Chapter 26

Tripp

After Sunday dinner, I called Millie, hoping to return to her place, but she was hanging out with her friend, Violet. For the first time in weeks, I went home alone. The place felt strange, like I was somewhere I didn’t belong—somewhere I didn’t want to be.

As I walked through the door, the emptiness of my apartment hit me harder than I expected. However, it has been some time since I sat down and wrote. My time has been so focused on being with Millie in the comfortable bubble we’ve created, that finishing my book was the last thought on my mind. Now, however in the quiet of my apartment, with thoughts of Millie flooding my mind, I find it’s the perfect time.

I sit at my desk and open my computer, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The emotions swirling inside me are almost too intense to put into words, but at the same time too intense not to write. Taking a deep breath, I begin to type, letting my feelings for Millie bleed onto the page through the male character of my story.

He had never known a love like this—one that consumed him from the inside out, leaving him breathless and vulnerable in ways he never thought possible. Every moment with her felt like a gift, a precious fragment of time that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever.

She wasn’t just a part of his life; she was the very heartbeat that kept him alive, the reason he woke up each morning with a sense of purpose. When he looked at her, he saw more than just the woman he loved—he saw his future, his forever. The thought of losing her, of not being able to hold her and whisper his love into her ear, was unbearable.

He loved her with a ferocity that both scared and thrilled him. It was as if his heart had been waiting for her all along, and now that she was here, he couldn’t imagine a world where she wasn’t. She was his everything—the calm in his storm, the light in his darkest hours. And he would do anything to protect her, to keep her safe and happy, because she deserved nothing less.

He found himself constantly in awe of her—of the way she smiled at him, as if he was the only person in the world that mattered; of the way she laughed, a sound so pure and joyful that it made his heart swell with pride that he could be the one to make her happy. She was his muse, his inspiration, and the very reason he wanted to be a better man.

With her, everything felt right. There was no fear, no doubt—just an overwhelming sense of peace that came from knowing she was his, and he was hers. He wanted to spend the rest of his life showing her just how much she meant to him, how deeply he loved her, because she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

And he knew, deep in his soul, that he would never stop loving her. No matter what challenges they faced, no matter how dark the days might get, his love for her would remain steadfast and unyielding. Because she was the one—the one he had been waiting for, the one he had been searching for. And now that he had found her, he would never let her go.

I pause, my heart pounding as I re-read the words. It’s almost too raw, too real, but I know it’s the truth. What I feel for Millie is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. The male character’s love for the female character is my love for Millie.

The words flow effortlessly, as I continue, as if they’ve been waiting to be written. Time becomes a blur as I pour everything he has into the final chapter.

Then, suddenly, it’s over.

My fingers hover above the keyboard, and I stare at the screen in disbelief. There it is—those two words that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach: The End.

I finished my book.

Mondays suck as a rule, but this Monday is the Monday-est Monday ever. I feel like it’s been a week since I last saw Millie when it’s only been a day. I haven’t told her yet about finishing my book and I’m half as excited as I am nervous. Which makes working today seem like torture.

“Hey, you good?” Brock asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, just ready to be home already.”

“Seems to be a constant with you lately,” Callum says, appearing out of nowhere.

I’m uncertain what to say, feeling as if I was just caught skipping class by the principal.

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Good one. I want to slap my own head for that stupid reply.

“We need to have a talk, little brother,” Callum says, crossing his arms.

I’ve been dreading this very moment, but before I can even reply, Griffin is calling for Callum about a shipping problem. Relief floods me and I let out a sigh as I scrub my face.

“You can only avoid him so long. I don’t know what’s going on with you, baby brother, but I’m here if you want to talk,” Brock says, walking away.

I check the clock and by some miracle, it’s time to get the hell out of here. I know I need to face Callum and the ultimate decision he’s going to give me, but right now I don’t really care. Right now all I want to do is see my girl.

I head straight to Millie’s from work. I knock on her door, my heart racing with anticipation as I wait for her to answer.

Finally, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and my breath catches in my throat. The door opens, and there she is, standing in front of me with that soft, welcoming smile that I’ve come to crave. All the anxiety fades away the moment I see her.

“Hey, beautiful,” I whisper, pulling her into my arms the moment I step through the door. The warmth of her body against mine is like a balm to my restless heart. She fits against me like a puzzle piece, perfectly designed to fill the empty spaces in my life. It’s as if every curve of her body was made to align with mine, like we were always meant to be here, in this exact moment, together.

Her scent—faintly sweet, with a hint of something floral—wraps around me, grounding me in a way that nothing else can. I close my eyes, letting the sensation of holding her wash over me, and for a few precious seconds, the world outside ceases to exist.

“God, I missed you,” I murmur into her hair, my lips brushing against the top of her head. She leans into me, her arms sliding around my waist, and I feel the tension I’ve been carrying start to melt away. The feel of her heartbeat against my chest, steady and strong, anchors me, reminding me of why I’ve been counting down the minutes to see her again.

We stand there, wrapped up in each other, neither of us in a rush to let go. Her breath is warm against my neck, and I can feel the rise and fall of her chest in time with mine, a silent rhythm that we share without even realizing it. Everything about this moment feels perfect, like it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be—where we’re supposed to be.

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” I confess softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. It’s the truth, and saying it out loud makes it feel even more real, more intense. She looks up at me, her eyes shining with the same emotion I feel burning inside of me.

“You don’t have to,” she replies, her voice soft but sure. And in that moment, with her in my arms, I know that whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, we’ll figure it out together.

Because she’s not just a puzzle piece that fits perfectly—she’s the missing piece I’ve been searching for all along.

After a few minutes, I pull back, my hands still resting on her waist as I smile down at her. “How was your day?” I ask, my voice low and content.

Her face lights up, her eyes sparkling as she grabs my hand, pulling me toward the couch. We settle in, and she wastes no time crawling up into my lap, her small frame fitting perfectly against mine. She rests her head on my chest, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around her, holding her close.

“I started reading a new book today, and it’s amazing,” she says, her voice filled with the kind of excitement I’ve come to adore. “It’s one of those books where I stole every free second I could get to read just a few more pages. I even closed the store for lunch just so I could find out what happened next.”

I chuckle, the sound rumbling in my chest, and I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Sounds like it’s a good one,” I say, but what I really love is listening to her talk about her passion for books. There’s a fire in her eyes when she talks about a story that’s captured her heart, and it never fails to draw me in. It’s one of the things I love most about her—how deeply she feels, how easily she gets lost in the pages of a book.

As she continues to talk, I find myself excited and nervous to tell her that I’ve finished my book. She’s more than just someone who loves books—she’s my muse, the one who inspires me to put words on the page. The excitement she shows when I send her something new, the way she eagerly offers input and ideas—it’s something I can’t quite explain.

As she continues to talk, I prepare myself to tell her. I shouldn’t be nervous, but her reaction is the one I care most about. So when she smiles up at me, I feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“I have to tell you something. I finished my book last night ,” I admit quietly, my fingers tracing small circles on her back.

She tilts her head up to look at me, her expression softening. “Tripp, that’s amazing, congratulations. I can’t wait to read it.”

Her words are reassuring and I feel like I’ve accomplished two huge things. Finishing my book and telling Millie about it.

She twists a bit in my hold, her warm hands resting on my chest as she looks up at me, her eyes full of curiosity and something that feels a lot like hope. “Can I ask you something?” she says, her voice soft but with a hint of excitement.

I grin down at her, unable to resist the urge to place a gentle kiss on her full lips. “You can ask me anything,” I whisper against her mouth before pulling back slightly to meet her gaze.

“Have you considered submitting your work to a publisher?” she asks, her eyes searching mine as if she’s hoping for a particular answer.

The question hits me off guard. I hadn’t really considered submitting my work—not seriously, anyway. If I’m honest, I don’t even know the next steps now that it’s done. The idea of putting my story out there, of having it judged and critiqued, feels like another layer of pressure that I’m not sure I’m ready for.

“I don’t know about that,” I say slowly, my hand moving to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Right now, I’m just happy I finished it.”

“I get that,” she replies, nodding in understanding. But then she presses on, her eyes shining with a conviction that makes my heart swell. “But you really should. Your story could be the reason someone takes an extended lunch just to read as much as they can. You have something special, Tripp.”

Her belief in me and my story is something I’ve always cherished, but now, instead of feeling inspired, I feel the pressure mounting, and it’s almost suffocating. It’s like the weight of expectations—both hers and my own—is settling on my shoulders, making it harder to breathe. I want to live up to her confidence in me, to be the writer she believes I am, but what if I can’t?

And what about the brewery? Callum? My family?

I take a deep breath, trying to push those thoughts away as I focus on the woman in my arms. “I appreciate you saying that,” I tell her, my voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “But right now, I just don’t know.”

She nods again, her expression softening as she leans her head against my chest. “I understand,” she murmurs. “I just want you to know that I believe in you, Tripp. And when you’re ready, I’ll be right here, cheering you on.”

Her words are like a balm to my anxious thoughts, and I tighten my hold on her, pulling her even closer. I don’t know what the future holds for my story, but having her by my side makes the uncertainty a little less daunting. I’ll deal with everything else when the time comes. Maybe.

Wanting to change the subject and the sense of dread I’m starting to feel, I kiss her neck. We’re in our bubble, the one I’ve been craving, and there’s nothing else I want more than her. To feel her soft skin against mine. To listen to her scream my name while I take her release. To be buried deep in her tight pussy and feeling like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

“I’ve been desperate for you,” I whisper against the soft skin of her neck.

She tilts her head slightly giving me better access and I groan taking the advantage.

“Show me, Tripp.”