by Holly Kerr
Maybe it hadn’t been too close.
“I can do it,” I protest.
“No, it’s okay. Flora makes me clean up after myself when I stay here. I’m getting pretty good at it.”
“Let me help.” I never clean up at parties, so I have no idea why I jump to my feet and grab Patrick’s bowl from the coffee table. “You done?” I ask Adam, who hands me his empty bowl with a smirk, like he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I don’t even know what I’m doing.
“Thank you, kind sir,” he says. Dean is still eating his third bowl, but I take Flora’s.
“Do you serve drinks, too?” Flora calls after me.
“I’m at your service,” I say, stopping to give her a little bow.
“Ruthie will show you were everything is.”
“But don’t let her make them,” Patrick cries. “God, we’ll be on the floor if she does. Str-ong!”
“Good to know.” I continue on, only to be brought up short when I get to the kitchen.
Ruthie is dancing.
I call it dancing. Ed Sheeran has been playing since I got there, and as I watch, Ruthie sways her long, lithe body with the swimmer’s shoulders in time to the music.
Unaware that I’m standing in the doorway, she breaks into a sudden twerk.
I’ll never be able to listen to Castle on the Hill the same way again.
I clear my throat, although I’d love to see more of what she does when she’s alone. “You dance.”
She doesn’t stop moving, only glances over her shoulder at me. “Don’t you?”
“No.” I take a step forward, close enough to smell her cookie scent. “Not really.”
“Do you not like to dance, or you can’t?” She’s standing in front of the sink and doesn’t move, so I’m forced to lean around her to deposit the dirty dishes. My arm brushes against hers.
“Both?”
“Everyone can dance if they want to,” Ruthie says, swaying her hips with more emphasis.
“I beg to differ. I once dated this girl who couldn’t dance to save her life. It was almost embarrassing because she really liked to dance.”
“Did you dance with her?” she asks.
“No, because I don’t dance.”
“So it wasn’t because you were embarrassed because she danced like this?” Suddenly she breaks into dance moves reminiscent of Elaine from Seinfield, jerking her arms and legs in contorted poses.
I laugh. “I think she was a little worse than that.”
“Like this?” She switches to even more exaggerated moves but my laughter dies off as she moves into a series of sensuous moves involving swaying hips and waving arms.
“Wow!”
“I took belly dancing lessons for a while,” Ruthie admits, continuing the movements. “Also, pole dancing.” Pretending to hold an imaginary pole, she swings around in a circle, following it up with a few twerks.
“You’re a great dancer,” I say through a suddenly dry mouth.
“I try,” she says. “My parents refused to let me enroll in dancing as a kid, so I had to wait until I was older. I’ve tried just about everything—ballet, Irish dancing, hip hop. I love it.”
“Why wouldn’t your parents let you dance?” I can’t stop staring at her hips as she begins a series of flowing, rhythmic moves. I can picture her in the gauzy pants and tiny tops that belly dancers normally wear. The thought makes me a little dizzy.
“My mother thought I was too tall to do any good. She was preparing me to fail before I even began.” She stops dancing, and I wish I’d never brought her parents into the conversation.
“That’s not good.”
“No. She’s not good.” Ruthie gives a rueful smile. “But a wise woman taught me I don’t have to let her assumptions define me. Or something philosophical like that.”
“Was this Aunt Flora?”
She nods. “Wisest woman I know. Now, I danced for you so show me your moves.”
“Ah—no. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Yes, it does because I say so.” With a wicked grin, she reaches for my hips, and I dodge out of her reach.
“Does everyone always do what you say?”
She stops and those hazel eyes grab my gaze and hold tight. “Can you say no to me?”
Mesmerized, I give a quick shake of my head.
“Good, so dance.” She reaches for me again, and this time I let her catch me. Her hands settle on my hips and she begins swaying in time to the music, which has changed to Perfect. “Start with swaying your hips. Feel the music. It’s pretty easy.”
“Maybe for you.” I struggle to relax my hips to allow them to sway as Ruthie directs.
“See you’ve got it now,” she says after a minute. “You’re dancing.” She takes a step forward and puts her arms around my neck. My arms circle her waist, my hands coming to rest at the small of her back.
It happened so quickly that it was like magic pulled us together.
“You’re dancing with me,” Ruthie says huskily, her mouth close to my ear.
“I am.” I breathe in her scent. “You smell like cookies,” I blurt.
I feel the vibrations of her laugh as she moves closer. “I use cooking vanilla as perfume sometimes. I love it.”
“It makes me want to eat cookies.”
“There’s probably some in here.” Ruthie pulls away I want to draw her back into my arms. But she steps away, out of reach and the moment is gone. “M.K. keeps Flora stocked up.”
Why did I have to mention cookies?
Chapter Fourteen
Ruthie
I have no idea what I’m doing with Trev.
Sitting beside him on the couch was one thing, but dancing with him in the kitchen? What was I thinking?
What’s the point?
The point is, I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him, regardless of how many of my buttons he pushes. He says things that annoy me, then he makes me laugh. He stares at me like he’s trying to read me like a book, but his dance moves are non-existent.
Except when he had his arms around me. Then they were pretty good moves.
I’m glad he mentioned cookies because it snapped me out of the bubble. It was a nice bubble, but there are other people in the house and the last thing I need is for someone to walk in on us. They’d never let me hear the end of it.
Soon after we return to the laughter in the living room, Flora orders Ubers for us to get to M.K.’s. Trev shares an Uber with Patrick and me after Adam flounces over to the car Flora and Dean ordered. Patrick takes the front seat, leaving Trev and me and a sea of awkwardness in the back.
“How’s the writing?” I ask to fill the silence.
“Good,” he says with surprise. “I’ve gotten quite a few pages written.”
“Are you going to let me read it?”
Another surprised smile. “Maybe someday.”
There’s something between us, but even with Flora’s pep talk, I’m not convinced it would be a good idea to explore it. That really says something since I’m the queen of bad ideas.
M.K. and Clay meet us at the door of the apartment and without a word, I can tell Theo isn’t there. M.K. looks relaxed, at least for her. Her shoulders aren’t attached to her ears, and there’s a big smile on her face.
She might have been drinking, too.
M.K. and Clay had just started dating when Clay found out about Theo. M.K. wasn’t sold on being a mother to another woman’s baby, and they got off to a rocky start. Even now, with her claim to love the little guy, it’s obvious to me that M.K. still isn’t one hundred percent comfortable with her new role.
Unlike Clay, who despite his player past, was born to be a dad.
“Happy New Year!” Greetings, hugs and kisses all around until M.K. shuffles us into the living room. There is already a good-sized group gathered, as after we shed our coats, Trev hovers beside me with a soft hand on the small of my back.
“Get you a drink?” he asks.
&n
bsp; I nod. “Thanks.” I’m glad he didn’t mention the spillage of the last party. It’s time to put that behind us. As he moves into the kitchen, my gaze keeps following Trev like he’s made of metal and I’m the magnet following after him.
This is an issue.
When I’m interested in a man, I don’t wait. I don’t watch. I jump in with both feet without checking the depth of the water, which has resulted in quite a few proposals, engagements, and more than a few bad relationships. A few very bad relationships as well.
But because I’m a glass-half-full type of gal, jumping in with both feet has resulted in more fun than trouble. So why don’t I go for it?
M.K. slides up beside me with a tray of pastries in her hand. “Spanakopita.”
“Bless you.”
She shakes her head, her dark hair brushing her chin and hiding most of the wicked scar running down the side of her face. “This one is with roasted red pepper and this one is chorizo and chanterelles.”
“Sounds good, better than anything you buy in a store.” I pick up the sausage and mushroom turnover and take a bite.
“Why would I buy these from a store?” she scoffs.
“Because you’re a mommy now and might be busy.” I can tell from her expression that she’s about to defend her superwoman status. “How’s Theo taking to you?”
M.K.’s face instantly smoothes and she beams at me. “I don’t know what I was so worried about,” she admits. “Everything is great.”
“Just like I said it would be. I knew you’d be a great mom.”
The smile slides into a frown. “I talked to Flora. She said something about your mother.”
“Already?” I roll my eyes. “She just got here.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“Everyone always worries about me, but I’m a big girl.”
“Then start acting like it,” she says bluntly. “Stop letting this define you. Annette didn’t make you the woman you are—you did. Stop trying to disappoint her, and start showing her that she should be proud of you, like your father is.”
“You’re not pulling any punches, are you?” I mutter. M.K. and I have always been like this; brutally honest. There’s never been any tiptoeing around with us.
“Why should I? It’s New Year’s Eve, Ruthie, a perfect time for a fresh start.”
“What exactly am I starting?”
“Why don’t you begin with a job you go to every day? One with responsibilities?”
“Are you offering?”
“No.” M.K. is quick to add a smile to her lightening fast response. “Absolutely not. I may love you like a sister, but there’s no way you’re working for me. I think we’d kill each other.”
“I think you’re right.” I cock my head to the side. “But you love me. That’s so sweet.”
“I’m not giving you a job, but I will give you a place to live,” M.K. says, ignoring my words. “I don’t want to bring the cats over here if we’re only going to move again. We’re putting my place on the market in the spring, but until then, could you stay at my place? Look after the kitties for me?” She smiles hopefully.
“Are you serious?”
M.K. nods. “It would be doing me a huge favour. Only for a few months, and absolutely no parties—”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I interrupt. M.K. gives me that look that she must have inherited from her mother. “It would upset the cats,” I finish.
“It would. And me. So don’t.”
“Want to pinkie swear?” I offer, and get a ghost of a smile in return.
“I’ll take your word on it. But you have to get a job—a real job. A job that will keep you in Toronto, because I think some distance between you and Annette is a really good idea.”
I nod my head, feigning reluctance, but inside I’m dancing with joy. “You drive a hard bargain,” I say solemnly. “But sure.”
“Don’t screw this up,” she says. Then her face softens. “I know you won’t.”
Before she steps away, I surprise us both by throwing my arms around her. She holds the tray awkwardly to the side. “Thank you,” I whisper into her hair. “I won’t let you down.” I pull away and break into a grin. “I won’t kill anything.”
“Not even my plants!”
“Yeah, but I know where to go to replace those.”
M.K. smiles ruefully at me. “Seriously, though. Be good.” She gives a quick glance over her shoulder. “And about Trev.”
I frown. Has M.K. softened me up with a house to stay in, only to move on to lecture time? But there’s nothing to reproach me for. “What about Trev?”
“Stop playing with him,” she orders in a low voice. “He’s not to be toyed with. He’s too good of a friend to Dean and Clay.”
“Who says I’m toying?”
“Flora also said you were in the kitchen with him for a long time at her place.”
“Flora has a big mouth.” The words come out louder than expected.
“What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
M.K. studies me. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” she says slowly. “It’s a little close with the boys being friends.”
“You and Flora get to have friends together, so what about me?”
“I’m thinking about your history.” She raises an eyebrow. “It hasn’t been the most successful has it? And there’s a reason Trev is still single.”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”
A laugh burbles out of M.K. “I don’t think anything’s wrong, but maybe something happened to him. He might have a bit more depth than your usual type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.
“You go for the shallow sort,” M.K. says bluntly. “Trev’s not like that. I think you should stay away from him, because you’re kind of irresistible, you know.”
I shake my head. “First you’re nice, then you insult me, then you try to sweeten me up. You’ll never change, Moira Margaret.”
M.K. bares her teeth at the mention of her given name.
As I watch her move away, I realize she’s right. About everything. I do go for the shallow sort, and that’s not Trev. But I shift my thoughts away from Trev with difficulty, like giving up on a puzzle with too many pieces.
This is about myself. I don’t hide the fact that I have issues. You can’t be born with the purpose I did without being messed up in a couple of ways. My mother is the biggest piece of baggage I own, but I can’t just put it on the curb and get rid of it. She’s not going away, and whatever feelings she has for me, as long as she’s married to my father, Annette is going to be a constant in my life.
That isn’t about to change, so it’s time I do.
Flora was right as well as M.K. I have to stop living my life for my mother. Doing the opposite of what she expects, doing whatever it takes to disappoint her.
“Why do I care what she thinks?” I ask aloud as I move across the floor, drawn towards the table groaning under the weight of M.K.’s cooking.
“I don’t know,” replies a nervous woman as I spear her with a glare.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, it doesn’t,” says a different voice. He looks around my age with hair the colour of wheat after it’s been harvested. “At least it shouldn’t if it’s going to make you upset.”
“I don’t like being upset.”
“I don’t want to see you upset. Or any one.” He sways slightly, retains his balance. “No one should ever be upset.”
“There’s no point.”
“No, there’s not,” he agrees. “Who made you upset?”
I find Trev’s dark curls moving towards me through the crowd. “No one tonight.”
Once he brings my drink, I lose Trev for a while as he mingles with his baseball friends. But every time I look at him, his gaze seems to be locked on me.
I smile a lot that night.
Later as the clo
ck moves towards midnight, the excitement of the new year grows in the room. Drinks flow, without any spillage, and people gather in a tight group as the countdown begins on the television. The chant of ten, nine grows in volume as the silver ball dips and sways in the snow of Times Square.
“I need to go to Times Square,” I say to no one in particular. All eyes are fixated on the television.
Three…two…one…
The room erupts with cheers and a chorus of Happy New Years. And then the kissing begins. I’m passed around the room—hugged by Dean and Flora, then a few people I don’t know. One man kisses me on the mouth, his breath hot and beery. My new friend shyly presses his lips against mine, then with a glance over his shoulder, does it again. Clay and M.K. circle the room, along with Flora and Dean. I turn and face Trev.
I smell his cologne and it makes me dizzy.
“Happy new year,” Trev says and then his mouth finds mine. I expect a chaste brush of his lips.
That’s not what I get.
His kiss is gentle, almost tentative, which is how it should be during the kissing phase of any New Year celebration. But then I’m jostled from behind and step closer, resting my hand on his chest to keep my balance.
I should stop kissing him.
I don’t.
And Trev keeps kissing me.
My lips parts, his tongue darts in. My hand fists on his new purple sweater as my knees threaten to give out. In the part of my brain that’s still aware, I make sure I hold my glass far from him.
The rest of me just enjoys it.
Trev
I’m still kissing Ruthie.
As if from a faraway distance, I hear the whoops and cheers of the crowd as they merge around us, shoving us closer together.
I can’t stop kissing her, and from the feel of things, she’s into it too.
A body stumbles into my back and I grab Ruthie’s waist to right myself. It’s only natural for my hand to keep sliding around her waist, feeling the slick fabric of her pink pants, the soft skin from the gap between her pants and her sweater.
She can really kiss.
Dimly, I hear my name being called. A moment, another…one more minute and I pull away.