I sit, setting my purse on the table next to the bouquet.
“Those are for you.”
They’re beautiful—look hand cut, and specifically selected by someone, for me. Wildflowers wrapped in brown paper, mixed with roses, greenery…with snapdragons and hydrangeas. It’s huge, colorful, and smells gorgeous.
“Thank you, I love them.”
The server comes and I order an iced tea and a few things to nibble on since it’s close to dinner time.
“So. Molly sent me. She wanted me to give you this.” Tripp pulls out a white envelope and hands it across the table.
I smile, knowing whatever she’s written is going to be good, and tear open the seal without pause.
I’m not wrong.
Hey Chandler,
If you’re reading this, it’s because Tripp finally got his head out of his butt and tricked you into meeting him so he can grovel. I’ve given him some pro tips, but I don’t trust him on his own. The dude is a hot mess. Like, way worse than the guys my age—but like, the thing you should know (because I’ve been hanging out at his place with Chewy even though he HATES IT) is if he DIDN’T like you, he wouldn’t spend time with you. He’d be doing all the lame things he used to do before he met you, like spraying off his driveway every weekend, riding around the subdivision in his golf cart, and trimming bushes like he’s some kind of landscape architect (rolling my eyes). He is so. Old. (No offense.)
Anyway, I’m not saying you should date a man who’s a total project, but he has some things he needs to work on. Still, the bones are good and he has potential—so like, be patient (but not too patient) and give him a second chance because we both know guys are idiots but also highly trainable.
I’ll be waiting for an update and hope to see you parked in the driveway soon—the dude is pathetic when he’s moping. No offense.
Xx Molly from next door
I fold the letter, grin on my face as I tuck it into my purse.
No offense.
What a little turd.
I try to remember what I was like as a teenager but can honestly say I wasn’t nearly as mature as Molly—never in a million years would I have written a woman a letter giving her relationship advice. What a ballsy young lady.
She will be formidable when she’s grown, of that I’m certain.
“What does it say?”
“Oh, where to begin.” I chuckle, studying his face. He looks tired—as if he hasn’t slept since Saturday night. And maybe he hasn’t; it seems he has a lot on his mind—thoughts I’d love to hear. “At least she likes you—I can’t imagine what she would be like if she didn’t.”
“She wouldn’t come around.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
He considers the question. “Honestly, I’m kind of getting used to the little shit. Molly has actually helped me see things more clearly.”
Oh? This interests me and I lean closer, resting my elbows on the tabletop. “What kind of things?”
Tripp laughs. “First tell me what was in the letter.”
I lean back, arching one of my eyebrows and crossing my arms. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
He breathes out a puff of air. “Okay fine, you’re right.” Pauses. “I realized I’m used to bottling everything up inside and only considering myself—which is the reason I invited you to The Ivy the first time, to make myself look good and feel better. Which is bullshit. You deserve better and I’m sorry.”
Drip, drip goes the ice. “I accept your apology.”
“And…” He takes a drink of the cocktail—or ice water; I’m not quite sure. “I shouldn’t have said what I said last night. When you said you didn’t know how I felt and I implied it wasn’t my problem if you couldn’t figure it out, that was a dick move. My mother would kick my sorry ass if she’d heard the way I talked to you.”
I wanted to kick his ass, too.
Heat fills my face and I blush as he continues speaking.
“The truth is, I’m really rusty. I haven’t actually dated anyone—not anyone I took seriously. I didn’t give a shit what they thought because they weren’t women I wanted around. I…I missed you after I left last night, and I’ve felt like complete shit since. I realize all I would have had to fucking do was say, ‘Chandler, I like you. I want to see where this goes.’”
I hold my breath.
“I want to have you around. I think you’re sexy and hot as hell, and I want to…” He considers his next words. “I want to help you find your dream job and achieve your goals.”
Sexy and hot as hell?
I blink.
He wants to help me find my dream job and achieve my goals?
Stop it.
Stop it right now.
My nose tingles, the telltale sign that I’m going to start crying—not sad or frustrated tears, but happy ones, and I tip my head back so they don’t well up in my eyes. Wipe at my nose to get rid of the prickle there.
I’m not successful, not even a little.
Tripp’s face falls. “Did I say something wrong?”
I wave a hand in front of my face like I’m shielding it from the paparazzi, unable to talk. “No, it’s good, it’s good.”
“Then why are you crying? Fuck, I fucked this up, didn’t I? I’m sorry,” he babbles, vomiting apologies all over the place and I just need him to stop talking, because the more he talks, the more emotional I get. “Shit.”
“I’m not a crier,” I tell him, crying.
“Then why…”
My hand waves again. “I’ll be fine in a second, just give me a minute.” I root around in my bag to retrieve a tissue, wiping my eyes and dabbing at my nose.
Ew.
I’m hideous—and he just called me sexy and hot as hell? Is the man out of his mind?
Ugh. “Okay. I’m better now. Continue.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. Gets up out of his chair and comes around to my side of the table.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, holding his hands in the air before I nod, then places them on either side of my face. Wedges himself between my legs and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. “You’re so cute.” Kiss. “I missed you.”
Kiss.
Has hell frozen over? Has Tripp Wallace finally been hit so hard in a football game that his brains have been fully scrambled?
Motionless I sit as he kisses my face. “I’m far from perfect. I’m literally the biggest jackass I’ve ever met and I don’t make apologies for that, so I ask that you bear with me. I don’t want to know what my life is like without you.”
“Is this you declaring your love for me?” I can’t help asking, enjoying the horrified look on his face, then let him off the hook with a “Relax, I’m joking.”
His head gives a little shake. “No, it’s fine. I just have to get used to it. I’ve never told a woman I love her before—my mom and sister do not count.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying…maybe I will say it. Not right now, obviously, but someday, if you’re willing to keep me around.”
I tilt my chin up so he has access to my lips. “I think I’m willing to keep you around.”