The Light Between Us

by Poppy Parkes

  “About the writing.”

  Ruth laughed, a short, sputtering of surprise as Derek settled back into his chair, smiling smugly. “You thought you'd put me off it, hadn't you?”

  She laughed again, neck tendriling slender and strong. “You caught me,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender.

  “What is it about the writing that you don't want to share? I can tell, even from the little bit that you've talked about it, that writing truly is what lights you up. I want to know more.”

  Ruth shrugged. “I don't know. It just feels vulnerable somehow. Too vulnerable.”

  “You mean like how I told you about Denise and my prom night fiasco? That kind of vulnerable?” he ribbed gently.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes comically. “Fine. Fine. You're right. Tit for tat, right?”

  He smirked. “I won't say no to tit.”

  “Smart ass,” she said, smacking him lightly on the arm.

  “Tell me,” he urged, grabbing both her hands in his and squeezing, “tell me what makes writing feel so frighteningly vulnerable to you?”

  Squinting at the ceiling, she sighed again, this time deep and true. “I guess . . . well, let me first just say that writing has always been my first love. I was writing stories as soon as I learned to hold a pencil, practically. And my teachers always, always encouraged me to keep writing. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Derek squeezed her hands again in encouragement. “But . . . ?”

  She shook her head. “My parents – my dad, really – he thought it was so dumb. Impractical, foolish, fanciful, and flighty wishful thinking. And then, as I got older, irresponsible. I wanted desperately to get my M.F.A. and doctorate in writing, so I could go on to teach at the university level. But my dad wouldn't let me.”

  “Wouldn't let you?” Derek frowned.

  “He said,” Ruth continued, practically spitting the words, “that no daughter of his would waste her time and money on such a dead end pursuit. He said my words were crap, that's it not like I was the next Danielle Steele or some big name writer. He said . . .” she hesitated, swallowing hard, “he said he'd disown me.”

  “Shit,” Derek breathed. “Seriously?”

  She nodded, clenching her jaw. “My mom begged me to choose a more practical course of study. And she was really sick at the time, too, and not doing well. Ovarian cancer. I really thought we were going to lose her.”

  “But you didn't?”

  “No, she pulled through, amazingly. But by that point I was already well into my elementary education undergrad work. It felt like I was locked in, like I was in too deep to change then.”

  “Or now?” he asked. “What's stopping you from changing course now?”

  Ruth snorted. “Time. Money. Mostly time. Teaching – well, it's the grading, mostly, and the lesson planning – it takes so much damn time. I try to write after, but usually by the time I'm done with all my work for school, I'm so exhausted and mentally spent that even laying in bed reading is almost more than I can handle.”

  “That sounds really hard.”

  “It's crap. And it's my own stupid fault.” She shook her head. “I dug myself into this hole. I should have let my dad disown me. It's not like doing what he wanted made him be any less of an asshole to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To be fair, it's not just me he's an asshole to,” she said, taking her spoon and stabbing it at a tepid chunk of clam that languished in the bottom of her bowl. “It's everyone. He's just a big jerk. It's not that he's abusive – well, not physically, anyway. It's more like he never learned how to be nice to people. I have no idea how my mom fell for him.”

  “And I have no idea why you're letting me in, letting me be around you at all, when you've had a man like that for a father.” Derek shook his head. “That is really hard.”

  “It is what it is,” Ruth said in a tired voice. “I had the choice to stand up for what I wanted, and I didn't. Now I'm stuck. I need to teach to pay off my student loans.”

  “But what about the writing? Could that be your career, maybe?”

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “Because it's so easy to create a sustainable writing career overnight.” she snapped. Then she drew a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice came softer. “Sorry. I shouldn't be so snarky. You're just trying to help.”

  “And I shouldn't be trying to fix it for you, right?” He flashed her an apologetic half smile. “I saw that on the cover of a magazine once, how women don't want men to fix their problems, just to listen to them.”

  She laughed, setting the spoon down. “That magazine sounds like it knows me quite well, somehow.”

  “But seriously,” Derek said, frowning at the scarred wood of the tabletop, “what about the writing? It seems like you're still getting to do a bit, from what you said.”

  “I am,” she admitted, words dropping slowly from her lips, forehead creasing between her eyebrows. “But I'm certainly not writing very fast. Just a few hundred words a day, usually. More on weekends if I can swing it.”

  “That's something.” He nodded approvingly. “That's really amazing, actually, to find the time like that when your job devours so much of your time and energy.”

  Ruth's cheeks grew pink. “I guess. I meant, it's just –”

  He held a hand up. “Now it's my turn to stop you. Because I suspect you're about to downplay your efforts, and I don't think you ought to.”

  “But –”

  “Nope,” he said, winking. “Progress is progress. And you love writing. So a few hundred words a day invested in the thing that makes your heart happy is very well done in my book.” He paused, considering his own words, eyes twinkling. “Er, no publishing pun in intended.”

  She ducked her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Well, thanks. Even though I'm not sure how much I deserve your props, your words still mean a lot.”

  “You deserve all the accolades,” he said in an earnest voice. “Ruth Hunter, you are a hell of a woman. Remember?”

  Smiling playfully, she leaned across the table and planted a light kiss on his lips. “Now that,” Ruth said, “I can wholeheartedly agree with.”

  Chapter 10

  Ruth glowered at the computer screen. She couldn't have asked for a better writing set up – she'd managed to snag her favorite corner table at her favorite writing coffee shop. Her favorite latte – the vanilla chai – was a dollar cheaper than usual for one day only. The coffee shop bakery had just started making their seasonal pumpkin cream cheese croissant today, which was her favorite treat to nibble while she wrote. She'd even taken a second day off of work, not feeling quite ready to face the reality of first grade life in the afterglow of yesterday's impromptu date with Derek.

  Everything was perfect. All her preferred props in place, she should have been writing like mad. And yet, she'd barely managed to wring two paragraphs' from her creative depths.

  It was Derek's fault. She couldn't get him out of her mind. Which wouldn't have been a bad thing if she had decided to stay in bed and moon over him.

  But his words yesterday had galvanized her. She'd found herself wondering why she thought of herself as so unworthy of happiness or purpose. Of living from her passions, instead of squeezing a few minutes of work on her dreams here and there, utterly hodgepodge and not yielding very much forward progress.

  So she'd taken another personal day, and, after filling her substitute in on the plans for her first graders, had taken her laptop, notebooks, and pens to this coffee shop to make good on her dream of being a published writer.

  And found herself utterly unable to write.

  Ruth grabbed her cell phone and opened a new text message. Mayday! she typed, then sent the message to Padme.

  Her phone rang almost instantly. The screen showed that it was Padme calling. “Um, don't have you have work to do?” she asked, answering the call as she frowned at the computer's clock. “Shouldn't you be, like, teaching or something?”


  “Shouldn't you?” Padme's countered. “My kids are in P.E. But where are you?”

  “I'm writing. Well, sort of.”

  Silence hung over the line for a moment. “Writing?” Padme breathed. “You mean, you actually took a personal day away from your students to write smutty romance?”

  “Um, yes?” Ruth winced. “I know I shouldn't –”

  “Don't you apologize! It's about damn time you put yourself first! I'm really proud of you, girl.” Ruth could hear the smile in her friend's voice. “Two days off in a row . . . your novel must be coming along.”

  “Well, not exactly,” she replied with a snort. “I spent yesterday with Derek. And now I can barely write a thing. I can't stop thinking about him.”

  Silence again, longer this time. “And the problem with this is . . . ?” Padme finally said. “That is amazing! Skipping school to be with a gorgeous man, and then skipping again to do some writing? You know I approve of your truant ways.”

  “You don't think it's a little . . . irresponsible?” Ruth asked, forehead creasing at the loaded word.

  “Well, if you used every single one of your personal days in a row, that probably wouldn't be the best thing ever. But a couple of days of much needed Ruth time? Spent in part with a ridiculous hot guy that is crazy into you?” Padme snorted. “I'll say it again – it's about damn time.”

  “Except for the not being able to write a single stupid word, practically. My day off is backfiring spectacularly.”

  “Okay, then tell me about your date with Derek yesterday. I want details. Lurid, spicy details.”

  Ruth felt herself blushing. “Well, there aren't many of those. I mean, we kissed some but it's not like we – well, you know.” She glanced around the coffee shop, not want any of her fellow patrons seated nearby to overhear her.

  “And is he a good kisser?”

  “Oh my gosh.” Ruth sighed happily, feeling her heart throb faster at the memory of Derek's lips on hers. “I have never felt anything like it. Both when he was kissing me and when he wasn't. And his touch . . . it's like it's electric or something. I get a little shock any time he touches my hand or my hair or whatever.”

  “Or touched your lips with his lips?” Padme prompted.

  “Yeah. Or that.” She sighed again. “I really like him. I mean, I know I shouldn't. I keep trying not to. But I can't help it.”

  “Gah!” Padme practically howled in frustration. “Don't do that! Do not talk yourself out of your feelings for this guy. Sure, he's got a sordid past. But he's been – or tried hard to be – really up front with you about it. And he has said that he wants to change, and has actually shown some promising signs of changing.”

  “Well, I guess that's true.”

  “Um, hello? He took you on the most spectacular first date ever.”

  Ruth snorted. “Don't you mean the most spectacular first date after a series of miscommunications and tiny betrayals?”

  “Yes, the weekend was a mess. But Phantom! A private car! Swanky dinner! And then gallivanting about the city with you yesterday when he was supposed to be at work!” Padme was practically shouting over the phone. “These are very good signs.”

  “I know, I know, they are. I don't disagree. But it's all the one night stands he's had before that make me nervous. I mean, what about STDs for one thing?” she said, groping at the first thought that came to her.

  “Tell him to get tested,” Padme replied breezily.

  Ruth frowned. “Seriously?”

  “Uh huh. I don't think that's an unreasonable request, given the situation. Call him, text him, email, whatever, just let him know that's something you need from him. And,” Ruth could just about hear the raised eyebrow Padme was surely cocking at her, “while you're at it, let him know that you're ready for the next round anytime. And make sure it's extra sexy.”

  “Oh please, Padme,” Ruth snorted. “Could you be any more crude?”

  “For me,” she pleaded. “Your dear friend who has watched you wander in a romantic wasteland for the majority of our knowing of each other. I think you need to get some jungle love going now. You've got a lot of time to make up for.”

  “I absolutely am not going to jump in the sack with Derek just because I haven't, um, gotten any in a while.”

  “Except for Sam.”

  “Oh. Yeah. But he was a total anomaly,” Ruth protested, stomach twisting with the guilt she had so far managed to successfully shove aside.

  Now Padme snorted. “You're telling me. I still don't know how you managed to go from undeclared nun to sexy temptress overnight.”

  “I resent being called a sexy temptress. I am,” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “I am . . . a woman awakening to herself.” Ruth loved how the words felt strolling off her tongue – voluptuous, deliciously robust and, best of all, true. A shiver of excitement that had nothing – or at least not much – to do with Derek or Sam ran over her skin, raising a wave of goose pimples.

  “Awakening woman, sexy temptress – how about we just agree that this is a good thing, whatever we prefer to call it?”

  “Deal.”

  “Sexy temptress,” Padme whispered.

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “I'm hanging up now.”

  “Text him to get tested!”

  “I will, pinky swear and all that.”

  “Hey,” Padme said in a more serious voice. “You deserve this, you know. You deserve a hell of a guy who's into you, who you're into. Don't compromise, okay?”

  “Thanks, mom.”

  “I love you, my sexy temptress of a daughter. Go ask your man about his penis.”

  Ruth snorted in laughter as she pressed the phone's “end” button. “Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

  But her eyes lingered on the phone's screen as it dimmed to black. Yes, she would definitely ask Derek to get tested before she let him anywhere near her bed, but that wasn't what niggled at her brain. She wanted to call him, now, and not just to ask about his sexual health. Talking with Padme had done nothing to take her mind off the one thing she wanted more than anything, even her beloved writing – to be with Derek.

  She scowled at the silent phone. If only he'd call her, then she wouldn't feel so silly.

  As if she'd conjured it, the phone blinked to life, displaying a text message from none other than Derek. Ruth's heart jumped at the sight, and she swallowed hard, opening the message.

  I can't stop thinking about you, it read.

  She smiled and quickly typed back, I know what you mean. I'm utterly useless.

  I have something of a crazy proposition for you, came his reply.

  Ruth frowned. A crazy proposition? What did that even mean.

  Oh yes? she typed, intrigued.

  Meet me at the arch at Rowes Wharf in an hour?

  Okay, I'm hooked. And I have something of a proposition of my own, she wrote back, biting her lip, thinking of the rather awkward STD question.

  Can't wait to hear what. See you soon, beautiful, Derek's text buzzed back, making her smile again.

  As she gathered up her writing things, Ruth shook her head to herself. I cannot believe that this is my life, she thought to herself. Skipping work to rendezvous with her unlikely love interest, mysterious propositions . . . again, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was living inside one of the romances that she loved to both read and write.

  Stuffing her notebooks, pens, and phone into the messenger bag she had slung over her shoulder, she scooped her laptop into her arms and stood – and gasped.

  “Sam,” she said, suddenly breathless, finding herself face to face with none other than her own one night stand. Ruth felt her face grow hot, and knew that she must be blushing furiously. “Um, hi.”

  “Hi,” he said back, voice cool. Sam nodded at her computer and jam-packed bag. “Here writing?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Well, sort of. Trying to. I was really distracted.” Great, I must sound like an idiot, she thought.

  His eyes
narrowed slightly. “Distracted by that guy? What's his name – Derek?”

  “Oh. Um, well . . .” she replied lamely, feeling her skin grow an even deeper shade of crimson.

  “I guess you were just using me for some fun the other night, huh?” he said, making her stomach swoop with the expression of hurt and confusion that passed across his face. “I never pegged you for that kind of girl.”