There were other fallen deities living across town where Pan had stored Cupid’s supplies. Pan could have set him up in an apartment there. Why didn’t he?
A bright spark of hope flared inside him. Perhaps Pan knew their rift would be short-lived. “I will be in touch,” he’d written. Either that or—
Cupid rubbed his chest as the more likely explanation occurred to him: Cupid wasn’t worth relocating because he’d be gone soon enough. Little did Pan know, Ruthie’s marriage had deteriorated, if anything. Yes, Cupid had figured out the two Worthies he was supposed to bring together, and yes, they were already married to each other, but did Cupid have any clue how to bring them to their Liminal Point? Not a one.
But say, by some miracle of luck and love, Cupid did sort them out. Say the gods were pleased with Cupid, and they returned him to Mount Olympus. How could he and Pan ever repair their friendship from the distance of two different worlds when their hearts were so far apart now? How could Cupid put his whole heart into fulfilling his mission when success would bring him so much more pain? What would happen to all of them if he failed Ruthie and Zach as friendship and love seemed to have failed Cupid?
A howl of despair escaped him and bounced off the walls of his car. Time to go.
Cupid started the engine. Utterly lost and alone, he waited for his heart or his car to guide him. Nothing.
“Tell me where you would have me go,” he wailed to anyone who might be listening.
Craning his neck toward the upper edge of the windshield, Cupid cast his eyes to the sky and watched, transfixed, as the veil of evening turned to night, and milky blurs of light sharpened before his eyes. The constellations were so much clearer on Mount O, but there was no mistaking the familiar head of Taurus, the symbol of fertility and power.
Much could be said about Zeus—the more outrageous, the more likely the story was true—but the Ruler of the gods wasn’t afraid to go after what He wanted. If that meant turning Himself into a bull and mingling with the herds of Europa’s father to attract the girl’s attention, He barely gave a second thought. Of course, Zeus almost always won the girl, and here was proof of His undying love—His gift to Europa, a constellation to live eternally in the night sky.
A motivated god was a force. How hard would it have been for Aphrodite to send Mercury down with a simple message? An “I miss you” or “I love you” would have gone a long way in those first days after the fall. Cupid told himself it didn’t matter; at the ripe old age of three thousand, give or take a few years, he’d surely outgrown his need for Mother’s affection. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel like an abandoned child.
Without realizing it, Cupid had set his car on course for Ruthie’s. How was it fair that Aphrodite could discard a child without a care, when Ruthie, a woman who’d wanted to be a mother so very desperately, had been tragically denied three times? How fickle were the Fates, how merciless the Divine Council.
With a full head of righteous steam, Cupid parked his car in the Millers’ driveway, same as he’d done every morning for the last two and a half weeks, heaved the trash bag of belongings over his shoulder, and approached their back door.
26
Intrusion
The motion-sensitive floodlight came on, reminding Cupid of the first time he’d dropped by Ruthie’s home uninvited. Would tonight’s arrival be any more welcome?
He announced himself with a firm knock on the glass—enough to set Pookie off, which, in turn, triggered Zach’s sharp, “Hush, Pookie!”
A pitter-patter crossed the room and skipped down the back staircase. Pookie tumbled down the stairs first, eager to have a catch with her new playmate. Zach’s slippers came into view, then gray sweatpants, a college T-shirt, and Zach’s wary expression as he squinted at Cupid through the door.
Cupid gave Zach a friendly wave. It didn’t help. Zach looked confused, then pissed, as Pan would say. Zach opened the door but blocked the entrance with his whole body.
A terrible storm churned up from the bottom of Cupid’s stomach. “I’m so sorry, I—don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“What are you doing here? Construction emergency? Did Ruthie call you here?” Zach grew agitated, checking over his own shoulder for Ruthie and over Cupid’s shoulder, for an army, perhaps.
“No!” Cupid threw his hands up to try to slow Zach’s momentum. The bag slid to the ground. Zach eyed it and Cupid with great misgiving.
“Little early for Santa Claus, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” Cupid had no energy for humor. “I’m truly sorry to disturb your evening. Do you think I might speak with Ruthie? Please?”
Zach scowled at him for several eternal seconds while Cupid valiantly attempted to appear less like a bedraggled off-duty carpenter lugging around all his belongings in a garbage bag. “I know all about you,” Zach announced finally.
Cupid’s mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”
“There aren’t many Quentins in Tarra.” A self-satisfied smile settled on Zach’s face. “You are quite the hero, Mr. Arrows.”
“Oh. That.”
Zach’s eyebrows arched high into his forehead. “You’re hiding something else?”
“No. Of course not,” Cupid spluttered. “I wasn’t hiding that either. I just don’t like to draw attention to myself.”
“Right.” Zach frowned as if disappointed not to have a reason to turn Cupid away. He stepped out of Cupid’s path and waved him inside with all the hospitality of the Minotaur receiving his next tribute into the labyrinth. “Wait here.”
Pookie yipped at Zach’s retreating slippers but made no move to leave Cupid’s side. Inordinately grateful for the affection, Cupid crouched to scratch her ears. Their love fest was disturbed by a rising argument upstairs.
“How do you know he’s not some bum living out of his car?”
“So what if he is, Zach? He’s doing a great job. You’ve seen for yourself, remember?”
“Then tell me what he’s doing here now, showing up like a beggar in the night.”
“I don’t know. Here’s an idea. Why don’t I ask him?” Ruthie’s voice, short and clipped, was barely recognizable.
What was Cupid thinking, coming here like this? This fight was entirely his fault. How would he even begin to explain to Ruthie what he was doing here?
“Jesus, Ruthie. Can’t you see? He’s using you . . . and Gail.”
“Using us for what, exactly?”
“Come on, Ruthie. Set aside your wild fantasies for one goddamn second and ask yourself what a young, good-looking guy like that would want with a couple of middle-aged women.”
Cupid listened into the terrible silence. Ruthie was either too sad or too angry to respond. Cupid strained his ears for a whisper, a sob, any clue of Ruthie’s emotional state. His heart pounded for her with so much love and pain, he could hardly distinguish one from the other, but Cupid’s wasn’t the only heart beating.
Louder than their words and their awful silence, Ruthie and Zach’s heartbeats echoed as powerfully and unmistakably each other’s as ever. At least Cupid hadn’t managed to mess that up—yet. If he snuck away now . . .
No, that would be the coward’s way out. Besides, the damage was done. He couldn’t leave Ruthie like this.
The floor creaked with hasty footsteps. Ruthie’s slippers appeared. Cupid rose on wobbly legs, unsure how much of the overheard argument to acknowledge. His heart twisted when her tear-streaked face came into view.
“I am so sorry, Ruthie. I didn’t mean to create problems for you.”
“Never mind him,” Ruthie said with a dismissive wave. Her gaze ran up and down his body. “Are you okay? Come in.”
She didn’t wait for Cupid to answer before leading him inside. Cupid slogged up the stairs behind her, dragging the sack of clothes he wished he’d left in the car.
“Here. Sit.”
<
br /> Cupid had walked past this room every day, coming and going, but this was the first time he’d entered the space. The room radiated Ruthie’s brand of warmth—soothing natural tones, soft fabrics, inviting seats that faced other seats—not like Pan’s, where everything faced the TV. Like the rest of their home, this room was neat to the point of looking uninhabited, except for the electronic device and half-full drink on the table in front of the couch, where Zach must have been sitting, watching TV, before Cupid’s untimely arrival. Cupid made sure to choose a different chair.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Nothing, I’m—” He was thirsty. And hungry. He’d been so focused on the fighting and the heartbeats, Cupid had failed to notice the mouthwatering smells coming from the kitchen. Had he eaten anything today? “I’d love a glass of water, actually. If you don’t mind.”
“Be right back.” She looked at him through sad eyes as she left him there. They both could use a hug, he thought.
His gaze followed her to the kitchen, where Zach stood with his arms crossed, watching Cupid as if he were a common thief. He wished he had the right words to assure Zach he hadn’t come to steal from them, but Earthlings were mistrustful, and it seemed to Cupid that those who had the most were often the ones who trusted the least.
“Here you go,” Ruthie said gently, handing him a tall glass of ice water as she sat down in the chair beside his. She waited for Cupid to take a long drink, not asking any questions, not demanding any answers.
“Thank you,” he said, for both the water and the time to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner,” Cupid said again.
“Please stop apologizing. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.” There was no way he could have pulled off a lie, especially when his belly gave a loud rumble. Ruthie’s lips curled into a gentle smile.
“You’ll join us for dinner, then.”
It wasn’t a question, and Cupid was in no position to refuse. He softly thanked Ruthie, avoiding Zach’s glare as if meeting it might turn Cupid to stone.
She leaned in, closing Zach out of their discussion. “What happened to you, Quentin? Why did you come here?”
“I made a mistake. A bad one.” Cupid swallowed the lump in his throat. Ruthie would surely think less of him once she learned what he’d done. “With a woman.”
“Gail?”
“No, I’m not seeing Gail anymore.”
“Oh.” Ruthie looked visibly relieved. At least Cupid had made one good decision.
“You remember my friend Pan? From the club?”
“The burly redhead?”
“That’s the one. Well, I, uh, went to see Pan’s . . .” Cupid refused to repeat the disgusting term Pan had used, but he didn’t know what else to call it. “They had sex a few times, but I guess I wasn’t supposed to—”
“I thought Pan was gay.”
“Pan’s a bit of everything.”
A faint blush edged up Ruthie’s cheeks. “Oh.”
“Anyway, we had a horrible fight over it. He’s kicked me out, and I’m not sure he’s going to forgive me. Ever.” Saying it out loud lent an air of finality that broke Cupid’s heart all over again.
“Oh no. I’m sorry to hear it.” Ruthie wrung her hands together in her lap. Cupid could tell she wanted to reach out and comfort him, and he wanted that, too, but not with Zach standing in the next room shooting daggers at the two of them. “You two have been friends a long time, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out. Until then, you’ll stay here,” she added without hesitation. “We have a whole wing that goes unused fifty weeks out of the year.”
Zach cleared his throat. Ruthie shot him a look Cupid had seen Aphrodite use countless times on Hephaestus: I will not be intimidated.
Zach rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. “By all means,” he said, sweeping his arms open with huge drama, “stay as long as you want, Henry.”
Ruthie’s mouth dropped open. She stood suddenly and clapped her hands together. “Why don’t I show you to your room, and you can settle in?”
Cupid had rather liked her suggestion of eating dinner, but a change of clothes first was probably a wise plan. Ruthie rose and walked past Zach without looking at him, and Cupid picked up his bag once again and followed, head down, until they reached the front stairs.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “The last thing I wanted to do was put you in a rough spot.”
Ruthie climbed the stairs, face forward, shoulders squared. “That wasn’t really about you.”
“Would it help if I talk to your husband?”
Ruthie shook her head and tried to chuckle, but what came out held no mirth. “Thanks, but no.”
“I’ll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow.” How bad could a hotel be? “I promise.”
“Don’t be silly. We have the space.” Ruthie continued down a hallway Cupid had not explored before, set away from the rest of the living quarters. She opened a door, and an entire world revealed itself: a huge bedroom with its own bathroom and kitchen area and a separate sitting area with a sofa and TV, and shelves overstuffed with unruly stacks of paperbacks and hardcover books.
“Wow. These are all the books for your new study.”
“I’ll probably leave the nonfiction behind.” Ruthie crossed her elbows over her chest and rubbed her upper arms. “It’s a little chilly in here. You can adjust the temperature however you like.”
Cupid dropped the bag next to the bed as he looked around in wonder. Paintings as beautiful as anywhere else in the house covered the walls. Elegant draperies adorned floor-to-ceiling windows. Plush carpet gave way under his heavy boots. “This place is a palace.”
Ruthie laughed for real this time. “I don’t know about that, but it works. We wouldn’t want to make Zach’s parents too comfortable. They might never leave.”
I might never leave.
Ruthie seemed to read his thoughts. “Feel free to make yourself at home. Put your clothes in the drawers. There are towels and soap and shampoo in the bathroom.”
Her kindness was almost unbearable. They were standing too close to each other, too close to the bed, awkwardly restraining themselves from the physical contact Cupid craved and sensed Ruthie did as well.
“Thank you, Ruthie. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
Their eyes met for a brief, charged moment before Ruthie waved away his thank-you and started for the door. “You can come down for dinner whenever you want. I’ll fix you a plate. You don’t have to sit with my grumpy husband.”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Cupid said. “Who’s Henry?”
“Oh.” She halted just outside the door as if her feet had suddenly grown roots. “Nobody. Just one of my characters.”
Hmm, this was getting interesting. Cupid had been dying to learn more about Ruthie’s writing ever since she’d changed the topic in the diner. “What kind of character?”
“Oh, uh, he-might-be-a-handyman.”
“A romantic handyman?” Cupid grinned. Ruthie blushed. “I’d really love to read that story.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll read anything you’ve written. It doesn’t have to be about me.” He gave her a wink.
“You probably weren’t even alive when I wrote that.”
It was working. Ruthie was loosening up.
“I’m older than I look, Ruthie.”
“Whatever.”
Cupid took a chance and ambled ever so slowly toward Ruthie. He leaned against the doorjamb, careful not to brush his shoulder against the silver box mounted at an angle. Cupid couldn’t afford to anger any more gods.
“So, what do I have to do to get you to share that story with me?”
Ruthie shook
her head, but a slow grin stretched across her face. He had her now.
“Okay, fine, you can read it. After I edit out the juicy parts.”
Great Zeus! The handyman’s tale had juicy parts? Had Ruthie been thinking about that story while she watched Cupid work?
“No! You can’t!”
“Goodbye, Quentin.”
She wouldn’t have believed him, but Cupid could have sworn Ruthie looked ten years younger than she had before this conversation started. Cupid wondered if Zach would notice. And then he wondered if that would be a good thing.
27
Fixer Upper
Ruth paused outside the room that was no longer a nursery but not quite her study, admiring the meticulous stroke of Quentin’s brush along the edge of the windowsill. The man was a perfectionist. A perfect perfectionist.
She knocked lightly. “Good morning.”
Quentin smiled at Ruth and waved her into the room. “I’m glad you’re here. What do you think about the Linen White trim?” He took a few steps back to examine his work alongside her.
“I think it looks great, especially with the morning sun streaming in.” She might actually be able to keep a plant or two alive in here.
“I agree. Glad you’re happy, Ruthie.”
This room made her happy, anyway. “I just popped in to invite you to come down for a cup of coffee and some breakfast.”
“Oh.” Quentin rubbed his belly as if he hadn’t considered eating until she’d mentioned food. “That’s sweet, but I’m fine. I can get something when I’m through for the day.”
“Through? That’s three meals from now.”
Quentin chuckled. “I don’t really get hungry while I’m working.”
At times like these, Ruth wondered about the boy’s mother. “Good thing I reminded you to eat, then. Zach’s not here. It’s just me and the ferocious watchdog.” Ruth jerked her chin toward the dozing dog curled up by the window. In another life, Ruth would gladly curl up and snooze at Quentin’s feet all day. All night.
“She’s good company.”
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