Unable to help myself, I kiss her again for good measure and to cover up her shocked expression.
When I move to take the seat next to her, Blythe and Gage are staring at me with identical faces that sayyou’re pathetic. As soon as Mama turns around to get something out of the fridge, I flip them both off and sit down.
The entire bunkhouse smells like cinnamon, sugar, and fresh dough. I should probably change and take a shower before having breakfast, but I’m too hungry to wait.
“Your blazer is so cute,” Blythe says while cupping her mug of hot tea in both hands.
“Mine?” Savannah asks, pointing to herself and looking down at her clothes. I’m not a women’s clothing expert, but even I know that she has good taste. She always looks like she’s about to walk the runway during fashion week and then give a speech at the capitol building on the same day. It wouldn’t matter to me what she wore, but I think it makes her feel good to dress theway that she does. I work to not bite my bottom lip while my eyes roam over her.
“Yes, silly,” Blythe laughs. “I don’t have to work this weekend. We should go shopping!”
Savannah opens her mouth to reply but then swallows hard and closes her lips. I noticed her doing the exact same thing at the Grant’s yesterday. It’s like she never lets out the first thing that comes to her mind.
“I mostly shop online,” she finally replies. “But . . . we could go. I’d love to go.” A tentative smile spreads across her face.
“Here, put your number in my phone,” Blythe says as she holds her phone across the counter toward Savannah.
After typing in her number, Blythe takes it back and she must have called her because Savannah’s phone rings instantly.
“Now you have mine too! I’m putting your name in as S.” Blythe types on her phone with a laugh. “S and B,” she points between her and Savannah. “Too perfect.”
I’m confused, but the girls both giggle. Judging by the look on Gage’s face, he doesn’t understand either.
“I was worried you had never watched Gossip Girl and wouldn’t get that reference,” Blythe laughs again, still smiling from ear to ear. Savannah relaxes into her seat, matching her grin and typing on her phone to add the new contact.
Mama pulls out a stack of plates and places a spatula in the cinnamon roll pan when a door slams down the hallway. A few seconds later, a girl who still looks half-drunk from the night before comes stumbling out. She’s wearing a tank top over men’s pajama pants with the waistband rolled over several times and is holding a pair of shoes and a handful of clothes in her arms. I’ve never seen her before.
“Hey,” she mumbles with a shrug. No one has time to reply to her, because she scurries across the room to the front door and slips out without another word.
As soon as the door closes, Gage and I look at each other with knowing smirks.
He takes a sip of coffee and then counts down. “3. . . 2 . . . 1?—”
“What a beautiful day, am I right?” Tripp comes strutting into the kitchen with one hand rubbing his bare chest.
I snort and Mama side-eyes him and points with the fork in her hand. “You’re trouble.”
“And you spoil me anyway,” he says as he walks around the island to give her a bear hug.
Steam pipes off the freshly baked cinnamon rolls next to a bowl of made-from-scratch whipped icing and a plate of fruit. Tripp makes two plates and passes them to Blythe and Savannah. “Ladies first,” he croons. I roll my eyes and get up to make a drink.
“Well, I have lots to do today, so I’m heading out. You kids have fun! Happy birthday, Tripp,” Mama says as she gives Tripp a motherly kiss on the cheek and a hug to the rest of us, even Savannah. Especially Savannah. She holds the hug a few seconds long and promises to stop by sometime this weekend so that she can teach her how to make her famous lemonade that she liked so much yesterday.
For a few minutes, we all fall silent, with our mouths too full of Mom’s delicious food to speak. It isn’t until Savannah speaks, staring at the ink on Tripp’s bicep that she breaks the silence.
“What does that say?” she asks with squinted eyes, trying to make out the shitty design.
His face lights up when he realizes she noticed his arm full of tattoos.
“This one?” He points to the half-heart shape just above the crook of his elbow. Savannah nods and Gage and I both burst out laughing. The word on the tattoo is barely legible, looking more like chicken scratch than anything.
“It saysBest,” Blythe says, shaking her head.
“So, we’re tanked at the bar one night, right?” Tripp starts with the same story that he loves to tell about this awful tattoo. “It was a few weeks after Heston started working here.” After a dramatic pause, he drops his voice. “He saved my life that night.”
Gage rolls his eyes, but Savannah scoots to the edge of her seat in interest. You’d think by the way her mouth opens slightly and her brows rise that she was about to hear something groundbreaking.
“Heston caught Tripp when he fell off the damn stage trying to hit on a girl in the band in the middle of her set,” Blythe leans toward Savannah and mumbles the realistic explanation.
