Page 42 of Dear Ripley

“Nothing,” I said, too quickly. “Just… receipts and stuff.”

“What, are you worried I’m going to see who your customers are and poach them? Because flower arranging really isn’t my thing.”

“You don’t say?” I replied, shooting her a look that clearly demonstrated that I remembered the last time she wanted to try her hand at it, and somehow ended up with something that looked like a duck had strangled it, despite her claims that she was following my instructions exactly.

She groaned, shaking her head. “I’m too tired for this shit. Give me coffee.”

“Yeah, you look like shit too.”

“No, I do not,” she argued forcefully. “I look great. I know because I just got out of a two-hour presentation, so I’ve basically been looking at myself in the video feed the whole time.”

I frowned at her. “When you’re in video meetings, you watch yourself instead of the other participants?”

“Yes?” She looked at me like she wasn’t following. “Firstly, I look great. Secondly, doesn’t everyone do that?”

“Do they?” Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Flowers didn’t require a lot of video calls. I couldn’t imagine a lot would come out of them if I tried calling up the tulips on a Tuesday afternoon.

She shrugged. “If they don’t, they totally should.”

I laughed. “Sure. So, did the presentation go well?”

“Of course. I’m a natural.”

“Naturally.”

She groaned again, rolling her eyes at me. “Why are you making terrible jokes and still not bringing me my coffee?”

“Because that’s not my primary job?”

“Good, because you’re terrible at it.”

“Noted.” I shook my head. “Also, we’re going out for dinner. That’s why you’re here. Do you really want coffee hereandat the restaurant?”

“Is that even a question? And, if it is, who are you and what have you done with my best friend? You know, the one who would know I desperately need coffee right now and would give it to me without reservation.”

I laughed, heading into the back to turn on the machine. “Why are you so tired?”

“How long until you close?” she called back. Timing-wise, it was an answer to my question. Topic-wise, it didn’t make any sense. And I knew she’d heard me.

“Sixteen minutes,” I called. “Is that relevant to my question?”

“It’s relevant to mine.”

I walked back out to the front, my eyes narrowed. She was being purposely evasive, which meant something was going on.

She looked at me from the chair. It was clear she knew I was onto her, but she held her head high, looking imperious. “Ripley.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Morgan.”

“Coffee?”

“On its way.”

She nodded curtly, and we spent the time waiting for it to brew looking around the store as if we barely knew one another. Amused, I made her coffee, brought it out, placed it on the table next to her, and sat on the floor in front of her.

She worked hard to avoid looking directly at me as she took the first sip.

“So,” I said as she placed the cup back on the table, “why are you so tired?”

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