Page 127 of The Invitation
I won’t. I’m going to say yes. But I can’t give in that easy.
“I have demands,” I say.
“Name them.”
“Pancakes. I want a puppy named Pancakes,” I say, thinking on my feet.
“Fine.”
“No more hiking. Ever.”
He snorts. “Trust me. That’s already done. I’ll never hike with you again.”
“Sugar.” This one will get him riled up. “I need sugar in my life, Ripley.”
He grins mischievously, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s terrible for you.”
“So? I’ve been eating it for thirty years. I think stopping sugar at this point would probably shock my system and make me die. Do you want to be responsible for that?”
“Maybe we can find some healthy candy and snacks.”
I shake my head. “No. I want real candy. Chocolate. Sugar for my coffee.”
Waffles paws at me until I follow him to his snack drawer.He’s such a smart little thing.
“Some chips—not all the time,” I say. “And chicken nuggets. Oh! Frozen pizzas are literally half of my diet. I can’t just never see one again.”
I pull open the drawer where Waffles’s snacks are kept and get him a treat.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask Ripley.
He shakes his head, amused.
“So where do we stand on this food issue?” I ask, needling him until he responds. His lack of participation in this conversation is no fun. “We can barter.”
“Grab me some sunflower seeds, will ya? I just bought a new bag.”
“Sure. Sunflower seeds aren’t a bad snack, but they’re not really a snack. I think we just need to redefine what a snack is to you.”
I open the pantry and burst out laughing. “No, you did not!”
Then I open the refrigerator and freezer and laugh even harder.
Tears flow down my cheeks in a mix of both humor, surprise, and love.
Not only are there cookies, but there’s a bag of real sugar. Fruity cereal. Frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets.
All of my favorite things are here—including my most favorite of all.Him.
“Looks like I’m moving in,” I say, dropping the phone as Ripley grabs me into a hug.
“It pains me to have that junk in my house, you know.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Waffles barks at the commotion, making me laugh.
Ripley’s mouth is on mine. His hands on the waistband of my shorts and then his lips trail down the side of my neck as if he has to touch me everywhere immediately.
