7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Thea
S hould someone who’s only had a handful of hours of sleep in the last week go drinking and out for date night? Probably not, but I’m not about to cancel on Ripley. Besides, I need a little bit of normal after everything that’s happened. Going out with Ripley guarantees a night of laughter and getting out of my own head—which is probably why he’d been so adamant.
Louie’s isn’t fancy by any means, but the food is decent, and the jukebox is free. Ripley walks over to our booth from the bar with the drinks in hand.
“I got you your new favorite,” he says with a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, knowing he’s the creator of my “new favorite.” I’m not usually one to drink bourbon straight, but this new recipe of his goes down so smoothly that it’d be a shame to mix it with anything.
“No need to be cocky. Everyone in this town knows you make the best bourbon,” I say rolling my eyes at him. He has every right to be cocky though. It’s in such high demand we’re getting calls from distributors all over the country wanting to sell it to their clients.
A small smile creeps up his lips. It makes me giddy that he’s almost as proud of himself as I am of him.
“So…” he draws the word out as he brings his glass to his lips, the tone of his voice telling me he’s about to ask me something I won’t like. “Coffee with Cary, huh? Why didn’t you tell me that was happening?”
Carrington Grant is the last thing I want to talk about on our date night. My eyes wander while I think of what to say. There are couples on the dance floor already, a few guys playing pool at the billiards tables, and more people just walking in. It’s the only place in town to hang out this late—other than RED—so people are flocking to it since we’re still closed.
It’s not that I want to hide anything from Ripley, he knows all there is to know about my past relationship. I just can’t figure out my own feelings about Carrington being back. Seeing him again has brought up all the memories I keep buried deep down. Finding out we are now business partners has left me numb.
Over the years—when we were together—I urged Cary to reconnect with his parents, but he insisted he’d closed that chapter, leaving no room for argument. I keep trying to rack my brain to figure out why Owen and Hazel did this. Why not just leave it all to Brooks? That made the most sense. But no, they left it to the son who hasn’t spoken to them in over a decade and… me.
I turn my face back to Ripley. “Because there was nothing to tell. Owen and Hazel put us in a situation where I have to talk to him even if I don’t want to.” I heave a long, resigned sigh. “I was hoping he’d say yes to the payment plan idea, but that would have been too easy, I guess.”
He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Maybe he still will. He’s probably just in shock like the rest of us.”
“That’s definitely possible.” I take another sip of the bourbon, keeping my other hand wrapped in Ripley’s on top of the table. “I guess my issue is that his life isn’t here. He can’t expect me to believe he plans to stay in South Carolina for any length of time when he has a whole life in Seattle. Probably a girlfriend too.” I don’t like the way my voice sounds strained on that last part. The thought that’s plagued me since I saw him standing in front of RED invades my mind again. I shouldn’t care if he has a girlfriend. I don’t care if he has a girlfriend. I’m just trying to make my point.
“Would it bother you… if he did?” His voice is lower than before so no one around us can hear.
“What? No. Obviously not. I’m just saying his life isn’t here. Finding out RED exists shouldn’t change that.”
Ripley squeezes my hand, making me meet his gaze before responding, “I don’t think RED is the issue.”
I pull my hand from his then pour the rest of the bourbon in my glass down my throat, letting the smooth burn distract me for a moment. “Can we not? This has nothing to do with me.” I stare back out to the crowd of people around the bar. Shelley, the bartender who’s always here on Thursday nights, looks like she’s ready to call for reinforcements. No one blames us for closing to take our time to grieve, but I feel a bit guilty as I watch her panicked eyes look over to the door as someone else enters.
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 I had 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 to the 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’t actually whispering.
“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.
“Sure thing,” Shelley grumbles as she walks off to the bar.
“You’re brave,” I say as I grab one of his tater tots and plop it into my mouth.
“What? Why?” he responds in an oblivious tone.
“If you haven’t noticed, she looks one drink order away from walking out tonight.”
“If I say I haven’t, will that make me seem like less of an asshole?” He grimaces.
I can’t help but laugh. If there’s one thing Ripley isn’t, it’s an asshole. The man is a saint, and no one can deny that.
As soon as I open my mouth to answer, he stops me by pointing toward the bar where a dark-haired man, maybe 5’5” at the most and dressed in a suit, leans over the bar to get Shelley’s attention. We both watch intently to see if he hits on her, and sure enough, the second she walks toward him, his whole demeanor changes. We can’t hear what he says, but it’s obvious from their body language it was something crude. We see Shelley walk away, rolling her eyes as she prepares his order.
Ripley points to my glass. “Drink up.”
“We didn’t even hear what he said, I don’t think that should count.”
“Oh, it definitely counts. Come on, Thea, down the hatch.” He reaches over for one of my cheese fries before giving my drink a very pointed look.
I inhale a deep sigh then grab my shot to do as he says. “You really are trying to get me drunk.”
He chuckles then says, “And it’s working.”
Once we’re done eating, I walk over to the jukebox to line up some songs for us. Albeit, the selection isn’t great, but it’s free, so it’s hard to complain. I find a few that strike my interest then head back to the table to wait for them to queue up. Thanks to the game, I’m feeling a little more like myself and a little less like the sad, husk version of me I’ve been for the last week.
As I plop back down in the booth across from Ripley, I say, “I know what you’re doing.”
He gives me a curious look then says, “Oh?”
I shake my head. “Mhmm. You know, most guys would get a girl drunk so she’ll sleep with them.”
He laughs then replies, “Who’s to say I’m not doing just that?”
I point my finger at him and shake it menacingly. “You, Quinn Ripley, are trying to get me drunk enough so I’ll sleep. Period.”
“You caught me. But you can’t blame me. You’d do the same for me.”
I nod my head at that. “I would, you’re right.”
We both take another drink, a comfortable silence falling over us. The familiar tune of Savage Garden’s “I Want You” starts to play, and I can’t help the grin spreading across my face.
Ripley laughs then unfolds his six-foot-two frame out of the booth and steps over to my side, holding out a hand for me to take. “I guess it’s time to dance.”