Rip moves through the shadows with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times or more, and it warms my heart to know he’s including me in something he cherishes so much.
He swings the gate open at the end of the lane without a care in the world. Breathing in deep as the brine of the ocean hits us square in the chest with its full magnitude.
I stop, releasing his hand. He shoots a concerned glance over his shoulder. Probably wondering if it was wrong to bring me here, given the shark attack and whatnot. But, no.
“This is perfect.”
Immediately, I kick off the shoes he had such a fit over, carrying them with me as I race to the shoreline. Ripley’s hot on my tail, calling after me, but I can barely hear him as the ocean’s irresistible pull takes hold. I drop the shoes, and my pants, then take off, diving into the waves.
He’s yelling my name when I breach the surface, worried eyes darting through the darkness. His now-shirtless form backlit by the singular streetlight illuminating the far off parking lot, slowly wading into the choppy water toward me.
I dip below the surface, swimming his way. When I approach, I grab his ankle. His muffled shriek causes me to break thesurface, so I don’t inhale a lungful of water from laughing, as he takes a few rapid, unsteady steps back to the sand.
“You asshole,” he growls. It’s impossible not to laugh at the turn of events.
“What are you scared of? Nothing’s going to grab you like that in the ocean.” I get to my feet, brushing the salty water from my face.
“You don’t know that,” he retorts and I quirk my brow. “It could’ve been an eel, an octopus, an evil, man-eating mermaid.”
“A siren,” I interject. Quickly thinking to myself that if he believes in the mysterious and unexplainable, he just got a whole lot more perfect.
“Yeah, that. Or a sea serpent, or a kraken.”
“In the shallows?”
