“Why do you care so much who this guy is?”
“Because . . . I . . .”
Why do I care? I mean, I like gossip as much as the next person, but I’m feeling surprisingly persistent at the moment, and I don’t think I’d be this persistent with anyone else.
Plus, it’s my duty as her friend, I need to know these things. Maybe I can help her. Be a wing man. Help her in making her long-time crush see her. Because that would be using a mature mind to help my best friend find her soul mate. Yes!
“Uh . . . because you’ve been a mystery a lot of the time. Just trying to get to know my friend, my neighbor, because what if I could help you? If I know him, I could put in a good word.” Because she’s so reserved in Snow Roast. Maybe I need to set up a way for them to meet away from here? That way, she’ll be the bright and funny Ruth that I—
“No, Brig. I’m good. I don’t need your help.”
“But years, Ruthie? Pining after someone for years? Doesn’t that just make your heart sore?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had brief moments with him that have held me over. Especially lately. I’m okay with what I can get now. I’ve waited long enough, so what’s a moment more?”
“I wish I had your control. If I was crushing on someone for years, there’s no way I could hold back on making a move. I would need to let her know right away.” I pound the counter. “Hey, I like you. Will you go out with me? What’s the worst they can say? No? Then you get your answer and you can move on, but you never know until you try, Ruthie.” I stand taller, look over my shoulder and say, “Is it Tracker? You got so weird about him the other—”
“Not Tracker. I can guarantee that. Not him.”
“Well, I won’t rest until I figure out who it is.” I tap the counter and lift off it. “Tomorrow morning?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asks.
“Nope. See you then. Bye, Ruthie.”
“Bye, Brig.”
I make the walk back to my place, the entire time racking my brain for who I know that might be single in Port Snow that could catch Ruthie’s attention. There are only a few guys that come to mind. Hmm, I’ll have to dig deeper.
When I reach my place, there’s a letter stuck to my door.
It’s from her.
Fucking giddy, I pull it off and barely have the door shut before I’m tearing it open.
Dear Secret Pen Pal,
I remember you wondering if I was a tea or a coffee drinker. Is it weird to be both? I find deep comfort in a cup of coffee, the smell of it, the way it warms up my veins from the first sip. It reminds me of my dad.
But tea, tea is something special. It offers me comfort as well but in a different way, a magical way, as if the curtains are parted and my childhood is played out in front of me. Sharing tea with my mom, gabbing over teacakes, and discussing guys I can’t stop thinking about.
I have a connection with both, and it would be incredibly difficult to choose one or the other. In fact, it would be impossible, because it would be like choosing between my mom and my dad, and I could never do that. I love them the same. I miss them terribly . . . the same.
But if I had to choose something to go with each drink, I’d go with a regular scone with jam and clotted cream with tea. And for the coffee, well that’s easy, coffee cake from Snow Roast.
Sincerely,
YSPP
Huh. I set the letter down.
Funny.
My secret pen pal could be really good friends with Ruth.
Chapter Twelve
RUTH
“Okay, girls, are you ready for this?” Rylee asks, holding a decadent glass of white wine, presently curled up on Harper’s couch. “Ruth told Brig she’s had a crush on a guy for years.”
“What?” Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend asks.
“Are you serious?” Harper, Rogan’s fiancée adds.
“Did you say it was you behind the letters?” Eve, Reid’s girlfriend tacks on.
All three girls are attached to a Knightly—the holy trinity I like to refer to them as in my head. They each navigated their way through “the curse” with their men, going through ups and downs, but all coming out victorious. I entertained the hope that could be me too, until I discovered how completely clueless Brig is.
Like . . . beyond clueless.
Everyone says he has blinders on. Yeah, pretty sure his eyes are strapped down by a sleeping mask and black-out goggles.
“No, I didn’t say it was me,” I say, gripping my wine glass and bringing it to my mouth where I take a giant gulp. “I thought maybe he’d connect the dots.”
Eve laughs out loud and shakes her head. “Ruth, the boy is completely clueless.” Yeah, I get it. Old news.
“Tell me about it,” I sigh, staring at the charcuterie boards we all attacked. Within ten minutes, they were completely bare. Every month Harper hosts a girls’ night at her place. It’s one of my favorite places to be, because her house is tucked away in the woods and there are windows all around, making you feel like you’re in a treehouse. And it’s comfortable here. Homey. It’s everything I’d want in a house.
“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound like a happy story. Tell us about it,” Ren says, a transplant from California. She’s quickly made Port Snow her own and she’s been widely welcomed by everyone. It doesn’t hurt that she not only has a sweet personality, but she’s also dating Griffin Knightly, the next town mayor. At least, that’s what we keep joking about. The guy is heavily invested in the town, knows everyone, and I’m pretty sure there isn’t one person who has anything bad to say about him.
I take another large gulp of my wine. “So, I think you all know I’ve matched with Brig in the Summer of Love program.” Even the girls who I didn’t tell nod. Didn’t expect anything less. The Knightlys might be close, but their partners formed a bond and even though they all know, I trust them that the news won’t get to Brig. “The letters we’ve been sending back and forth to each other have been full of pretty bland, random facts, but I’ve been slipping in clues here and there, and I mean obvious clues that the person writing the letters is me.”
“Like what?” Harper asks.
“Well, a few days ago, I explained to him about what one drink I like best: tea or coffee. I blatantly wrote exact comments I’ve said while it was just me and Brig, and do you know what he says the next day to me while we’re running? That the girl he’s talking to likes clotted cream on her scones too and we could totally be friends.”
All four girls snort and cover their mouths.
“And then there was the whole whoopie pies thing. I told him in a letter that I like peanut butter filling with my whoopie pies, even sent some, but with regular cream. And when we were testing pastries for the Parlor, I made peanut butter whoopie pies and being the dumbass that he is, he didn’t put two and two together.”
The girls erupt in laughter while I drain the rest of my glass.
“And there are other things here and there, but he’s not picking up on any of it. He’s completely clueless, and Jesus, if I have to hear him ask me one more time who the guy I like is, I might punch him in the balls. And while he’s flailing around on the ground, I would shout, It’s you. The guy I like is you, you clueless fool!”
I flop back on the couch and look toward the ceiling as everyone laughs. Is it funny? Not really. Well, maybe a little. I mean, each attribute he lists that he likes about her is a thing I would think he’d see in me. Yet he doesn’t. He still doesn’t see me at all. I can’t make this night all serious. We need to get it back to . . . alcohol!
“Sheesh, what does a girl have to do to get some attention?” I ask, arm draped over my eyes.
“Maybe you need to, you know, flaunt it more,” Ren suggests.
I look over at the algebra teacher and say, “Do you know what’s ridiculous about that suggestion? I shouldn’t have to expose skin to get a guy’s attention. He should be able to see me in a pair of sweatpants and a turtleneck. That being said, if I dre
ssed any sluttier, I’d be naked at this point. The other day, I wore a sports bra and a pair of short running shorts that barely covered my ass while we were installing the moldings, and every two seconds I caught him staring at me. And there was the time where we got tumbled together and he admitted to getting aroused by me sitting on his lap. I mean . . . what the hell else am I supposed to do? Rip my bra off and slap him across the face with one of my tits?”
“I mean, at this point, it might not hurt,” Rylee says on a chuckle.
“He said you aroused him?” Eve asks.
“Yes. Ugh, I swear this is what purgatory feels like. And with every letter I send him, I’m so close to just signing it with my name to see what he says.”
“Why don’t you?” Harper asks.
“Because, I want him . . .” I sigh heavily, “I want him to see me. Not the girl from the letters, who he’s clearly falling for, but me, the girl who serves him coffee. The girl he calls Ruthie.”
Eve clutches her heart. “Oh God, you’re going to make me cry.”
“Me too,” Ren says.
“He does see you,” Harper says. “That’s evident in the fact that he’s checking you out.”
“I see it when we’re at the coffee house,” Rylee speaks up. “I see the smile on his face when you walk in. I catch the glint in his eyes when he’s talking to you. There’s something there, Ruth. There really is. I think you need to pull it out of him.”
“And how do I do that? I feel like I’ve been trying everything to be visible, and nothing’s happening.”
“That’s not true.” Rylee shakes her head. “Whenever I see you, he’s always around, and before you became work neighbors, when did you ever hang out with Brig?”
“Never,” I say softly.
“Exactly. Give him a break. You came in like a whirlwind and you’re messing with his head most likely, especially since in his mind, he’s talking to someone else.”
“I agree,” Eve says. “He talks about you a lot.”
“He does.” Ren nods. “We had a family dinner at the Knightlys’ and while Griffin and I were out on the deck with Brig, he kept talking about all the things you two have been doing. Running, working on the Parlor, how you like baked bean sandwiches. Afterward, Griffin asked me if you two were dating, because that’s the impression he had. I told him you and Brig were just friends, but Brig’s thinking about you all the time.”
“But he’s friend-zoned me.” I look off to the side. “I thought that was only something girls could do to guys.”
On a laugh, Eve says, “If only that were the case.”
“I think you need to up the flirt factor,” Rylee says, the ever-romantic.
“Oh yes, that’s a good idea,” Harper agrees. “You have the friendship down. Now you need to start flirting.”
“Flirting? Ugh, I’m terrible at that. I’m so awkward.”
“No need to be awkward,” Eve says. “All you have to do is touch him here and there. Give him hugs. Smooth your hand over his brow. Give him short, cute glances. Hold his hand.”
“Hold his hand? I don’t think I have the courage to just reach for his hand.”
“Do you want him?” Eve asks.
I nod. “I do.”
“Then hold his freaking hand, hike up your shirts, and when you have the opportunity, pretend you’re going in for a kiss but pull away quickly, heave that chest, and make him beg for more,” Rylee says.
“Yes,” Eve says raising her glass. The other girls do as well. “To Ruth getting her flirt on and heaving her chest.”
“To Ruth, the newest chest-heaver,” they all say together before downing the rest of their wine as well.
Well, I guess I’m flirting now.
This shouldn’t be humiliating at all.
* * *
“Have fun the other night?” Brig asks, coming into the Parlor wearing a pair of worn jeans and a simple light blue shirt with a few paint stains across the front. We’re close to closing on the property and finishing up the renovations, and it’s becoming so real. We’re installing light fixtures, something I really wanted help with since I’m not good with electrical renovations. The possibility of electrocuting myself or crossing the wrong wires makes me far too nervous . . . even if the power is switched off.
He sets his toolbox on the counter, and I take that moment to do what the girls said I should do: I walk up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and give him a hug.
At first, I know he’s stunned from the way he stiffens beneath my touch, and I almost pull away and apologize. But then I remember what the end goal of all this is—to open Brig’s eyes to what’s standing directly in front of him. After a few seconds, he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me back.
“Hey you,” I say quietly, my mind whirling with uncertainty.
“Hey,” he says softly, his hand tracing up and down my back. When I pull away, he still holds on to me, but at a distance. Smiling, he says, “That was a nice greeting. How did I get so lucky?”
Pulling away, I say, “Sorry, next time I’ll be sure to kick you in the crotch as a friendly hello.”
He chuckles. “Uh, I think I’ll stick with the hug.” Leaning on the counter, he smiles at me and says, “You look . . . different today.”
“Hopefully not a bad different.”
“No, a good different. I can’t put my finger on it, but I like it. Girls’ night help you relax?”
We don’t run on the weekends. At least, that was the deal I made with Brig after I started to feel like my legs were running through mud. He agreed to just five days a week with me. On the weekends, he puts in the extra miles to make up for what he’s missing on the weekdays.
“Why do you ask? Have I been uptight?”
“No, I mean, maybe a little, but not really. I don’t know.” He laughs. “Just surprised you hugged me is all.”
“Friends hug,” I say casually, even though on the inside, I’m cursing my friends for making me step outside my comfort zone and push boundaries. Did he actually like it? Or is he being nice? Also, dropping the friend word, solidifying myself in the friend zone doesn’t feel productive toward my end goal either.
Gah, the girls have me all kinds of flustered this morning.
“Cool, yeah.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “So, show me the different light fixtures you bought.”
Here goes nothing. “They’re in the back,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand in mine. I watch his eyes fall to the connection, but not wanting to make a big deal about it, I don’t hesitate. I pull him to the back where the kitchen just had new appliances installed. I left the fixtures in the back on purpose.
To hold his hand.
To hopefully rattle his bones, wake up his soul.
When we stop in front of the boxes, I let go of his hand and act as casual as possible. “What do you think?”
He glances at me for a second, a load of questions in his beautiful eyes, but he doesn’t ask them. He turns his focus on the fixtures.
Keep moving forward, Ruth. Don’t hesitate.
“I was going to go with the shabby chic look with the white chandeliers but decided to take a left turn toward Joanna Gaines and go with some farmhouse-style fixtures for the perimeter of the room and then stick with the canned lighting in the middle. Think it will work?”
He picks up one of the boxes and examines it. Looks at me again, and then back at the box.
What the hell is going on in his mind?
Then again, he must be thinking the same thing about me.
“I think it’s going to look amazing,” he says. “With the wood shelving coming in and then the board and batten we’re going to install on the back wall, plus the furniture and table settings, it will have old classic charm but with a modern twist. I like it a lot, Ruthie, and I’m pretty sure everyone else will as well.”
“Yeah?” I ask. It’s exciting, thinking about everything we’ve put together so far.
“Yeah, I think
so.” He picks up two boxes and says, “Let’s get to work.”
* * *
“Hey, can you hold this while I connect the wires?” Brig asks, as he stands on a chair to reach the lighting.
“Yeah, hold on.” I set up a chair right next to him, step up, and realize quite quickly that it’s not a big enough boost for me.
A few inches from me, his eyes travel down my body. I catch the glances at my obvious cleavage. There isn’t much subtlety, but I don’t think he means to be blatant about it. It almost seems like he’s more caught off guard at our position than anything. “Little short for the job, Ruthie,” he says, his voice husky.
“Just a little,” I say, the blaze of his eyes igniting a roar of heat on the back of my neck.
His eyes trained on mine, his body shifts and his arm brushes against my bare shoulder. I watch as he slowly licks his lips. Lazily he says, “Uh, run next door quickly and grab the stepladder we have from one of the guys. They’ll help you find it.”
Legs wobbly from his perusal, I hop off the chair and head next door. There’s no one in sight to help—they’re all under cars—but luckily there’s a stepladder to the right. I maneuver it into the Parlor and shut the door behind me.
I catch him with one hand pushing through his hair as his forehead leans against the wall, as if he’s distressed. When he hears the click of the door, he springs up and looks in my direction. “That was quick.”
“Easy to find.” I unfold the ladder and then climb the rungs, so I’m at the perfect height to hold the new light. My breasts are at eye level for Brig—direct shot. If he turned to the right at any point, he’d be face to face with my cleavage.
Nose to valley.
Motorboating potential.
Call me a hussy, but at this point, with how long I’ve been waiting, I’d take a motorboat from Brig. Anything . . . literally . . . anything.
Unaware of my position, he turns and says, “Grab the . . . uh, whoa.” His nose grazes my breasts and he quickly pulls back. “So-sorry.” He stares at the wall, blinking.
That Swoony Feeling Page 15
