Ritual - Palm South University

My smalt blue eyes stared back at me in the mirror of my private bathroom hours later, lined in coal and lashes painted black. The tan I’d been working on made the blue even brighter and more striking. They had always been my favorite feature, and I stared at them, through them, wondering why the strong woman I had become was shaking like a scared little girl.

I knew, of course — but I didn’t want to admit it.

I sighed, running my fingers through my bright locks to situate them the way I wanted over my shoulders. My hair was long and straight, the roots darker than the bleached strands and tips. I’d put on just a touch of makeup — enough to cover the dark circles under my eyes, but not so much that it would look like I tried. And though I knew dinner with just the Wagner family would be casual, I still put on a fresh pair of white jeans and my favorite dusty blue top, one that tied in the front and showed just a tiny sliver of my stomach. I’d had a board-like, athletic build my entire life, and where I used to pray for boobs and hips and an ass that wasn’t flat as a shelf, I’d come into my figure over the last several years, appreciating it for what it was.

With one last turn and glance at my outfit, I sighed, shutting off the bathroom light and making my way downstairs to face the music.

I had to get it over with at some point.

Morgan and her parents were in the kitchen, her dad putting the final touches on dinner while she and her mom sat at the kitchen island, each with a glass of red wine in hand. As soon as I joined them, Morgan poured one for me, too.

“How long’s it been since you had a proper lobster roll, Jasmine?” Robert asked.

“Too long.”

“I’d say,” Amanda chimed in. “By the way, what’s with your accent? You turning valley girl on us now?”

I chuckled. “I live in Oakland, not LA. And just because I’ve learned to pronounce my r’s doesn’t make me any less of a New England girl.”

“A New England girl would be back to visit more than one time in seven years,” a deep voice said, and I closed my eyes, my entire body tensing at the sound.

Tyler strode into the kitchen with the same brooding arrogance he’d always had, leaning against the refrigerator and crossing his arms as he took in the sight of me. I avoided his eyes for as long as I could, but when I finally looked up, he was staring right back at me in the most unapologetic way. His gaze even dropped slightly, taking in my full frame, and he cocked a brow in appreciation before a smirk found his stupid, full lips.

“Nah, you’re a leaf peeper now.”

Morgan said his name in a chastising tone, but it earned a chuckle from his father.

I just narrowed my eyes, doing everything in my power not to notice how tall he’d grown, how his toned and tanned arms crossed over his built chest, how his russet brown hair was still a bit long and boyish, making him look so much like the boy I left behind that I nearly doubled over at the sight.

“It’s summer,” I pointed out. “If I was a leaf peeper, I’d be here in October.”

“I’m just saying, you can’t call yourself a New England girl when you talk and look like that,” he said, eyeing me. “And when you haven’t set foot in New Hampshire in almost a decade.”

“I can call myself whatever I damn well please.”

He surged forward with a challenge in his eyes, leaning over the kitchen island until his stupid grin was right in my face. I leaned back in the same instant.

“Hmm… let’s test it. How do you pronounce the scenic highway all the leaf peepers like yourself drive through every fall?”

I crossed my arms. “Kancamagus,” I answered, putting emphasis on the mog. “But most of us don’t pronounce it at all, since we just refer to it as The Kanc.”

Tyler smirked, leaning in a little closer, his dark eyes fixed on mine like he saw every single thing I was trying to hide. “Now, say, ‘wicked.’”

I flipped him off, and the entire family laughed, Robert pointing the wooden spoon covered in lobster salad at me. “I always loved that you had moxie, kid.”

Tyler licked his bottom lip, eyes roaming over me for longer than necessary before he shoved back from the island again, dipping into the fridge and grabbing a Sam Adams Summer Ale and popping the top off on the edge of the kitchen counter. That earned him a slap on the wrist from his mother, but he just winked at me before putting the bottle to his lips and taking a long, slow pull.