by Holly Kerr
“I know. Why are you so interested in my love life?” she repeats with a sly smile.
I have a feeling she’s not going to give up. I have a feeling that when Ruthie wants something, whether it be answers or even a cupcake, she gets what she wants. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I thought you were with someone else,” I say carefully.
“But you did think that, and you did kiss me. Nice kiss, by the way.” She takes another bite. “Until you ruined it with saying you’re sorry.”
I can’t deny the simmer of satisfaction of her words. Nice kiss. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for a first kiss, but this wasn’t really your typical one. “I only apologized because I remembered Colton Pruitt.”
“Why does everyone always call him by both names?” she wonders. “Patrick does, you, even the sportscasters.”
“It’s a good name.”
“I wasn’t thinking about him when you kissed me, so it’s kind of strange that you were.” She grins at me before taking another bite.
“I don’t respect people who cheat,” I say stiffly. “I don’t want to be that person who does it either.”
“Fair enough. But I didn’t cheat, so you can respect away. Funnily enough, Colton—just Colton, not Colton Pruitt—apparently cheated on me, which led to me throwing out the ring. Which apparently you knew about?” She raises an eyebrow, her face hidden by the mug of coffee as she takes a sip.
I’d wondered if that meeting in the Baseball Zone with Dean would come back to haunt me? “I barely knew you. Would you have honestly believed me if I told you what he’d said?”
“I honestly would have because what reason would you have to lie about it?”
She makes a good point. “I apologize for not telling you,” I say.
“And I apologize for throwing my drink on you.” She gives me a cheerful smile.
“Again. I’d appreciate it if you stopped doing that.”
“I didn’t throw the wine the first time. That was an oops.” She shrugs, holding the remains of the cupcake before taking a final bite. “Last night? Don’t make me mad.”
“Believe me, I’m not trying to!”
She smiles around her mouthful of cake. “But if you do, it usually doesn’t last long.”
I finish my pain au chocolat in a few bites then since, unlike Ruthie, I don’t like to talk with my mouth full.
“That was so good,” she says, daintily wiping the crumbs off her lips with a napkin. “M.K.’s lucky to have Reuben if he keeps creating things like that.”
“She definitely has interesting employees—Reuben, Adam…”
“She had this older woman working here a couple of years ago. She was like everyone’s grandmother. So sweet. I think her kids made her give it up because she was like close to eighty. And there was another older woman who kept telling people how many calories were in everything. M.K. had to let her go because who wants to know how many calories are in something like that?” She gestures to her empty plate.
“Not me.”
“What are you doing today?” Ruthie asks after she watches me finish the pastry. I owe Reuben, because whatever he put in that cupcake miraculously changed her mood so that I’m not in danger of having things thrown at me.
Ruthie has surprisingly good aim.
I’m debating getting a refill, if only to keep sitting with her. “I have nothing on today,” I tell her.
“You’re not going to write?”
“I could, but I don’t have to.”
“You’re never going to finish it at this rate. I read that you need to write every day.”
“You read about writing?” I cock my eyebrow.
“It’s interesting. I thought it might help.”
“Help with what?”
“To understand you better.”
My breath leaves in a silent whoosh. Did she just say that? This woman with the green streaks in her hair and smelling like cookies wants to understand me? “I don’t have anything on today,” I repeat for lack of knowing how to respond.
Ruthie frowns. “I paid you a compliment. At least I meant it as a compliment, and you don’t say anything about it?”
“Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.” My shoulders lift helplessly. “No one has ever taken an interest in my writing, and I’m not used to compliments.”
“Don’t people say nice things about you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t really notice.”
“Hmm.” She purses her lips. “You have amazing hair.” She reaches across the table to stroke a wayward curl that droops over my forehead. “Girls go crazy for hair like yours.” She smiles expectantly. “Now, that was another compliment. What do you say?”
“Thank you,” I say, sounding like my class when I force their gratitude.
“That’s better.” She peers at my empty cup. “Come on, the dogs’ bums must be frozen to the sidewalk by now.” She stands, towering over me as I remain sitting. “You look like the strong type; you can help me move into M.K.’s.”
“Thank you,” I say automatically, but Ruthie laughs.
“Now you’re getting it.”
“You’re moving into M.K.’s?” I ask as she shrugs back into her jacket.
“As a favour, to look after the cats. I think I’m going to stay in the city for a bit.” As she takes our plates and cups back to the counter, I shake my head. I’m more than a little dumbstruck by our meeting—her initial anger quickly fading into easygoing laughter. And now she asks me to help her move.
I remember once when I was driving to Buffalo to see a ball game with some friends. It had been a windy day; there had been weather warnings about gusts and gales and we had to cross two giant bridges, hundreds of feet above the water, to get to the border. Driving over, I felt the car shift, the wind screaming against the windows. The only thing I could do was grip the steering wheel and hang on.
I feel like that with Ruthie.
Ruthie is a whirlwind; moving at tornado speed and sucking up everything in her path.
But I’m not a storm chaser. I don’t even like high winds.
“Did you walk all the way here?” Ruthie asks after we say goodbye to Reuben and head to the door. She has two to-go cups in her hands, as well as a bag of croissants for Flora and Dean.
“It’s not far.” The dogs greet us with excited wagging of their back ends as we come outside. Cappie’s whole body trembles with excitement as I bend to scratch his ears.
“I’ll drop you off so you can pick up your car, and go back to Flora’s and pack up my stuff. Meet me back there?” Ruthie asks as I untie the dogs’ leashes.
“Did you want my help or just my vehicle?” I ask with rueful smile.
“Flora and Dean might be busy and I don’t have a car.” Her tone is unapologetic and I wonder if Ruthie says sorry about anything.
“You have your license, don’t you?” Ruthie asks as she starts the ignition.
“I do.” A ball of worry begins in my stomach. “Don’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
I grip the door handle as Ruthie backs out of the parking spot. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
“I have a driver’s license, just not the one that lets me drive by myself. Flora keeps forgetting that when I ask to borrow her car.”
“Does she know you don’t have a license?”
“If she thought about it, maybe. She was teaching me to drive and then she moved away.”
“Couldn’t you find anyone else to teach you? Like a parent?”
Ruthie gives a sudden burst of laughter that makes me jump. “That’s funny,” she says, her tone just as suddenly turning flat and humourless.
I make a mental note to ask her about her reaction when she’s not behind the wheel.
The fact that I want to ask her about it surprises me more than the taste of the cupcake with a jelly bean baked in.
A few minutes later, I point out my house and Ruthie pulls over to the curb. “You live pretty close to M.K.’s
,” she marvels.
“How close? Am I going to be running into you at all hours of the day?”
“Do you go out at all hours of the day?”
“I’m a bit of a nighthawk,” I admit, and Ruthie beams.
“Me too.”
“I’ll be over to Flora’s in a couple of minutes,” I say as I get Drogo out of the backseat without Cappie following.
“Take your time.” She waves airily. “Thanks for agreeing to help.”
“Like I had a choice.” I grin.
“You always have a choice with me,” she says with a soft smile. “I can’t make you do everything I want you to do.”
She drives away, leaving me wondering what she meant.
Chapter Sixteen
Ruthie
So that’s why he apologized.
It makes sense; everything about Trev says he was brought up with good manners. And I’ve noticed that guys who have been cheated on are antsy about them being perceived as cheaters.
I wonder if there had been another reason for Trev apologizing for kissing me, would I have still forgiven him? But what other reason would he have?
After I unlock the door, Cappie bursts into the house like he’s been gone for a month rather than only an hour.
Leaving Cappie with his face in his water bowl, I head upstairs to pack up my things. Dean and Flora are still MIA, and I skim by their bedroom door as quickly as I can.
I’m not surprised Trev agreed to help me take my things to M.K.’s; I’ve always had a way of getting men to do what I want. I had intended to stay the day at Flora’s and slowly get Dean to bring my things over, but if I have willing labour, why not now?
Adding to the excitement of staying in my own place—M.K.’s but still—is a strange surge of anticipation about Trev. Thinking of him gives me bubbles in my belly.
Back when I was grade four, there had been a boy in my class with red hair and big brown eyes. I’d been captivated by everything Hansel Gruber said and did and once, I did my best to explain my feelings to the older and much wiser Flora.
“He makes me feel silly, but in a good way,” I had said. “Like I want to laugh and smile all the time, but there’s nothing funny happening. And my tummy feels weird.”
“Like you have bubbles in your belly,” Flora supplied, already onto her first boyfriend.
“Exactly,” I’d agreed with a big smile.
That’s how it always is with Flora. She gets me more than anyone else.
Speaking of whom, as I’m clearing my things out of the shared washroom, I hear the telltale creak of Flora’s bedroom door.
“What are you doing?” Flora has the husky voice of the just woken or hung over person. A lot of times it sounds the same. “Are you cleaning?”
“Ha. That’s funny.”
Flora massages her temple. “Don’t laugh so loud.”
Without a word, I hand her the bottle of Advil on the shelf and she dry swallows two. “Champagne isn’t good the next day,” Flora groans.
“But it was nice last night.” I pull out the eyeliners and lipsticks that had found their way into Flora’s drawer in the short time that I’ve been staying there.
“It was a good party.” Flora’s face breaks into a huge yawn. “I haven’t seen M.K. that relaxed in a long time. Clay’s good for her.”
“Was she relaxed when the two of you had your little chat about me in the kitchen?” I meet Flora’s surprised expression in the mirror. “Did you ask her to let me stay at her place?”
“That was all on her. Are you going now?”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.” I continue to pull out my special shampoo and my expensive cream that works wonders on my dry elbows from the cupboard under the sink.
“Ruthie, no!” Flora protests. “I love having you stay here.”
“I know.” I chuckle. “I’m just messing with your hungover brain. I bumped into Trev at Pain and he’s going to help me move my stuff.”
She rubs at her eyes like a tired toddler. “What?”
“I took Cappie over to Pain au Chocolat this morning and Trev was there,” I say patiently but without glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “We talked. He’s helping me move. End of story.”
“But I don’t think it is.” She sounds more awake now.
I give a lofty shrug. “I might have misjudged him.”
“Misjudged—what’s that supposed to mean? Do you like him?”
Do I like Trev? I guess that’s the question, but I ask another. “Is there something about him not to like?”
“Would you listen to me if there was?” Flora asks.
“Probably not.” I take the last of my things left on the counter and pile them in my arms. “Don’t worry, I already got the lecture from M.K. last night. I won’t hurt your friend.”
“I didn’t say anything about that.”
“But M.K. did. She’s afraid of me breaking his heart.”
“Well, that’s kind of what you do, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think you have to worry. I don’t even know his last name.”
Dean opens the bedroom and stumbles to the bathroom, still with one eye closed with sleep. There aren’t a lot of men who tower over me but even hunched over and half-asleep, Dean is a big boy.
And he looks cute in his faded T-shirt and boxers. “Morning, big guy,” I sing.
“Why is it so early?” he croaks.
“It’s really not.”
Flora hands Dean the Advil. “Ruthie’s moving to M.K.’s today. And Trev is coming over to help her.”
“Who?”
“Your bestie, at least one of them. Who will be here soon, so I’ll go finish packing.” I take my things and skip to my room, leaving Dean and Flora staring sleepily after me.
Trev
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to Flora’s.
Dean greets me at the door and Drogo wriggles past him when he sees Cappie doing the wiggle dance again. “Hey, man,” Dean says in a sleepy voice. His red hair stands straight up like he’s been electrocuted. “What’s up?”
“Ruthie asked me to help her move.”
“I just got up,” he admits as he steps aside to let me in.
“We’ll be quiet,” I promise, trying to get a hand in to pet Cappie as he and Drogo dance around each other with glee.
“We. Huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t think you and Ruthie got along. You keep snipping about her, and last night…” He trails off and I have a moment to wonder if he saw the kiss. “You didn’t seem very friendly by the end of the night,” Dean finishes.
“She has her moments,” I say. “She keeps popping up everywhere. When we’re not fighting, we talk. I bumped into her at M.K.’s place this morning getting coffee.”
“And?”
“We talked.” I shrug.
“Huh. I need coffee to deal with this,” he grumbles turning to the kitchen.
“I think Ruthie brought you some,” I say following him. “If she didn’t already drink it.”
“She did? I literally just got out of bed.” Dean smiles with pleasure as he inhales the smell of M.K.’s special roast. “And she brought croissants,” he adds, ripping into the white bag with M.K.’s new logo embossed on it.
Ruthie appears, lugging a silver suitcase down the stairs. Flora follows, wearing a Property of the Blue Jays Tshirt and boxers, her shoulder-length hair pulled into a messy bun.
“Hey, Trev,” she croaks. “I didn’t know Ruthie was leaving today. And I didn’t know she was going to be so loud about it.” She goes to Dean’s side and he tucks her under his arm and offers her his coffee. “She roped you into helping?”
“He offered,” Ruthie retorts. “Don’t drink all Dean’s coffee. I got you one, and croissants.”
“You’re my favourite niece,” Flora concedes.
“Compared to who else you have to offer, I really hope so. I had to wake you up to say goodbye.�
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“You’re only going to M.K.’s. I’ll see you tomorrow probably.”
“But you’ll miss me.”
Flora hugs the taller Ruthie. “How can anyone not miss you?”
Ruthie turns to me. “I’ve got something down in the laundry room that I have to grab, and then I’m ready.” She darts away before I can say anything. Along with the huge silver suitcase, there’s a plastic bin, knapsack and a laptop case, along with three handbags at the front door.
“That’s all she had? When she wanted help, I thought she had furniture to go.”
“Please don’t give her any ideas,” Dean says.
Ruthie bursts into the kitchen with something white in her hand, and heads back upstairs without a word. She returns with a pillow in her hand.
“That’s my pillow,” Flora points out.
“I love it. It gives me the best sleep ever.”
“But it’s still my pillow.”
“You have another,” Ruthie wheedles, hugging it to her chest. “Two more, in fact. I need it for M.K.’s. New place, strange bed—”
“Friends that let you crash at their place without paying rent,” Flora reminds her.
“You’re the best!” Ruthie dances forward to drop a kiss on Flora’s head, and then throws her arms around Dean. “And you’re even better.”
I see the bemused expression on Dean’s face and feel justified that I’m not the only one affected by Ruthie.
“At least take the pillow case off,” Flora protests. “It goes with my Holly Hobbie set.”
“That’s why I like it.” She kneels to hug Cappie, and then Drogo.
“You left the sheets, didn’t you?”
“I’m not about to take dirty sheets, am I? That’s kind of gross.”
“Well, you better not plan on coming back for them when they’re clean.”
Even I, who hasn’t known Ruthie very long, read in her expression that she was planning on doing that very same thing.
Chapter Seventeen
Ruthie
When we get to M.K.’s, I forget about the cats until I unlock the door and Drogo bursts into the house.