“I don’t know what you mean.” She stared down at the bubbles in the sink and licked her lips.
“That’s what you said. I heard you. Do you want me to leave? Because if that’s what you want—”
“It’s not,” she blurted out. Who the fuck said that? It couldn’t have been her. Except, it definitely was.
“I didn’t think so.” His strong fingers reached out to cage her wrist, and sensation soared through her. His skin was warm against hers, the heat of his body pushing into her like a tidal wave. He was right there. She couldn’t ignore him.
He wouldn’t allow it.
“You ran away,” he said, his voice softer now. “Why?”
She swallowed, forcing herself to look up at him. “I… I don’t know.”
His lips quirked, full and soft beneath that thick, sandy beard. She’d spent too many nights this week wondering how that beard might feel against her skin.
“I do,” he murmured.
Desire bloomed between her legs—not like a flower, but like the mushroom cloud of an explosion. She knew what Marjaana would say right now. Talk.
Meeting his gaze, she asked, “What are you doing?”
His thumb skated over the inside of her wrist. “This is called flirting.”
“This is not flirting.”
He smiled. “Too much?” His hand slid from her wrist to her palm, their fingers locking together. Beneath the heat in his gaze, she saw that ever-present concern. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. You know that, don’t you?”
Silently, her pulse thundering in her ears, Ruth nodded. His hand tightened around hers.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do,” he said. “And I know you don’t take hints well.”
Ruth bit down on a smile. Somehow, in the middle of all this shimmering tension, he managed to make her smile.
“So I’ve decided to ask you outright,” he murmured.
His hands moved to her waist, tightening before she could process the sudden touch. He lifted her, just slightly—enough for her to perch on the edge of the sink. Then he let go. But she still felt the ghost of that unexpected pressure, the heat of his palms burning through her clothes. Bubbles soaked into the seat of her pyjamas, and she didn’t even mind. Her underwear was already wet.
“Ask me what?” Ruth whispered. Now they were face-to-face. She allowed herself, for a moment, to float into the sky of his eyes.
He leaned in, his hands resting on the counter either side of her. She held her breath as he lowered his head to her throat, his nose grazing her racing pulse. “You always smell like chocolate,” he said. His beard tickled, and so did his whisper. “Chocolate and coconut. Why is that?”
“Is that what you want to ask me?”
“No. I’m just curious.” He shifted closer, and she opened her thighs, and he slid between them like it was home.
Ruth swallowed. “It’s cocoa butter. And coconut oil.”
“What does that mean?”
“Evan,” she said, her hands gripping the edge of the sink. “Ask me what?”
He relented, a smile teasing his lips. “I wanted to ask if I could kiss you.”
She didn’t reply. It seemed both difficult and unnecessary. Instead, Ruth raised her hands to his face, sliding her fingers into that rugged, blonde beard. Holding him in place. She didn’t want to fuck this up, because this was Evan, and somehow, Evan was everything.
She leaned forward, inch by inch, until she could see the silver-gold of his eyelashes. He was so still that, if she hadn’t felt his gentle breath against her lips, she might’ve thought he’d stopped breathing at all.
And then, because he was Evan, he spoke.
“I think,” he murmured, “you’re supposed to close your eyes.”
She whispered, “You first.”
“Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes. “Can I touch you?”
Fuck. Why did he have to ask that? Why did he have to be the kind of man who needed an answer, who needed to know what she wanted?
Because he was Evan, and he cared, and that was why she liked him in the first place. Ruth knew that. But it didn’t stop the panic clawing at her chest, and suddenly she realised with startling clarity that the panic never really left, and she was absolutely fucking sick of it.
He was right there, and he was beautiful, and he wanted her, and she wanted—
A bell rang.
Ruth yelped and fell into the sink.
“Shit,” Evan laughed. His eyes were open now. His face was calm and lovely and barely intimidatingly sexy at all. Except for all the ways in which it was.
But Ruth didn’t have time to think about that, because she was dying of embarrassment.
“What the fuck was that?” She gasped, clapping a hand over her heaving chest.
He gave her a strange look, even as he pulled her gently from the sink. Just the firm grasp of his hands around her biceps made her breath hitch. How embarrassing.
“It was your doorbell,” he said when she was safely on two feet, her backside dripping.
Oh. Right. The doorbell. Ruth had kind of forgotten how that sounded.
“Um…” She looked down, as if a code of conduct was written on the kitchen lino.
Evan pushed her chin up gently, until she looked at him. She shouldn’t be as aroused by the sweetness of his smile as she had been by his touch, but somehow she was. “Want me to get it?”
“Oh, would you?”
He went without another word, and Ruth sagged in relief. It was silly. She knew it was silly. After all, she hadn’t always been so… anxious. She’d grown up confident. With a mother and sister like hers, how could she not be?
Then again, all it had taken to destroy that confidence was one hard knock. So maybe she’d been faking all along.
With a sigh, Ruth hurried off to her room. If she was quick, she could change her pyjamas.
Chapter Fourteen
The man at Ruth’s door wore a deep green uniform with gold lettering that read: WESTON FLORAL.
But the enormous bouquet in his arms spelled out his purpose clear enough.
“Ruth Ka…” The man squinted at the clipboard balanced in his hand. “Ruth Kab…”
“Ruth Kabbah,” Evan snapped.
The man shrugged, then dumped the crystal vase of red roses and tiny white flowers into Evan’s arms. “There you are mate,” he said, ticking something off on his clipboard. “Tata.”
Evan kicked the door shut with his foot. Then he stood in Ruth’s hallway and stared at the flowers.
Her flowers.
Who the hell was sending Ruth flowers?
The flare of bitterness in his chest was unnerving. He’d never been jealous before.
Surely, if she was seeing someone, Ruth wouldn’t have had dinner with him every night for weeks. Then again, they hadn’t been dates exactly… And he’d given her that ridiculous speech about being friends, or whatever the fuck he’d said.
So maybe she’d taken him at his word and moved on to someone else.
Was that why she’d hesitated to kiss him? Was that why she seemed so jumpy? He’d thought she was shy. He’d thought she was… fragile.
Maybe she was just guilty.
Ah, shit. He was jumping to conclusions.
Evan frowned down at the flowers, catching sight of a little white card tucked between the green stems. He didn’t mean to look, exactly, but the word childish leapt out at him. Confused, he squinted at the golden, printed script
Don’t be childish, baby.
He shouldn’t have read that.
But he hadn’t meant to read it. It had just been there. His eyes had just…
“Evan?”
Her voice made him jump, as if he’d been doing something illicit. Which he had, really. Guilt flooded him as if he’d thrown the flowers out the damned window instead of just reading the card.
But Christ, he really shouldn’
t have read the card.
Ruth came padding down the hall in a new set of pyjamas. The T-shirt was as oversized and high-necked as ever, the bottoms as long as loose as always.
He had no idea why people thought of her as a seductress. She was the least seductive person he’d ever met.
And you still want her desperately. So what does that tell you?
The same thing as the roses, he supposed.
Forcing a smile, Evan hefted the crystal vase—like she could miss it. “You got flowers,” he said.
Her face fell. His heart headed in the same direction.
This was the part where she broke down and confessed to having a boyfriend who was InterRailing around Europe.
Except she didn’t. Instead, she said, “For me?” Her voice was quiet, hesitant. She looked suddenly horrified, seeming to shrink in on herself, to collapse like disturbed soufflé.
Evan’s gut twisted. The suspicions crowding his mind couldn’t change the fact that an upset Ruth was not something he wanted. “Yeah.” He searched for the right thing to say and came up blank. “They’re… I bet they’re from your dad, or something.”
Ruth laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I don’t have a dad. I mean—my dad’s in Sierra Leone. With his wife.”
Wow. Somehow, he’d managed to say exactly the wrong thing.
Nice one, Miller. Fucking fantastic.
All at once, Ruth strode forward. She pulled the vase from his arms with a grunt, taking the weight before Evan realised what she was doing.
“Hey, let me carry that. It’s heavy.”
“No,” she said flatly, heaving it down the hall.
“You’ll drop it.” He rushed after her, back towards the kitchen, holding out his arms in preparation for some tragic, Ruth-like disaster.
“Calm down.” She reached the table and put the vase in the centre with a heavy thud. Then she reached into the blood-red blooms and plucked out that fucking card.
Evan hovered beside her, holding his breath, watching her face as she read. How had this happened? Ten minutes ago, she’d been ready to kiss him. Now he was trying to figure out if she was seeing someone else.
She sighed heavily and put the card on the table.
“Who are they from?” The words shot from his mouth without permission. He hadn’t meant to ask something that sounded so damned desperate. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
She looked over at him, a little furrow between her dark brows. “It’s… an apology.”
An apology? Don’t be childish, baby?
She was lying. Except, he knew what Ruth did when she was being less than truthful, and she wasn’t doing any of those things now. Her face wasn’t carefully blank, her eyes weren’t dead, and she wasn’t pushing him away.
Like a robot jerking into motion, she straightened up and grabbed a fistful of roses from the vase. Ruby petals peeped out from between her knuckles, the stems dripping. She turned towards the dustbin.
“Uh…” Evan frowned. “What are you doing?”
Ruth shoved the flowers in the bin and looked up at him. “You want them?”
“No,” he said slowly.
“Well, neither do I.” As if that settled the matter, she grabbed some more roses.
“Ruth.” He stepped forward, reaching out to still her hand. She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers caged hers, bringing her movements to a stop.
Her eyes flew to his, and for a moment their gazes met. With Ruth, that was so rare, it felt momentous.
Just as quickly, she looked away again. But he didn’t mind. It would be ungrateful to taste a drop of heaven and ask for more.
“You can go now,” she said, her voice flat.
She always said that. Suddenly, abruptly, at the end of a night filled with laughter and effortless intimacy, she would always, always say that. And Evan would leave.
But he wasn’t leaving her like this.
Evan tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her closer. She stumbled, but he’d expected that; she stumbled more than she walked. So he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her upright, and he watched as her eyes widened.
And he felt a sort of savage satisfaction as her tongue slid out to wet her lower lip.
“What if I don’t want to go?” He asked softly. “Would you let me stay?”
She tilted her chin. “Because you want to—”
“No.” That was her defensive voice, the same voice she used to tell him what an awful slut she was. He knew what she was about to ask, and he didn’t care for it. “I’m saying I don’t want to go yet.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because you want to sleep with me.”
Evan looked over at the decimated bouquet. “Who sent you the flowers, Ruth?”
She stepped back, away from him. He let go, and thought his reluctance must colour the air around them, stronger than the roses. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Mind your business,” she said.
“You aren’t my business?”
“Nope. I’m your neighbour. Now fuck off.”
He’d expected nothing less, so he was prepared for the sting of rejection. Didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“If you have a boyfriend,” he said, “you should’ve just told me.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend in my life.”
“Bullshit.”
She grinned at him. The expression was almost manic. “You go and ask somebody. Anybody. Say, ‘Has Ruth Kabbah ever been in a relationship?’ They’ll tell you.”
“I don’t want someone else’s version of your life, Ruth,” he gritted out. “I just want you to trust me.” I want to know why you don’t go anywhere or see anyone, why people say your name like it’s a scandal in itself.
I want to know why you destroyed Daniel’s car.
She sighed. “I’m not the kind of girl who just trusts people, Evan. Take it or leave it.”
He swallowed down his bitterness. Maybe she was right. He barely knew her, and he’d come barging into her life, expecting to unlock all her secrets like she was some kind of puzzle. His conscious, reasonable thoughts didn’t help; though. They didn’t put out the searing flames of childish anger edged in hurt.
“Fine,” he clipped out. “I get it. We’ll just leave it at that.”
She stared at him, eyes sharp. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”
He shook his head and said, “Don’t worry about it.”
Chapter Fifteen
What’s going on with you today?”
Ruth shot her sister a glare as they cleared the table. “In a minute,” she whispered.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Mum’s got Deal or No Deal on. She’s not listening.”
As one, the girls turned to look across the dining-cum-living room. A few metres away, their mother stared, transfixed, at Noel Edmonds’s silver bouffant.
Patience Kabbah had a serious crush.
Still, Ruth wouldn’t run the risk. She said again, her voice hushed, “Wait.” Then she piled the last of the dishes onto her arms.
“Woah,” Hannah laughed, swooping in to take most of the load. “Give me those. We don’t need to spend the rest of the afternoon sweeping up china.” She headed to the kitchen, plates balanced expertly in her practiced hands, without a backwards glance.
Ruth allowed herself a millisecond of childish resentment. She was perfectly capable of carrying plates to the kitchen, even if no-one in the world seemed to think so.
Then she remembered why Hannah was such an expert at carrying dirty dishes and wiped her mind clean of disloyal thoughts. Let Hannah be the overbearing older sister. She’d earned it.
With a sigh, Ruth collected a few glasses from the table and followed.
The Kabbah women cooked Sunday dinner together, even though Ruth was a known disaster area. She prepared cassava and sliced yam. Sometimes she peeled breadfruit, if Hannah had picked any up from the market in the city.
The heavy-duty cooking was mostly left to Mum—but both daughters insisted that she sit out when it came time to clean up.
So as soon as Ruth stepped into the kitchen, her sister shut the door. Hot water was already filling the sink, and plastic Tupperware was on the counter, ready to hold leftovers.
Hannah paid no mind to anything but Ruth. She leant against the room’s narrow island, her arms folded. “Go on, then,” she said. “Tell me.”
Ruth walked carefully to the sink, sliding the glasses beneath the water, focusing on the iridescent bubbles gilding its surface.
How could something as basic as dish soap and tap water create something as wonderful as bubbles?
“Tell me,” Hannah said again, her voice firm. “You’re being super weird lately.”
“I’m always weird,” Ruth said. It was automatic. An in-joke dating back decades.
But Hannah’s mouth twisted. “Don’t say that. You’re not.”
“Yes I am.” Ruth slid on a pair of her mother’s pink rubber gloves. “And so are you. We’re the weirdos, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” Hannah laughed tightly.
She didn’t find it funny; Ruth could tell. Her sense of humour had changed. Everything about her was sterner and tougher than it had been before, and that was saying something.
With a sigh, Ruth turned off the running taps. “I’m fine, Han. I just have some things on my mind.”
“You’ve barely spoken all day.” Hannah grabbed a plate and started scraping soggy cassava into the bin. “You didn’t even notice when Mum mentioned her date.”
Ruth jolted, dropping a cup into the sink with a splash. “Her date?”
“Exactly. You weren’t listening.”
“Stop having a go and tell me about this date.” Ruth turned her most intimidating stare on her sister.
Hannah matched it with an equally unsettling glare of her own. “I’ll tell you about the date when you tell me what’s draining your brainpower.”
Sometimes, Ruth forgot who she’d learned her defence mechanisms from. The student would never outdo the master; at least, not when it came to Kabbah Bitch Face.
“Fine,” Ruth huffed, turning back to the sink. “I made a friend and then I fucked it up.”
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