Free Southern Charm by Tinsley Mortimer Page B

planned this all quite well.”
    â€œYour mother’s the mastermind of the whole operation,” Tripp said. His blue eyes twinkled once again, which annoyed me even more. He was like a little child who could get away with anything because he made it impossible to stay mad.
    â€œWell, I really should be going,” Mother said.
    What?!
    â€œThat armoire is being delivered at six P.M . and if I’m not there to sign for it we’ll have one ticked-off doorman on our hands.”
    â€œM-mommy, I,” I stuttered, “I should probably help you?”
    â€œAbsolutely not,” she said. She looked at me, then Tripp. “The night is young and you two obviously have some talking to do. Why don’t y’all grab a drink around the corner and iron things out?”
    Iron things out? I was starting to feel faint.
    â€œTripp, dear, don’t make yourself a stranger, now, you hear? I don’t want another seven years going by before our next chance meeting on a New York City street.” She winked at him. She actually had the nerve to wink at him. And then she swiveled around and scurried away as though if she just walked quickly enough, I would forget she had ever been standing there in the first place.
    â€œI forgot how amusing your mother can be,” Tripp said.
    â€œAmusing?”
    â€œShe’s a pistol.”
    â€œOh, Tripp.”
    â€œAnyway”—he looped his arm in mine—“she reminds me of someone I know.” He smiled. “One drink, Minty Davenport,” he said. “You owe me that much.”

It’s All in the Details
    I believe in fate and just knowing within a short period of time that something is meant to be. In fact, my mother always swore she loved my father the moment she saw him, even though she also kind of hated him and definitely threw a drink in his face. She said that she was really just trying to get his attention at the end of the day, and she knew a man like Gharland Davenport wasn’t exactly an easy target.
    â€œAnyway,” she explained, “sometimes love and hate are the same thing.”
    I understood what she was trying to say, but I never truly believed it until it happened to me.
    Tripp took me to Nectar Coffee Shop on Madison Avenue. We ordered hot chocolate and apple pie. I was so in shock that it took me a good seven minutes to start talking, but there was nothing awkward about those first seven minutes of silence.
    â€œI had to get your attention somehow,” he finally said.
    I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I would call this ‘getting my attention,’” I said. “It’s more like, I don’t know, cornering?”
    He smiled. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
    I stared back at him. That connection, however small, howeverundeveloped, remained. We both knew it. But was I really ready to rewind seven years and admit how much he’d hurt me? It seemed silly now in the grand scheme of things, but the scars were still there.
    â€œI have to say, Tripp,” I began, “I’m totally surprised by this.”
    He looked taken aback.
    â€œWell,” he said. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. I’m happy we ran into each other. I mean, I’ve been wondering about you for years. Probably since the last time I saw you. When was it? The Christmas party at the club?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “It was the Christmas party at the club. And my memories of that night aren’t exactly . . . fond.”
    â€œI see.” He bristled. “I’m—I’m sorry about that.”
    â€œI know we were really young,” I said. “And yes—it was such a short period of time. But I liked you so much—I even thought I might be falling in love with you—and you lied to me.”
    â€œI know,” he said. He stared at his cup of coffee. “What else can I say? I liked you a lot too. If