Page 71 of The Invitation
Downing Enterprises
I hit reply, but my phone rings in my bedroom. I jog there to get it, and after finding it on my nightstand, I pick it up.
There’s a text on the screen. From Ripley.
My breathing is shallow as I sit on the edge of the bed.
Ripley: Saturday. Noon. Work for you?
I stare at the words. Five words. Short and simple.
My brows tug together as I try to read his tone.
Is he mad? Busy? Irritated?
Or just being a dick?
Me: Okay.
His response is almost immediate.
Ripley: Love the excitement.
My fingers fly over the keys.
Me: I was trying to be succinct.
Ripley: I noticed. Why change your behavior now?
Me: Very funny.
Me: You sent five words, so I was trying not to take up your time in case you were busy.
Ripley: Don’t you want to know what we’re doing on Saturday at noon?
I laugh, sighing in relief.
Me: Nope. If I would’ve realized we were skating, I might not have gone. It’s probably better that I don’t know.
Ripley: Did you enjoy skating though?
I bite my lip, attempting to read through the lines.Does he actually mean skating? Or does he mean the date as a whole? Or is he asking how I feel about almost kissing him?
My cheeks burn as I decide what to say.
Me: I didn’t fall, so that’s a plus.
Ripley: So, you didn’t like it?
Me: I didn’t say that. At all.
Ripley: That’s what it sounds like.
Me: You can’t read tone.
“Even though I’ve been trying to do it for the entirety of this conversation,” I say.
I get to my feet, too much energy flowing through me to sit, and sort out my response. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate him going to the trouble of putting the skating thing together, or that I don’t remember how thoughtful he was about how he selected that location.
