“Evan,” she said. She had no idea what she was doing. Something close to panic rose in her like a flood, except it wasn’t panic, not at all—it shared the same sharpness, but it held delicious sweetness too.
He raised his brows. “Yeah?”
And, since she wouldn’t say it at all if she didn’t blurt it out, Ruth mumbled, “UmmmmIloveyou.”
She’d expected him to look at least a little surprised, but he didn’t; not at all. She might have been insulted by that, if it weren’t for the pleasure spreading over his face, as warm and unstoppable as the morning sunrise had been.
“What was that?” he asked, his eyes dancing. She slid her fingers into his beard and pulled. He twisted his head to bite gently at her hand. “I didn’t hear you,” he insisted. “Go on.”
“Bugger off.”
He tweaked her nose. “Is that what you said? It sounded more like—”
“Oh, be quiet.”
He shook his head, smile wider than ever. “I don’t think that was it, either.”
“I love you! Okay?”
Evan’s eyes were all soft heat, his movements slow. He wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her closer, until their faces were level. Then he whispered, “That’s good. Because I am hopelessly in love with you too.”
And then he kissed her. He kissed her hard, for a very long time, and eventually the kissing became touching, and the touching became sighing, and stroking, and rubbing, and gasping. And by the time all was said and done, they’d wasted a solid hour being desperate, love-sick fools, which she’d very much enjoyed.
But Ruth made herself push away the vestiges of worn-out pleasure like a comforting blanket, one eye on that slice of sunlight streaking through the curtain.
“Come on,” she said, sitting up reluctantly. The loss of his firm, comforting muscle against her side was eternally sigh-worthy, but needs must. “Let’s get ready.”
He slid a hand over her belly. “We’ve got time.”
“I haven’t. If I don’t do my hair before church, Mum will kill me.”
“About that,” he said slowly, sitting up.
Ruth raised her brows. “About my hair?”
“No,” he smiled. “About your mother.”
“What about her?”
“Well, is she—? I mean, should I…”
Ruth watched him search for words, affection spreading through her chest. He looked quite adorably hesitant. She took pity on him and said, “Are you trying to ask if she’s like me and Hannah?”
He was visibly relieved. “Yes, actually.”
She laughed as she stood, not bothering to cover her nudity. His eyes slid over her body as she searched the floor for her pyjamas. She bit back a smile. “My mother is very nice.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, scepticism dripping from his voice.
“Honestly, take it at face value. She’s nice.” Ruth found her pyjamas and went to the bed, pressing a quick kiss against his furrowed brow. “You’ll be fine. Now I’m going next door to sort my hair out.”
He laid back against the pillows. “See you in a sec, kitten.”
“Bye,” Ruth called over her shoulder. She checked her phone as she made the increasingly unnecessary journey from Evan’s flat to her own.
Of course, it wasn’t Ruth who’d started bringing her things to Evan’s. It was him.
You’ll need them in the morning, he’d say, and grab some pyjamas from her drawer. Or, Might as well keep it at mine, and then he’d pick up something like her toothbrush or her phone charger, and the best part was that he thought he was being subtle.
She’d never thought a man would want her things littered across his space, but apparently Evan did.
Ruth checked her texts with one hand as she headed to the bathroom, unwinding the band from the end of her braid. She had a text from Penny, which had been a regular occurrence since Ruth had written her number on that volunteering form. The first text had said:
Ruth,
Just to let you know, your DBS check is ongoing. :) Once it’s done you can start right away!
Penny :)
Ruth had replied, with coaching from Evan—because texting Marjaana, her best friend, was one thing, but texting someone new felt like a test she’d almost certainly fail.
Penny had responded, and now they talked. Penny maintained her oddly formal texting style and excessive use of smiley faces. Ruth maintained her disbelief at the fact that Penny actually wanted to interact with her, for fun. Or something. Whatever.
But Penny’s Happy Easter :) wasn’t the only message. There was one from a number Ruth hadn’t saved, which made her pause in the act of ferreting out her Shea butter.
Here it bloody goes, then.
Ruth’s breath caught in her chest.
“You don’t know how lucky you are.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “That my parents never take me anywhere?”
“That your parents never take you to church,” Maria corrected. “Tell her, Ruth.”
Ruth grunted.
“You’re ungrateful cows, the both of you,” Hayley muttered. “Youse get Sunday dinner after. What do I get? Fish fingers, if Laura’s about.”
“So learn to cook,” Maria winked.
“Cooking’s for suckers. Tell her, Ruth.”
Ruth wrapped her tie around her finger, as tight as it would go, until the school’s burning torch logo disappeared. Then she let it unravel and felt the blood return to the digit.
“Are you listening, Ruth?”
Ruth grunted.
The school bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and she pursed her lips. She’d go straight home, get changed, Mum would drag a comb through her hair, and then they’d be marched down to church for Good Friday. Maria would go through the same process at the Catholic church in the next village over, and Hayley would get to go home and watch TV.
She caught Maria’s eye and sighed. “Here it bloody goes, then.”
“Oh,” Maria laughed. “She speaks.”
Ruth stared at the text for what felt like a painfully long time. Then she remembered that she had things to do, an important day to prepare for. Really, she should ignore the text completely.
Instead, she typed out:
Oh. She speaks.
Then she put her phone face-down on the counter and got on with her hair.
34
One thing Evan could not have predicted about Ruth was her extensive knowledge of hymns.
She appeared to have memorised at least ten, by his calculation. Of course, it could have been a hundred. At this point, they were all blurring into one, and Evan was staring down at the dogged, old hymn book he’d found in his pew and mouthing along silently.
Hopefully, he looked enthusiastic enough to convince Patience Kabbah. The tiny, brightly-dressed woman seemed utterly serene, but he still didn’t completely trust that. She had produced both Ruth and Hannah. She had to be secretly terrifying, somehow.
Right now, in an enormous hat with a beatific smile on her round face, Patience seemed anything but terrifying. That made him even more suspicious.
But at least she seemed, thus far, to like him. He really, really needed Ruth’s mother to like him.
When the service was finally over, Evan realised that the hard part had only just begun. Standing beside someone during church was an easy interlude of occasional friendly eye contact. But now he’d go back to Ruth’s family home, and have dinner, and Ruth loved her family more than anything so if he fucked up somehow…
“Hey.” Ruth’s voice was soft, her hand capturing his. “Let’s go.”
Her mother and sister were making their way through the milling crowd of churchgoers, moving leisurely toward the huge, wooden doors. He found himself studying the metalwork of the door’s hinges, analysing how they’d been designed. Then he pulled himself together, his fingers tightening around Ruth’s.
“You seem slightly dazed,” she murmured, her lips pursed in that almo
st-smile.
“I’ve never been to church before,” he replied under his breath. “I didn’t think there’d be so much… singing.”
“Lucky for you, we only have to go twice a year.”
Evan tried not to grin wide, or squeeze her hand, or do anything to give away how those words went straight to his heart. If he did, she might realise the implications of what she’d just said and come over all embarrassed.
But really—who knew twice-annual obligations could feel so romantic?
“Twice?” he said. “Easter and…?”
“Christmas.” She shot him a smile, a real smile. “You’re bad at this.”
“I know.” He smiled back, not even caring that they’d stopped walking, that they were standing in the middle of the church, hands joined, staring at each other like happy little lemmings.
Then a familiar voice said, “Miller. Ruth.”
Evan drew in a deep, deep breath. He hoped that by the time he was ready to exhale, he’d be less pissed off than he currently was.
It didn’t work, exactly. Instead, Evan and Ruth turned as one to find that the voice he’d assumed was Daniel’s belonged to Mr. Burne.
The older man stood stiffly with a tall, dark-haired woman at his side. Behind that woman, resting a hand on her shoulder, was Hayley, the girl who’d been so rude to Ruth.
Which would, logically, make the dark-haired woman Laura Burne.
“Hello,” Ruth said cautiously.
Evan said nothing. Tension seemed to thrum between the three women in an unbalanced sort of triangle. He had the unmistakable feeling of being utterly superfluous. Whatever was happening here would go on well enough without him.
Burne seemed to have a similar idea, because he said, “Well. I shall see you at work, Miller, I’m sure.” And then, after a slight hesitation, he added, “Goodbye, Ruth. Happy Easter.”
Evan could almost feel Ruth’s shock, but it didn’t show on her face—or in her voice when she murmured, “Goodbye, Mr. Burne.”
The man wandered off, leaving Evan and Ruth, Laura and Hayley, standing opposite each other in the middle of the stone floor.
Evan studied the woman who, for better or for worse, had ended up tied to Daniel.
She was tall like her sister, with the same long, dark hair and unobtrusive prettiness. There was a firm set to her shoulders and a sharpness to her jaw that reminded him of women he’d known in the army. She stood close, very close, to her sister, and was resting a hand against her own belly. He remembered hearing somewhere that Daniel’s wife was pregnant. She wasn’t showing. But two rings gleamed on her fourth finger, one bearing an enormous, tear-drop diamond.
“Ruth,” Laura said. There was no animosity in her tone, or in her face—though, just behind her, Hayley was scowling awfully.
Ruth nodded slightly. “Laura.”
“It’s nice to see you.” The woman’s pale, grey gaze flickered down to Evan and Ruth’s intertwined hands.
“It’s nice to see you too,” Ruth said. “I hope you’re doing well.” She sounded careful, which meant that she had no idea what the fuck was going on. Frankly, neither did Evan. But it was certainly… interesting.
The rest of the churchgoers seemed to think so too. Those who had been hurrying toward the exit found reason to slow down, to dawdle, all of a sudden. Evan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wondered where Daniel was, then decided he didn’t care. The fucker was probably allergic to places of worship, being a demon and all.
“I’m as well as can be expected,” Laura replied with a hint of wry humour. Then she smiled with an unaffected ease that could only be the result of years’ practice. “Perhaps we might meet for coffee,” she said. “At some point.”
Behind her, Hayley’s face was stiff. Evan saw Ruth flash a look at her old friend before murmuring, “Alright.”
And that, apparently, was that. Laura inclined her head with a matronly grace that seemed too old for her. She couldn’t be more than 35, but she was almost stately as she left.
Evan squeezed Ruth’s hand, ignoring the low murmurs and interested looks around them. “So that was weird.”
“Yeah,” she said. She was frowning slightly, and he could almost see the cogs whirring inside her mind. But then she shrugged, and the frown cleared, and she said, “Let’s find Mum and Hannah.”
It didn’t take long. Patience Kabbah’s enormous, pink hat was visible above the crowd. She stood by the door, pressing the vicar’s gnarled hand with her own. The two of them were speaking very seriously, but as he grew closer Evan realised that the topic of discussion was, apparently, hot crossed buns.
As they waited for the baffling conversation to finish, Ruth and Hannah communicated with that series of significant, eye-widening looks they shared so frequently. Then, after a few moments, Patience turned.
“Well,” she said, her lyrically accented voice bright. “Let’s get home and eat, shall we? Are you hungry, Evan?” She didn’t wait for his response. “I bet you are! Come, girls.”
She floated out of the church, Hannah following dutifully behind.
Ruth and Evan stepped out into the church’s riotous gardens together, the sun beaming gently down on them. They walked slowly, and Evan took the opportunity to study the woman by his side.
She was focused on the daffodils lining the concrete path, simple pleasure all over her face—which was to say, her lips tilted slightly, and her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks plumped. Her dark skin gleamed in the light, and fine tendrils of frizz escaped her braid. She was wearing the most formal clothes she owned, which amounted to a black pair of leggings, boots, and a T-shirt that didn’t bear a fictional character’s face.
She was painfully perfect.
Evan hung back slightly, tugging on Ruth’s hand. She paused, looking up at him, her brows raised in question.
“What’s up?” she said.
“I love you,” he replied, his voice soft.
Her face split into a smile, and she said without an ounce of self-consciousness, “I love you, too. A lot. I mean, a worrying amount. I’m not quite sure how it happened, actually—”
With a laugh, Evan grabbed her by the waist and dragged her to him. She came with a sigh, batting at his shoulder. But when he bent down to kiss her, right in front of the church, she didn’t complain.
Not at all. Not even a little bit.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
“What are you doing?”
Ruth jumped, dropping a packet of rice on the floor.
It split.
“Oh, fuck,” she sighed.
Evan laughed, padding into the kitchen on bare feet. He held out a hand as she started to bend. “Don’t you dare.”
Ruth didn’t argue. He was probably right. She’d fallen over enough before, without the added burden of an enormously round belly. Now, she was a disaster waiting to happen.
Evan put the rice on the counter, cupping his hand over the place where the bag had split. Then he caught her hand in his and tugged her from the kitchen—but not before casting a speaking glance at the food she’d lined up on the side.
“So,” he said, leading her back into their bedroom. “You decided to get up in the middle of the night and cook dinner?”
“We should sweep up the rice,” she mumbled.
He pushed her gently back into bed, on top of the rumpled blankets. “That can wait ‘til morning. It’s 1 a.m.”
She huffed, because his calm reason was vaguely annoying. Then he lay down and wrapped an arm around her, and Ruth, weak as she was, forgot all irritation and purred like a kitten.
Evan kissed her cheek and murmured, “Are you nervous?”
She snorted. “Why would I possibly be nervous about our first time hosting Sunday dinner? About taking responsibility for the tradition and trying to live up to my mother’s half-a-century of experience when I can’t even cook—”
“You’re not doing the cooking,” he reminded her gently. “I am. Whi
ch makes me wonder what, exactly, you were doing in the kitchen.”
“Well,” Ruth said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I thought it might make things easier for you if I laid out all the ingredients and so on.”
Evan laughed. “I see. Thanks for the support, love.” He rubbed slow, soothing circles over her belly, but she knew that wasn’t just for her. He put his hands over her bump whenever he could.
Ruth looked down and watched him stroke the swell of her stomach and felt herself relax. Somehow, he smoothed away her hours of lying awake, feeling ridiculously nervous, worrying that she’d ruin everything by… well, by setting the kitchen on fire despite still being banned from using ovens. Or something along those lines.
The tension drained from her with every circle of Evan’s hand. The glow of their bedside lamp shadowed his features, but she could still see the glint of his golden beard, his sky-bright eyes.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” The Kabbahs and Davises all crammed into she and Evan’s three-bedroom house expecting a perfect meal seemed like an enormous deal to her.
But then Evan said, “We’re family. So even if we fuck it up, everything will be fine.”
She relaxed again, just a bit. “Hm. I suppose that is technically true.”
“Plus, we’re not gonna fuck it up. I’ve been watching your mother cook for years.” He smiled down at her. “And I know you’re not questioning my skills.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Would I ever, Great Husband, O Master of the Kitchen?”
“You shouldn’t,” he said haughtily, mimicking her tone. “But you’ve always been impudent.”
“Impudent?” She snorted. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Guess.” He lowered his head and kissed her, his lips gentle and familiar and electric all at once. His hand stopped circling and started rising, sliding up over the curve of her belly until it reached her full breasts.
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