The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Georgia

“I come bearing snacks,” Ripley says, sitting beside me on the bench.

We took another couple of laps around the rink until I couldn’t feel my thighs anymore. I lambasted myself for choosing chicken nuggets in the gym parking lot and not the actual gym itself. I am not in skater girl shape. Then he returned our skates.

“You know the way to this woman’s heart.” I blow on my hands through the gloves to try to warm them up. “I’m not sure I’m ever going to thaw.”

He hands me a steaming cup of hot cocoa. “Try this. It might help.”

“You get another bonus point. Maybe even two.”

He chuckles. “You’re easy to please.”

“If you’re ever in doubt, bring me chocolate in some form. It helps.”

I hold the cup with both hands, trying to let the heat seep into my body. While I had a lot of fun skating, and would love to try it again sometime, I don’t think I could ever get past how cold it is on the ice. It’s unnatural.

“The snack selection was sparse, so I got popcorn,” he says. “It looks the freshest. Open up.”

I open my mouth, and he feeds me a piece.

He’s laid-back and relaxed, with his hair not perfect and his five o’clock shadow giving him a slight edge. I don’t see him like this often—not even with our friends. Maybe I don’t want to see it …

“I had to answer a call from my mother at the snack stand,” he says, feeding me another piece of popcorn. “One of my brothers wasn’t answering her calls, so she was doing a welfare check.”

“That’s adorable.”

“You think?” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe it just feels odd to me because she wasn’t always like this. It’s hard getting used to it when you’re thirty.”

“What was she like growing up?”

He pops a few kernels in his mouth and thinks. “She was busy. She had a lot of kids, so she was running someone somewhere all the time. There was a lot of charity work, too, and she traveled with my father a lot when we were younger. If we were home, we were usually with a nanny.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

He places another piece of popcorn on my tongue, making my stomach flutter.

“I guess I had this vision of big family meals and holiday traditions,” I say.

“Would’ve been nice.”

“So, are you close to your mother now?”

He nods. “We’re closer than before. Although, my brother Renn just had a baby, and now he’s the star of the show.”

I laugh at the look on his face. “Babies usually draw all the attention for a while.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a cute little shit. So, I get it.”

“Do you want a big family?” I ask before sipping my cocoa. “Or has having a bunch of siblings been enough for you?”

He pauses to think.

We’re sitting quietly side by side on the cold bench, our breaths billowing in front of us, and there’s a strange calmness between us—an almost cocoon of sorts. If I think about it too much, I’ll panic. So, I don’t.

I know none of this is actually happening. I’m rational. But the way he’s opening up about some things, and the look in his eye has me momentarily forgetting that this is for Canoodle.

My stomach twists at the realization that I’m slowly starting to slip into a gray area. That must stop.

It would behoove me to focus on why we’re here and not get sucked into the pretend world we’re intentionally creating. While he’s probably telling some truths here, he’d never show me a hint of vulnerability. He’s showing me what he needs to show me for the show, and probably to make me start to question things between us.

Because he’s a sadist.

“If I have a family someday, I do probably want a large one if my wife is on board,” he says, staring across the ice. “But the big difference is that I want to be involved. I want to be there. I want to have big meals and holiday traditions like you were talking about. On Saturdays, we go to soccer practice or ballet lessons—whatever the kids are into.” He looks at me. “I want to be everything my father wasn’t.”

My heart swells in my chest. I had no idea that Ripley was so deep, or so thoughtful. That he’s thought this through is such a green flag.

“I think that’s a nice dream,” I say.

He throws a piece of popcorn at me, hitting me in the nose. “What about you? Do you want a big family?”

I grimace before taking another long sip of my drink.

“What?” he asks.

I study him and the genuine curiosity on his face. He’s been pretty honest with me today, so this can’t be too much of a trap. Besides, I need to play my part as much as he’s playing his. I promised Sutton I’d do my best to make this a success.

“I’m not really sure what I want, to be honest,” I say, sighing. “I love the idea of having a family. But I’m kind of …”

“Kind of what, Georgia?”

“Kind of not sure what to say. I’m scared to think about it because then I might want it, and if I want it and don’t get it, that’ll hurt. Or what if I do get it, and then it all falls apart, and I turn into my mother?”

Thank God this is a pilot, and she’ll never see this. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.

He folds his hands between his knees. “I understand that, actually.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m scared.”

“God forbid.”

“But I’m nervous that I don’t quite have what it takes to be a good dad.”

His words fall through the air like dead weight, landing on the ice and slipping away. Regret shifts across his face, and I wonder if he regrets telling me that. If so, that makes me sad—mostly because I suspect he hasn’t really shared this with anyone before and now he’s clamming up on me.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He gets to his feet and picks up his bag, so I hurry to stand and gather my things, too. We remove our audio packs, and he shoves them hastily into his bag. I’m not sure what caused the sudden change in him, but I scramble to keep up.

We make our way to the exit and step onto the sidewalk. The freedom from the cameras is a relief as the warm air heats my bones. Ripley walks me to my car without saying a word, and I give him space, thinking he’ll eventually talk. But he doesn’t.

I should let it go. I should let this be his problem elsewhere. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, why should I care?

And I don’t care, really. But …

We stop at my car, I toss my things in the back seat, and then I take off his gloves.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, hesitating. I’m not sure which Ripley I’m going to get, nor do I know if he’ll still be interested in talking to me like he was a moment ago. But I know I can’t go home without trying … both for my curiosity and his well-being.

“Sure.”

I lean my back against my car. “Why would you think you don’t have what it takes to be a good dad? I mean, I might hate you …” I grin at him. “But that’s a personal decision. You seem like a pretty decent guy to the rest of the world.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. That’s how I know it’s a big deal.

A shadow crosses his face as he licks his lips. “Someone told me once that I don’t have a lot of value as a person. And while I know that’s bullshit, it lingers in the back of my brain.”

“Who told you that?” I ask, instantly angry.

“My father.”

I touch my lips to keep from gasping. My wide eyes gawk at him. I want to reach out and pull him into me and hug the embarrassment off his handsome face. But I don’t. I hold back. For both of our goods.

“Ripley, fuck that guy,” I say instead. “I mean it.”

He laughs sadly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Who says that to someone, let alone their child?”

“It’s okay.”

“Give me his prison address and I’ll write him really mean letters,” I say, wanting to do something.

“Georgia, it’s okay.” He smiles. “Really.”

It’s not okay. Not even a little. “What would cause someone to be such a complete bastard?”

“We always butted heads. I guess I just didn’t accept his bullshit. Like, by the age of six, when he’d come home yelling at everyone, I’d call him out on it. He hated that. Who was I to challenge the great Reid Brewer?”

I bite my lip as he continues.

“I wanted to box, so he made me play soccer. I wanted to be a chef for a while, and he called me a pussy.” He takes a breath. “I lost my scholarship, and he broke my nose. It’s the only thing I’d ever done that made him proud of me and I lost it.”

“He broke your nose?” I yelp.

“Yeah.”

“And no one hit him back?”

“You don’t always win violence with violence, Peaches.”

“I want to fight him. I’d have to train a while first, but I want to at least get a couple of shots off on him.”

Ripley shakes his head, his chest bouncing with a suppressed chuckle.

Our gazes hold each other tight, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can hear it. The energy between us crackles—I can hear it—and I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never been before.

“It’s getting late. Do you want to film our confessionals at home?” he asks, his voice low.

As the sun goes down behind him, creating a beautiful backdrop, his skin glows from the golden hour, and I wish I had a camera to capture the moment.

“That sounds good,” I say. “I’ll send mine to Myla tonight. Our next date is supposed to be an adventure and I’m not very adventurous, so I don’t know what you want to do with that.”

“I think you were very adventurous today.”

I blush. “Thank you. I tried. And thank you for remembering that I wanted to skate way back then. That’s … slightly stalkerish, but sort of sweet.”

He grins. “You’re welcome. And I’ll pick the adventure if you want me to.”

“Please. But nothing with ice. I think I’ll be cold for a month.”

“No ice. Got you.”

“Then I guess I should get going,” I say, shifting my weight.

Even as I say I should leave, I don’t actually want to. None of this is real, but it’s … fun. When the cameras are rolling, it’s fun to see the other side of him. And without the cameras in the parking lot, it’s nice to have a real conversation without snark and gossip. It’s nice to talk about something substantial. It’s nice to feel seen.

Especially by someone as handsome as Ripley.

His hair ruffles in the breeze as he slips his hands in his pockets. He rocks back on his heel as if he’s dragging his feet, too.

Something in his eyes soothes me, and something in his manner lures me to him like a magnet. I crave the feeling of his arms around me again.

My body hums with anticipation as he takes a hesitant step closer. His nearness sends my heart into a freefall. I’m heavy, and warm, and hear my pulse strumming in my ears as his gaze drops to my mouth.

He’s going to kiss me.

He wraps his fingers around mine and pulls me toward him. His touch is both caressing and possessive, and the combination makes my knees quiver.

I force a swallow and lift on my toes just as a car horn blares beside us, breaking the moment.

Ripley stands upright, and I fall back against the car. I drag a lungful of air into my body and try to quell the scream in my head.

I almost kissed Ripley Brewer. What am I thinking?

“I need to go,” I say, fumbling at the door handle. “Let me know about the adventure, okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Drive safe.”

I climb inside, tossing the gloves onto the seat beside me. Once the door is closed, I melt into the seat. What in the hell just happened?

He steps back and watches me pull out of the parking lot. I don’t look back because I couldn’t read him if I tried.

I do look across the console, however. And at the gloves on the passenger’s seat.

The purple gloves that Ripley brought for me to wear.

My throat squeezes as I turn my attention back to the road.