Page 89 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

“I’ve been on the go for the past three weeks straight, and I’ve barely had time to catch my breath,” Tate continues.

“As a matter of fact, I came here straight from the airport.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s a touch lighter than Ripley’s.

“I’m ready to spend some time at home and return to a routine.

I miss my bed. I miss the gym. I even kind of miss Gannon. ”

Ripley chuckles.

“Speaking of the gym, did you ever run that 5K we were talking about at Jeremiah’s birthday party?” Tate asks me.

“Good memory,” I say. “But no. It turns out that I’m not a runner.”

“I could’ve told you that before you bought your first pair of trainers,” Sutton jokes.

I make a face at her, then turn to Tate. “I did start weightlifting after you told me to give it a shot. But can I ask you a question?”

Ripley rustles beside me.

“Sure,” Tate says.

“I had been doing light weights at high reps, but a trainer in the gym told me to do heavy weights at low reps,” I say. “Now I’m not sure what to do.”

“I’m an exercise physiologist, you know,” Ripley says.

“I know,” I say, giving him a smile that anyone watching would think is friendly. “Anyway, Tate, I’m the maid of honor at an upcoming wedding and want to look exceptionally hot. And since I’m not a cardio girl, I need to figure out this weightlifting thing.”

Tate’s smirk sets deep in his cheeks as he watches Ripley from the corner of his eye.

Sutton laughs, wagging a finger across the table. “Weren’t you just telling me a few minutes ago how I needed to ensure I get all the shine on my wedding day? And now you’re saying you want to look exceptionally hot?” She shakes her head. “You little hypocrite.”

“Look,” I say, trying not to giggle. “I didn’t say I wanted to outshine you. That’s not possible, even if I tried. I only want to be irresistible to the single men wandering around the reception.”

“Aren’t you still dating Donovan Templesman?” Tate asks.

I take my drink from the server and thank him. “We ended things— I ended things —a couple of months ago.”

“What happened?” Tate asks.

Ripley tips back his beer and pretends not to listen.

“Yeah,” Sutton says, fighting a grin. “What happened, Georgia?”

I take a drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol flow through my veins. A nice buzz softens the edges of my irritation and helps me relax.

“To put it simply? He let the cookies run out,” I say.

“He what ?” Ripley asks, dumbfounded.

“He let the cookies run out,” I repeat. “I know it sounds bizarre and silly, but it’s important to me.”

Tate tries to understand. “You broke up with a man because he ran out of cookies? Actual cookies, right? That’s not a euphemism?”

I sigh. “Just listen. I love white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies, okay? They’re my absolute favorite—especially the soft-baked kind. And once Donovan learned that about me, he always had them in his kitchen. Always. Without fail.”

“Cheap date,” Ripley mumbles.

I roll my eyes at him before continuing. “Donovan started talking about me moving in with him, and I fought against it. It was too soon, and I don’t know, I didn’t really feel like we were at that point. That made him mad. Shortly after, he stopped buying cookies.”

Sutton nods, an approving smile on her lips.

“It wasn’t the cookies that made me break up with him,” I say, swirling my drink around in my glass. “It was that he … I don’t know, wanted to punish me?”

Donovan was so quick to take away something small that showed me he cared about me. It wasn’t a big thing, really, but it showed me something fundamental about his character. There couldn’t have been a bigger, redder flag.

“Anyway, I wasn’t going to stay with someone who acted so childish simply because he didn’t get his way,” I say with a shrug.

Ripley’s brows pinch together. The way he studies me makes me uneasy, so I look away.

My phone buzzes on the table, and my mother’s name flashes on the screen. I know she wants to talk about her Charity Club drama, which can wait. But it’s an excellent excuse to leave—especially because Sutton will be looking for a reason to go soon, too.

I down the rest of my drink and then fish a few bills from my wallet.

“Sutton, I know you said you needed to be out of here by seven thirty,” I say. “It’s about that time, and I need to get going, too.”

She checks her watch. “You’re right. Jeremiah will be home from work soon and promised to take me for Thai tonight.”

I plop some cash on the table.

“I’ll pay for your drinks,” Ripley says.

“Oh, I know you will,” I say. “It’s really the least you can do for barging into our girl time and drinking my martini. I’m just chipping in for the tip.”

Tate chuckles. “Okay, I’m glad you two didn’t make peace. Watching you bicker is free entertainment.”

“Happy you enjoyed the show,” I say.

I stand, tugging the ends of my shorts down. It doesn’t help much—there’s not much length to work with—but it’s better than nothing.

Ripley stares straight ahead, intentionally not looking at me. Good .

“I’d say it was good seeing you again, Ripley, but that would be a lie,” I say.

“Likewise.”

He turns his head, catching my eyes with his once again. Something twinkles in his baby blues … probably bullshit.

Sutton says her goodbyes, and we walk out of The Swill. I sway my hips a little more than necessary in case Ripley is watching.

Not that I really care if he is or isn’t. But I know my ass looks great in these shorts, and I won’t miss the slightest opportunity to make him crazy.