Until the World Stops - L.A. Witt Page 0,61

And the right rock.”

“So says everyone who can skip rocks like it’s nothing.”

He just laughed.

We walked for a while, until the truck was out of sight and it was just the two of us on this long stretch of rocky sand. We found a fallen tree that was big enough for both of us to sit down, and for a while, we just stared out at the water. Since the beach was tucked into this protected inlet, there wasn’t much wind, so the surface alternated between glass-smooth and gently rippled. Some seagulls and crows came and went.

I toed off my sandals and pressed my bare feet into the cool, damp sand. Tristan did the same. After a while, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I couldn’t help sighing as I melted against him. I rested my hand on his thigh, and for the longest time, we just sat like that. I had no idea what was going through his mind, but I was enjoying the change of scenery, being out of the house for a change, and also the comfortable warmth of our bodies pressed together.

I’d been all about hookups for so long, I’d forgotten about this kind of intimacy. Not just lying in bed after sex or sleeping next to each other, but touching just for the hell of it. Touching for affection.

Thank God for Tristan.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. That was becoming a mantra these days, and I didn’t apologize for it. The world had changed, and my world had left me hungry for everything I was getting in spades from Tristan. I didn’t even want to imagine how I’d get through all this without him. Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

The very recent past felt like years ago. It hadn’t been all that long since Tinder hookups and sit-down restaurants were a thing, but they felt as far in my history as learner’s permits and prom dates.

And somewhere in that weird window of time, everything had changed between me and Tristan. The way we’d avoided each other, glared at each other, resented each other—had that really been just a few weeks ago? Because it seemed like years ago. Or like something I’d imagined.

It reminded me a little of hindsight after a bad breakup, only in reverse. When the split was catastrophic, and I wondered what the hell I’d ever seen in that person, and the good times we’d had seemed so far away that I couldn’t help thinking I’d hallucinated them. With Tristan, I had to squint really hard to pull the memories into focus of the time we’d disliked each other. I knew it had happened. I knew it hadn’t been all that long ago. It just felt like some distant memory that had been fading for years.

We sat in silence for a long, long time, and I just enjoyed the stillness and the gentle sounds of the surf and the comfortable weight of Tristan’s arm around my shoulders.

Eventually, he said, “You think Tilly gets tired of us being home all the time?”

I laughed. “She’s used to you being home.”

“Well yeah, but I wasn’t home all the time before things shut down.”

“Hmm, true.” Chuckling, I sat up. “I don’t know. I think she likes getting constant attention.”

“And the food on demand.”

“Yeah, she’s got a pretty sweet deal. I mean, when she’s not storming out because she’s disgusted that we’re fooling around again.”

Tristan squirmed beside me, the motion so subtle I wouldn’t have noticed if we hadn’t been sitting so close. “She does kind of get offended by that, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.” I turned to him, grinning. “I think she’ll get over it, though.”

He grinned too, and the way his eyes flicked to my lips made my heart skip. I thought he’d make another comment about our ridiculous cat, but then he leaned in a little, and even I forgot what we’d been talking about.

I leaned in too. For a moment, we both hesitated, hovering in that gray area between getting close and meaning business.

Then, without a word, without making a sound at all, Tristan lifted my chin and kissed me.

Oh God. Now this was perfect. I twisted toward him and curved my hand behind his neck, and we both deepened the kiss. Holy fuck, I loved how he kissed. The first time, I’d thought it was just because I was breaking a frustrating dry spell, but no, as time had gone on, it had become plainly obvious that Tristan’s kiss was addictive in its own