Page 34 of Dear Ripley

“Am I not allowed to have other friends?” She looked at me with the most ridiculous, pleading expression.

I groaned. “That’s also not what I mean. And. You. Know. It.”

She laughed, leaning around me to grab a box of lasagna sheets. “I ran into her the other day and had to pass on a message. I just wanted to know how things had gone with that.”

“Pass on a message? From who?” I couldn’t fathom why anyone would be using a woman newly returned to town to deliver messages to her best friend’s ex-wife.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure all will become clear eventually.”

“Did you move back here and decide to become a bad magician?” I asked, suddenly exhausted. I was pretty sure the sudden anxiety spike she’d induced by sneaking up on me was settling down, and the sensation was making me really need to sleep.

“Ha. No.” She led the way out of the aisle, taking my list from me and leading me around the store to finish it off. I might have been confused, exhausted, and annoyed, but I could also be grateful for that. Without her, I was pretty sure I’d have been returning home with next to nothing for the week. “Just trust me. You’ll get it eventually.”

I really wasn’t sure I would. And, if I did, a tiny voice inside me told me I’d wish I hadn’t.

Chapter 12

Ripley

“I’m ordering food,” I told Morgan as I dumped the bags I was carrying in my kitchen.

She laughed. “Not that I don’t support that, because I definitely do, but you do realize we just got back from thegrocerystore, right?”

“I’m aware.” I tried to keep my voice light, but I was certain she could hear the emotion swirling in it. “I need that ricotta ravioli.”

“Ah,” she replied in a tone that suggested she knew exactly what was going on. She didn’t comment, however, simply helping me put my groceries away instead. And that was weirder than anything she could have said to me.

“Do you want anything?” I asked when we’d gotten everything away and I was scrolling my phone for the menu.

She snorted, collapsing onto my sofa. “Why are you even asking? Obviously, I want the parmigiana, focaccia, and that tiramisu they make.”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“No clue. Truly a disappointment.”

“Are you planning on paying for your own food, or are you going to be nice to me?”

“I’m always nice to you,” she replied, barely looking up from her phone.

“You just called me a disappointment.”

“Yeah. But nicely.”

I shook my head. That was Morgan all over and, honestly, I wouldn’t have her any other way.

I placed the order, following Morgan’s lead and adding dessert. It didn’t matter that I’d just stocked up for the week. I’d run into my ex-wife, screaming in the pasta aisle. I deserved good food and a massive dessert.

And ordering Italian had nothing to do with finding Alicia in the pasta aisle. Ricotta ravioli was life-changingly delicious.

I climbed onto the sofa beside Morgan and noticed her side-eyeing me.

“What?” I asked, frowning at her.

“Are we going to talk about it? Or are you planning on stewing for a while longer?”

“Stewing? I’m not stewing.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.”

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