I can’t believe she was crying.
The last thing I want to do is make Ruthie cry.
I hurry to the door and knock on it, bouncing on my feet, waiting for her to answer.
Footsteps sound toward the door, locks are undone, and the door parts. Standing in a pair of cotton shorts and another one of her classic tank tops, I notice her eyes are rimmed in red, and her hair is wet from a shower.
“Brig,” she says in surprise, quickly wiping at her eyes. “I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“It’s fine.” She keeps the door mostly closed so only I can see a small sliver of her body.
“It’s not. You’re clearly upset. Beck said you came back from the Parlor upset, and I know it was me who did that. Was it the plates? Were they heirlooms? I swear, I’ll find them and buy you new ones.”
She shakes her head. “No, they weren’t. And I’m just . . . I’m sorry that I made things awkward. I should have never set up that table like that. I was trying to—”
Through the crack in the door, I press my fingers over her mouth to silence her. “Come with me.”
“What?”
I grab her hand that’s holding on to the edge of the door and I say, “Just come with me.”
“Wait, I need shoes.” She’s halfway out the door when she slips on sandals and shuts the door behind her.
Hand in hand, I walk her down the stairs, to the back of the building where my red Mustang is parked.
“You drove here?”
“To get here quicker,” I say, opening the door for her and closing it after she sits down.
In silence, we drive back to the garage and to the Parlor where I park. We both get out of the car and I bring her to the front of her space where I open the door for her, revealing an old wooden table from The Lobster Landing and two wooden chairs—one a faded blue, the other a mustard yellow.
The table is set for tea and instead of sandwiches, I found the pastries she was going to share and set them up on one of my mom’s tiered dessert servers. On plates in front of each place setting is half a baked bean sandwich from Knight and Port.
“Wh-what’s this?” she asks, stepping closer.
“I wanted to make it up to you. I’m sorry that I pushed you with the whole Tracker thing. Had I not done that, I wouldn’t have ruined your display. I didn’t have time to research tea sandwiches so I ran to Knight and Port. We have the pastries to taste test though. That’s if you still want to.”
When I glance at her, there’s a beautiful smile pulling at her lips. She looks up at me and nods. “I would like to taste test still.” And then she steps forward, into my space, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek to my chest. She holds me tight, enveloping me into a comforting warmth that feels so foreign to me.
Fuck . . .
When was the last time I hugged someone who wasn’t family? Felt the touch of another human being, even if she’s just a friend?
It’s been a long time, and I’m not sure if that’s why this feels so good, or if there’s another reason why Ruth feels amazing in my arms.
I squeeze her back, holding on a little longer than I expect.
She looks up at me, her chin on my chest and she says, “Thank you, Brig. I appreciate it.” Her eyes glitter as they connect with mine, her smile’s contagious, and those freckles . . . what would happen if I started joining them with my finger?
“Uh yeah, you’re welcome,” I say awkwardly, realizing my mind is starting to wander into dangerous no-friend zone territory. “Shall we?” I gesture to the table and she nods.
“Is it weird even though we just had baked bean sandwiches, I’m still craving one?”
“Not even in the slightest,” I answer, pulling her chair out for her. “When Reid brought the sandwich over, I almost devoured it right then and there but figured that would negate the point of getting one for you and me to share.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Once at the table, I say, “Dig in.” There’s something to be said about a girl who can appreciate a baked bean sandwich. Usually people balk at it, sneer, but those who truly appreciate it, they are keepers.
“How about we don’t let awkward stuff float between us anymore? We just say it like it is,” I suggest.
“Are you sure you can handle that? You did state that you can only dish it, not take it.” She smirks over her sandwich.
“That’s very true, but for the sake of our friendship, I think we should lay it all out there.”
“Okay, that seems fair.”
“Which means, no running off and crying if I hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings, I was just embarrassed.”
“Why?” I ask, taking another bite of my sandwich, nearly done. I should have bought one for each of us. What the hell was I thinking?
“So we’re telling the truth?”
“Yup.”
“Okay.” She sets her sandwich down and looks me in the eyes. “I was unintentionally straddling you, you looked horrified, and then shoved me off you. I didn’t mean to end up in that position, but it just happened . . . and I felt like it was disgusting to you.” She shrugs. “Just embarrassing is all.”
Oh Ruth.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Yeah, about that.” I pull on the back of my neck, wishing we weren’t suddenly truthful with each other. “So, I should be the one that’s embarrassed.”
“Why?” she asks, looking adorably confused.
“Well, I was kind of getting . . . turned on.”
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline in surprise. “Turned on as in . . .”
“As in boner town was coming in fast, and I didn’t want you thinking I was some creep who gets easily turned on by his friends—which apparently I am.”
“Oh.” She smirks. Which is really cute.
“I wasn’t disgusted by you, it was the exact opposite.”
“Okay,” she says and turns back to her sandwich while trying to hold back her smile.
“You were all warm and your thighs were hugging me and those jeans shorts. Come on, you’re killing me with the jeans shorts.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, biting into her sandwich.
“And . . . you know, it’s been a while, so things get excited quickly.”
“Sure, Brig.”
“Stop it with that . . . with those short answers,” I say. “I’m not a creep.”
“I know you’re not a creep. It’s just nice to be appreciated is all.”
“Why do you say that? You mean that line of men I see at Snow Roast every morning is just for coffee? Not your number?”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Can’t tell you the last time I went on a date. Trust me, they’re there for coffee.” She finishes up her sandwich as I think about it.
How come no one has asked Ruth out?
She’s pretty . . . well, more than pretty, she’s beautiful, especially when she’s in the sun and her freckles darken along the bridge of her nose.
She’s kind, caring, a warm person, someone you can rely on.
And funny. Fuck, is she funny. Really fucking funny, has fabulous timing, knowing the precise moment when to tease you.
And determined. She hasn’t complained once while running with me but has run every route I’ve given her. She’s held strong, kept up.
She’s a catch.
Then again, I didn’t know any of that about her until I got to know her. She’s reserved when she’s working. Maybe people need to see her beyond the coffee counter like I have.
“It looks like you’re trying to compute some large numbers in your head over there.” She crosses one leg over the other and leans back in her chair while taking a sip of water.
“Just thinking of all your good attributes. You have quite a few.”
“Is that so? Like what?”
“Fuck no, I’m not about to sit here
and go on about how great you are just to boost your ego. Nice try.” I chuckle. “But it is surprising that no one has asked you out.”
“Oh, I’ve been asked out. Just haven’t taken any offers.”
“What? Why not? If someone asked me out, I’d be all over that.”
She’s staring down at her lap, but her eyes lift up briefly to mine as she quietly says, “Just waiting for the right person.”
The way she’s looking at me, shy but confident, it’s making my head feel like mush, as if I can’t comprehend this conversation. Spinning and twirling, her words don’t quite compute, so I can’t make sense of it. It feels like all the thoughts in my head are garbled and out of order.
But something does make sense.
Waiting for the right person . . .
“Maybe I should try doing that,” I say softly.
“Doing what?” Ruth asks.
“Wait for the right person. Maybe that’s been my problem all along. Chasing after something I had no right chasing after.”
. . . It isn’t until your minds have matured
That the weight of this curse will forever be cured.
Mature mind . . .
Maybe the chase is what’s gotten me in trouble, because when I wasn’t chasing, it felt like an opportunity fell right in my lap.
My pen pal.
“Are you . . . chasing now?”
I shake my head. “Nah, haven’t found anyone.” Her shoulders sag as she picks up her napkin and starts to tear the ends very slowly. “There is someone I’ve been talking to. And from what I know of her, she’s awesome.” I don’t mention Summer of Love because frankly, I think I might be the only semi-sane person who allowed Mrs. Davenport to match them up with someone. I already have the boner thing going for me with Ruth, so I can’t possibly mention Summer of Love during the same sitting.
“That’s cool,” she sighs and looks to the side where the pastries rest. “Should we taste these?”
“Hell yeah.” I shove the rest of my sandwich into my mouth, ready to get my pastry on. “So who’s asked you out?”
She shakes her head. “No one worth talking about.”
She almost sounds defeated when she answers. Huh, did I say something wrong? She’d tell me if I did, right? That’s what we spoke about, being honest with each other.
“Have you ever been into someone but not known how to approach those feelings?” I ask her as she starts dividing up the pastries onto each of our plates.
Scones.
Mini frosted cakes.
A cinnamon-looking thing that’s twisted in the middle.
Whoopie pies.
I’m in heaven.
“Yes,” she says, looking me square in the eyes.
“You have? Who?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. These pastries look fucking amazing, and I’m about to devour all of them in one bite. “Do I know him? Is it Oliver over at the general store? I swear that guy has a story to tell. A dark horse, that one. I can see the appeal.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Ah, come on. You have to tell me. Has it been a long crush?”
She clears her throat. “Very long.”
“Oh damn, which means . . . you haven’t done anything about it.”
Shaking her head, she says, “Not until recently.”
“Really?” I can feel excitement bubble up inside me. I love a good fucking love story. Maybe I can help Ruth make a move on this guy, especially if she’s liked him for so long. Then I notice her recoil. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to.”
Okay, was hoping she’d answer that differently.
“Ugh, Ruthie, you’re killing me. You know I like to know everything that’s happening in this town.”
“Yeah, and you have a big mouth too.”
“True, but I would keep your secret.” I clutch my heart. “You’re special to me, and the people who are special to me are the ones who—”
“Aren’t you the one who informs the town of all the things happening with your brothers?”
Mouth agape, I sit a little taller and say, “That’s the brother tax. Being the youngest, it’s my duty to be a nuisance after the torture they put me through growing up. Secrets don’t count with brothers.”
“Yeah, I’m not trusting you.”
“That hurts,” I say playfully. “You’re truly cutting me deep, Ruthie.”
“Pretty sure you’ll survive.” She holds up the whoopie pie, a smile playing on her lips as she says, “You’ll never taste a better one.”
We’ll see about that. I have it on good authority who makes the best whoopie pies ever. Well, I don’t really know the person, but I do know she wears red lipstick and enjoys kissing paper just for me.
“Pretty sure I had the best whoopie pie of my life the other day.” I bring the whoopie pie to my mouth. “But I’ll . . . oh damn, is that peanut butter frosting in the middle?” She nods, her eyes looking eager, her body leaning forward. “It’s really fucking good. Wow, so soft and, the chocolate. Hell . . .” I take another bite. “This is approved. Must have on the menu.” I lick my fingers clean, pulling my lips over my long digits. “You know what’s funny? That girl I’ve been talking to, she likes peanut butter in the middle of her whoopie pies too.”
“Oh, is that right?” Ruth says, her voice taking on a sarcastic tone.
“Yeah, she sent me some the other day, not with peanut butter, but man, they tasted just like this. Ha, what if you know her? That would be funny.”
“What’s her name?”
“Uh,” I awkwardly laugh. “You know, since you’re keeping your secret man to yourself, I’m going to keep my lady to myself as well.”
“That’s fair.” She passes it off as if it’s no big deal.
“Nooo, you’re supposed to beg me to know who this girl is that I’m talking about.”
“Not interested.” She picks up one of the mini cakes and pops it into her mouth.
Also not a response I was expecting. How could she be so casual about this? Isn’t she even faintly curious? I know I am. I want to know who this guy is and why the hell she hasn’t made a move on him yet.
Instead of fixating on it though, I shove a mini cake in my mouth as well. When the sweet and bold flavors glide over my tongue, I groan in satisfaction. “Goddamn, woman, this is good. You know what?” I shake my head vehemently. “This isn’t going to work out.”
“What’s not going to work out?” she asks in confusion.
“You being next door.” I pick up another cake and pop it into my mouth like it’s popcorn. “I’m going to eat everything, and I’m trying to maintain my physique here.”
“Maybe you should pick up a different workout partner then, someone who isn’t just starting.”
“Oh, fuck no.” I point at her. “Nice try, Ruthie, but you’re not getting off that easily. Although, given how long it’s been since you’ve been with someone, you might get off easily.”
Her face flattens as she folds her arms over her chest. “At least I don’t fall down Arousal Avenue when one of my friends straddles me.”
“For Christ’s sake . . . it was an accident.”
She chuckles and holds out her scone. “This is best with jam and clotted cream.” And just like that, her smile is back, her carefree spirit matches mine, and I feel our souls aligned again. And I think I’ve found my new best friend.
* * *
“So, who’s this guy Ruthie’s been crushing on for years?” I say, leaning over the counter of Snow Roast while Rylee, Beck, and Ruth clean up for the night.
It’s been a few days since the boner incident and every day I’ve seen Ruth, she’s asked if her clothes were too revealing, saying she didn’t want to arouse me again.
Fucking smart-ass.
Just so you know, no. I wasn’t aroused . . . at least not every day. There’s this one sports bra she purchased. It’s hot pink and does a
shit job of limiting the bounce in her boobs, and from my peripheral vision, all I could see was her bouncing tits. Yeah, it got to me a little.
At least I’m honest about it.
When you have a boobie friend, it’s hard not to notice things like that.
Rylee and Beck both pause what they’re doing and look at Ruthie. They have that deer in the headlights look on their faces.
Just as I suspected. They know who it is. I pull out my wallet and retrieve two white cards with red lettering. I wave them at Rylee and Beck and say, “Two free half pounds of fudge at The Lobster Landing for whoever spills the deets. Lucky for you two, you’re married, so only one of you has to be a betraying friend. I choose Rylee, since Beck is an employee and all.”
Ignoring me, Rylee turns to Ruth and says, “Uh, you told Brig you’ve had a crush on someone for years?”
Working on her computer, catching up on some accounting, she says, “Yeah, but I didn’t tell him who it was so keep your mouths shut.”
“Oh, that’s amazing,” Rylee says, laughing.
“Shut up, Rylee.”
“Ohhh, I can sense some tension. Please, someone misstep and tell me who it is. My guess is Oliver. Am I right? Beck, if it’s Oliver, blink twice.” He blinks, but I’m not sure if it’s to answer my question or not. “Was that a double blink? Dude, you’re going to have to be less discreet than that. Slow down for Papa and really make the blinks distinct.”
“Beck, go to the back and wrap up anything that needs to be put away,” Ruth bellows from the side.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance, but instead flings a towel over his shoulder and heads to the back.
“Hey, I was just getting somewhere with him.” Turning to Rylee now, I ask, “Is it Oliver?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Rylee,” Ruth snaps at her friend.
“Do I know him?”
“Oh, you sure do,” Rylee says with a mischievous smile.
“Rylee, back. Now,” Ruth snaps once again, using her finger to point to where she wants her friend to go.
“No, don’t take her away too.” Rylee walks to the back, giving me a grimace, and leaves me with Ruth. “Why do you hate me?”
That Swoony Feeling Page 14
