Page 16 of When I Come Back
Ripley pulls his hand back to his side of the table, a hint of hurt on his face evident. “Right, of course not. Sorry.” He stands up, and for a moment, I think he’s actually mad at me before he says, “I’m gonna grab us another round.” I nod my head in response then watch him walk toward the bar. He waves at Shelley to let her know he’s there, and she holds up a finger to tell him it’ll be a moment.
I run a slightly shaky hand through my blonde waves. A thought registers then: I don’t know when I ate last. All Ihad today was the coffee with Carrington, then I went back home to look through my finances again in hopes that I missed something. Ripley and I got my car from Southbury this afternoon, but it was well after lunch.
I pull my phone out of my purse and scroll until I find Ripley’s name. Who knows how long he’ll be at the bar waiting, and maybe I can smooth over whatever just happened.
Me:Can you order us some food while you’re up? I doubt Shelley will be able to leave the bar tonight.
I watch as he grabs his phone from his back pocket, checks the notification, and looks in my direction, sending me a wink like the absolute flirt he is.
Ripley:Of course. Usual?
Me:Mhmm, but I think I want cheese fries tonight.
Ripley:You got it, babe. **winky face emoji**
Me:Thank you **heart emoji**
My mind settles seeing he’s not upset. That would be the last thing I need to deal with right now. I’m still internally panicking over what tomorrow will bring with Carrington shadowing me at RED. I feel like I have to prove something to him. As much as I disagree with Owen and Hazel’s decision to leave the business tothe both of us, I also know I played a large role in making RED what it is today. I may have taken some of the ideas Carrington had before we left for Seattle, but I was still the one who put those plans into place. I was still the one here pretty much running the show all while he was living his shiny, new life.
And the responsibilities weren’t just at the diner, or RED once we renovated, I’ve been taking care of my mom as well. He has no idea everything that I’ve been through or all the ways I’ve changed since he knew me eight years ago.
The fact he’s even contemplating keeping his share of the business is infuriating when he apparently has his own restaurant in Seattle. If I wasn’t annoyed with everything, I’d probably be proud of him. I know how big of a deal owning his own restaurant is to him. And maybe I should have congratulated him earlier when he let it slip, but it wasn’t the time.
On second thought, I should have been harsher when we spoke today. I should have told him he doesn’t get to come back and start taking things from me when I finally found my footing.
The more I think about it, the madder I get. I never blamed him for what happened with us. I knew I was the problem, but if he takes the one thing that brings me the kind of joy I saw on his face when he got his first head chef job in Seattle, I’ll never forgive him.
Pulling me out of my thoughts, the ladies a couple booths down attempt to whisper their gossip, but they’ve had too much to drink to realize they aren’tactuallywhispering.
“Do you think she’ll leave Ripley and go running back to the Grant boy?”
“If she does, I’ll make sure Rip is taken care of.” They both cackle at that, and I shake my head, letting out a deep sigh. I swear to God the people of this town can’t ever mind their own fucking business.
Right on cue, Ripley returns with a tray of shots and lets me know the food will be out shortly. I try to put a smile back on my face, but he notices my mood has shifted.
“You up for a game of ‘Redneck Wrecked?’”
I raise my eyebrows at him, my lips turning up at the corners. I swear he always knows what to say and what to do if I’m feeling down. It’s some kind of weird sixth sense.
“You trying to get me drunk, Quinn Ripley?”
He shrugs his shoulders innocently. “Depends, will I get to take advantage of you later?”
I can’t stop the laugh from escaping my lips as I roll my eyes. We invented the game years ago. It started at RED but really took off once we made date night at Louie’s a weekly tradition. We don’t always start the dates here, but we always end them here.
The game is a run-of-the-mill drinking game with an ever-growing rule list. The first rule being Ripley likes to change the rules halfway through the game once he’s had a few. The drunker we get, the less we remember how to play anyway, so it works.
Since Louie’s has so many regulars, it’s mostly based on them. If Shelley gets hit on, I have to take a shot. If Bob plays “Should’ve Been a Cowboy” by Toby Keith on the jukebox, Ripley takes a shot. If Patricia, two booths down—who’s already made comments tonight—hits on Ripley, we both have to take two shots. It goes on and on. Usually within thirty minutes, we’re both tipsy and ready to dance.
“Maybe just a little.” I smirk back at him as Shelley walks over with our food.
“Sorry for the wait, love. It’s packed tonight,” she says as she sets the plates on the table.
“No need to apologize, Shell. We appreciate you bringing it out to us,” I offer back to her with a smile.
“You two lovebirds need anything else before I go back to drowning at the bar?” The nervous laugh accompanying the question lets me know it’s better to just say no.
“If it’s anything other than a drink, we’ll grab it. But we won’t say no to a couple more of these,” Ripley says while waving his glass a little.
