Until Autumn Falls

978-1-62778-189-3

Chapter One

Tripp Thurgood watched as his latest dating fiasco lingered near the bar, flirted with a man with dark hair similar to his, and cast him a glance over her shoulder. He remained stoic, neither giving nor denying permission. Angela took his passivity as permission, linked her arm through the stranger’s, and left the sports bar.

Left Tripp with the bill for her pretzel and cheese sauce appetizer, her diet soda, and her southwest chicken salad. Left him sitting in the busy restaurant, where it seemed couples dominated the crowd.

Groups of friends usually preferred Lucy’s diner, as it was quieter, or their own homes as they planned girls’ nights and poker clubs. Tripp cursed himself for canceling his usual Friday night poker game with his friends as he lifted his soda to his lips. He suddenly needed something a lot stronger and flagged down his waiter so he could order a real drink.

He should’ve known better than to get involved with an out-of-towner. Angela was in Redwood Bay as they celebrated the town’s Summerfest. The event filled the park with food vendors, boutique shops, and tourists. Angela sold jewelry she made in her sister’s apartment in Portland, five hours north of Tripp’s coastal city.

He should’ve known better—and he did. But he felt like he’d gone through all the potential women to date in Redwood Bay. At this point, to find someone to share his life with, his options had narrowed. He could move somewhere else, or join one of those online dating websites, or…well, he had those two options, neither of which he liked.

Can’t move, he muttered to himself as a giggling brunette clung to a man and settled at the table next to his. He nodded to Shawn Loveland, a real estate agent in Redwood Bay, and tore his gaze from the couple.

Tripp had never minded his bachelor status. He owned his home on the eastern edge of the town, and he’d spent years pouring time and money and heart and soul into Newton’s Nautical Adventures, the fishing company he adored.

In fact, Tripp didn’t like anything half as much as he enjoyed fishing, except maybe building something out of wood. He filled his winters with construction and his summers with deep sea fishing expeditions, supplying the restaurants in town with seafood, and anything else someone would pay him to do with his boats.

Here you go, man. The waiter set the dark-glass bottle of beer on the table in front of Tripp, along with an opener.

Thanks. Tripp wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, but he made no move to uncap it. The iciness of the glass sank into his skin, and Tripp pulled his hand away. He’d ordered the appetizer nachos and eaten most of them, but he didn’t trust himself to drink just one beer.

He ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fiddled with the bottle as the loud atmosphere around him seemed to fade into nothing. He felt trapped inside a bubble. A bubble people could see through but couldn’t quite penetrate.

His food arrived moments before a woman planted herself next to his table. You here alone?

He glanced up at Hilary Finnegan, every cell in his body firing as he took in her little black dress. The fabric hugged the woman’s curves and fell just above her kneecaps. She’d curled her streaked, multicolored hair and let it fall over her bare shoulders, a look he rarely saw on the fishmonger. She wore a striped scarf in yellow, teal, and coral around her neck, the ends drifting across her body on the left.

Tripp had never seen Hilary go without a scarf or a turtleneck. As it was, he preferred the tight dress and tied scarf over her usual jeans and sweater. His eyes traveled to her feet to find a pair of bright teal sandals instead of her regular running shoes.

Well? she asked. Are you alone?

Yeah. Tripp pushed the beer bottle toward the edge of the table away from Hilary. You? He didn’t see Hilary socially, not that he didn’t want to. He simply didn’t know how to talk to the woman. She seemed made of iron, yet also as weak as a feather. There was something oddly alluring about her while at the same time he sensed she had something in her past holding her back.

Or maybe he was just intimidated by her. Since her arrival in Redwood Bay two years ago, she’d gotten her business off the ground, joined the community, and become an essential part of Redwood Bay’s economy.

Yeah, I’m alone, she said.

Want to sit down? He indicated the chair opposite him.

I guess. She made it sound like sitting at a table with him would take every ounce of her patience. What happened to that woman you came in with?

Tripp’s face burned with embarrassment. She had to leave.

Yeah, my date decided he had to go too. She leaned her elbows on the table and studied him. Or rather, he never showed up. She shrugged one sexy shoulder, drawing Tripp’s attention there.

To distract himself, he picked up a French fry. So you ate already?

Yeah.

Tripp wanted to stuff the entire quarter-pound burger in his mouth. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say to Hilary? He liked her—had considered asking her out several times over the past several months—and they had many common interests. For some reason, though, he didn’t want to talk about fish with Hilary.

Her hazel eyes watched him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he detected an edge of interest in her gaze.

Have you been over to Summerfest yet? he asked.

Not yet.

Maybe you want to wander over that way with me. He focused on his food so he wouldn’t have to look at her. They’re supposed to have fried ice cream at one of the booths. I want to try it.

All the noise that had been held at bay by the bubble came rushing at him. He couldn’t hear the one voice he wanted to, so he took a big bite of his burger and glanced up.

Fried ice cream? Hilary asked.

Tripp shrugged as he chewed.

I’ve had it, she said. It’s good.

He swallowed. You’ve had it? Here?

No, in Miami.

You used to live there, right?

She looked to her right, out into the crowd, and crossed her legs. I was born and raised there.

Is your family still there? Tripp felt nothing but relief that he’d finally gotten the dam off his tongue when it came to Hilary. Even though they’d been working in the town’s co-op together, he’d never felt like he’d gotten past breaking the ice with her.

Yes.

How—?

Are you going to ask me questions all night? She folded her arms and the scarf on her neck shifted the teensiest bit. Tripp caught a glimpse of angry, red skin just under the knot before he yanked his eyes back to Hilary’s.

Not if you don’t want me to.

I don’t want you to.

Tripp swallowed, his curiosity over Hilary bubbling toward another question. He’d known her for two years; he considered her a trusted acquaintance. It wasn’t until his cousin Jared had asked if there was something between Tripp and Hilary that Tripp had seriously considered asking her out. In fact, she was all he’d thought about for months.

Okay, he said. Tell me something we can talk about then. He took a drink of his soda. And not the co-op.

Hilary’s lips clamped shut. Her eyes searched his, and Tripp smiled at her. Not that easy, huh?

Where’s your family?

My sister’s here, he said. My cousins. My parents moved to Seattle several years ago.

Seattle. Hilary’s expression soured and a distinct line of disapproval appeared between her eyes.

They own a convenience store, he said with a chuckle. They aren’t fishing and sending their catch down here.

Hilary’s eyes flamed, and then she dissolved into laughter. I’m sure they’re not.

So, if I can’t ask you about your family, maybe you’ll tell me how you came to be a fishmonger.

Her features settled back into soberness.

Hey, Tripp said with a smile. It wasn’t a question.

Her straight white teeth flashed as she grinned. No, it wasn’t. Her fingers played with the ends of her scarf. When I left Miami, I needed something to do, and I figured I could sell fish as easily as anything else.

You ever caught a fish?

By the way Hilary’s shoulders stiffened, Tripp knew she hadn’t. I can teach you how to fish, he said casually, like he didn’t care if she accepted his offer or not. Then you could catch your own and make more money.

I buy from you right now.

Right. Think if you caught your own fish. Then you wouldn’t have to pay me.

But I’d have to get up at three a.m. and go fishing.

Tripp finished his burger and sat back in his chair. There’s nothing as amazing as the ocean under the moonlight.

Oh, I believe it. I just happen to like sleeping.

Tripp downed the last of his soda, his beer forgotten, and wiped his mouth with his napkin to make sure he didn’t have a greasy beard. So are you too tired to wander the Summerfest in search of that ice cream?

Half a smile curved her lips. I’m never too tired for ice cream.

Tripp signaled for the bill and managed to make small talk about the fest and upcoming summer activities while his waiter ran his debit card. He stood and gestured for Hilary to go in front of him to exit the sports bar. He enjoyed the view from the back, wondering why he’d ever been worried about carrying on a conversation with Hilary.

The summer evening breeze tousled his hair as they walked to the park. He kept his hands deep in his pockets as his thoughts turned new corners and explored exciting possibilities with Hilary.

So it’s just you and Polly? she asked.

Yep.

Who’s older?

I am. Tripp loved the huge redwoods surrounding the park, and he took a measure of comfort from them as he and Hilary entered the park. My mother wanted more kids, but I think Polly cured her of that. He laughed. She was a wild child.

I like Polly. Hilary nudged him with her elbow. You know she’s one of my best friends, right?

Oh, I like her too. She just has a unique view on life.

Her flower arrangements are gorgeous.

She has a way with flowers, that’s for sure. Tripp didn’t want to talk about Polly—or himself. He wanted to learn more about Hilary. She hadn’t denied learning how to fish outright, but her distaste had been evident.

So…you ever been married? Hilary’s voice carried a false note of nonchalance, and the question shot surprise through Tripp.

No. He cut her a glance to judge whether he could ask a question without incurring her wrath. She seemed calm enough, so he took a chance. What about you?

Almost. Her voice nearly got lost in the wind before it reached his ears. Her hands went automatically to her scarf, and Tripp felt her sadness in every muscle in his body.

I see the ice cream, he announced, spying the booth up ahead. He stepped ahead of her and turned around so he was walking backward. Are you ready?

She took an extra-large step and pushed her palm into his chest. I’ve had fried ice cream before. It’s you who should be preparing yourself.

He chuckled as he fell back, spun, and joined her at her side. Oh, I’m prepared, Hil. I just hope it doesn’t drip into my beard. He stroked his hand down the sides of his chin, pleased when she catalogued the movement and gave him one of her sexy grins.

Chapter Two

Hilary wasn’t sure if obsessive staring counted as flirting or not, but she was leaning toward not. And still, she couldn’t seem to look away from Tripp. She’d found him attractive since the first day she’d met him, three summers ago. She’d been fresh out of a rental car and ready to stop running. He’d been the first friendly face she’d seen in weeks—and she’d never forgotten that.

But Tripp was quiet, and though he’d always been quick with a wave and a nod hello, he’d kept to his end of the wharf while she stuck to hers. She knew the man loved boats, and fishing, and building furniture. She’d heard about the Friday night poker games at his house. She admired his drive to keep Redwood Bay businesses from getting smothered by the big city corporations.

And when she’d seen that woman abandon him in the sports bar, she couldn’t just leave him sitting there by himself, that unopened bottle of beer obviously symbolic of something in his life. What, Hilary didn’t know. What, Hilary wanted to find out.

She’d known on an intellectual level that she’d have to talk to him to get to know him better. But her emotions hadn’t quite comprehended the cost of talking to him, of telling him about herself.

Two, please, Tripp said, drawing Hilary out of her own mind. She finally felt ready to move past the emotional scars on her heart—and the physical ones she covered with high collars and scarves—and her first choice in a man was Tripp Thurgood.

So why she’d agreed to go out with Eli Ence, she wasn’t sure. Because he’d asked, and he’d always been nice to her, and she didn’t have anyone else inviting her to dinner on a Friday night. Now, though, she wished she’d said no. Then she wouldn’t have been stood up.

She’d waited for an hour, sipping lemon water, before she’d headed for the exit. She’d been planning to walk for a while, until her turquoise sandals became torture devices, but then she’d seen Tripp and she hadn’t thought. Only acted.

One for you. He handed her a cardboard tray holding a golden fried ball of ice cream.

He eyed his. This has cornflakes on it?

That’s the outside breading. She pinched her ice cream between her fingers and lifted it to her lips. She didn’t hold back as she took a large bite, the crunching sound of her teeth against the fried cornflakes echoing through the air. Mm.

He watched her with an edge of laughter in his eyes. So you just go all-in. Okay. He copied her, a drip of vanilla ice cream falling on his beard.

Without thinking, Hilary reached out and wiped his face with her pointer finger, a smile blooming on her face. It’s good, right?

He moaned, swallowed, and wiped his ice cream ball through the caramel sauce in the bottom of the cardboard tray. So good. I’m coming back tomorrow night. He glanced around as he took another bite. How long does this event last?

Hilary giggled. One more week, ice cream hog.

He grinned at her, scooped up another dollop of caramel sauce, and popped another bite into his mouth.

She wandered with him through the booths, the conversation casual. He didn’t ask her about her family, or Miami, or anything she didn’t want to tell him. She kept the topics on superficial things like her favorite foods, a hobby or two, and, of course, fish.

Did you drive? he asked as dusk finally started to stain the sky.

No. I spent the afternoon with Polly before this. She picked me up. Feeling brave and slightly drunk from all the sugar and the sound of Tripp’s bass voice, she slid her arm through his. Drive me home?

Sure. His voice sounded a bit strangled, and Hilary ducked her head to hide her smile.

They’d just started to make their way out of the park when someone said, Hilary, hey.

She turned toward the female voice and found Sophie smiling back at her. Tripp groaned so quietly, Hilary had to look at him to confirm the noise emanated from him. The scowl on his face confirmed it.

Hey, Sophie, he said as he stepped away so that Hilary’s arm fell out of his.

A pinch started in her stomach, but she willed it away. She didn’t want to be seen arm-in-arm with Tripp either. At least not yet. Not by his cousin.

Enjoying the fest?

Just stopping by for fried ice cream. Hilary tossed her hair over her shoulder and faced Sophie. Have you tried it?

Not tonight. She leaned in closer. I’m on my way to Lucy’s, where she gives shakes for half off after nine. She glanced around Hilary. Dinner at Polly’s on Sunday, Tripp?

Yep.

See you then. She lifted her hand in a wave and continued down the sidewalk away from them.

Hilary breathed a sigh of relief, though she wasn’t sure what she’d feared Sophie would do. They weren’t terribly close friends, though she saw Sophie every morning and enjoyed their few minutes of conversation.

But the moment with Tripp had gone, and awkward silence lingered between them as he drove north to her bungalow.

See you in the morning, Tripp said from the driver’s seat. You really live here?

She peered at the barely there driveway, the dark windows of her bungalow. It’s small, but yes, I live here. Hilary got out and hurried as fast as her pinchy shoes would let her to her front door. Tripp waited until she was safely inside before backing out, and she leaned against the closed door, her heart tumbling with her emotions.

Don’t be stupid, she chastised herself as she pulled off the shoes. You sat there while he ate and then he bought you ice cream. Wasn’t a date.

And in Hilary’s mind, that was the real problem.

* * * *

Hilary regularly bought from three fishermen at the wharf that stretched along the coast of Redwood Bay. Yes, she’d been favoring Tripp’s catch for the better part of two years, but he didn’t know that, and neither did Nick or Ben. At least she didn’t think they did.

Saturday was a big day of the week for her—one of the biggest. And with the Summerfest in town, she’d probably sell out before eight o’clock in the morning. Lucy and Sophie would double their orders, and two vendors at the park were selling fish and chips during the fest. They’d need fish too, and she wanted to be the one to sell it to them.

So Hilary dragged herself out of bed at four-thirty the next morning, cursing herself for staying out until nine-thirty with Tripp. He’d probably been up and out on the ocean by three o’clock, and part of her wished she were with him.

Then, as he’d said the night before, she could catch her own fish instead of having to pay him for it. She marked it up when she sold it to the restaurants, but her margin was slim. Their profit margin was practically nonexistent, so she understood.

She brushed her teeth with her eyes closed, prolonging the moment when she’d have to truly wake up. She’d never fancied herself as an outdoorsy type of woman. Never jogged or biked or hiked. She barely liked to lie on the beach, though she did enjoy getting a bit of warmth into her bones from the sun.

No one would ever believe she lived on the West Coast and sold halibut and salmon and cod for a living. Which was exactly why she’d chosen that life once she’d left Miami.

Finally opening her eyes, she got dressed, washed her face, and started on her makeup. The ugly red scars stared back at her, and though she disliked them, she didn’t grimace at the sight of them the way she used to.

Dante—Hilary banished the name from her mind as she finished her mascara and turned toward the nail hanging on the back of her bathroom door. An assortment of scarves hung there. She had one in every color imaginable. Some striped. Some feathery. Some with tassels. Internally, she knew she shouldn’t care who saw her old wounds. At the same time, two years wasn’t that old. Sometimes she felt like the ropy scars seemed redder than the first time she’d seen them.

After she’d been in a coma for two months, the slashes had mostly healed. Her hand drifted to the left side of her collarbone, but the memories of getting the injury were mostly white. Smoky, hazy, held behind a layer in her mind she couldn’t quite grasp.

She took a steeling breath and pulled down a green scarf that would hide the scars and complement her black jumpsuit.

The first inklings of sunlight stained the sky to the west as she exited her house. Really a mother-in-law guest house on a bigger property,