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If she only knew.
“I get an employee who isn’t running on fumes. I get to sleep at night because I’m not worried about your car running off the road when you fall asleep at the wheel. And, best case, we get a trained sommelier who’s come up through the ranks internally here.”
She smiles, and I know that offering her a path to her dream job seals the deal. Best part is that it’s a genuine offer. It just makes sense.
Ruby extends her hand. “If you’re serious, I can’t say no to that.”
I don’t want to shake her hand. Of all the things I want to do to her, this is dead bottom of the list. But it’s all I’m being offered.
“I’m serious. Pack your bags.”
ChapterEighteen
Ruby
“I changed my mind. I’m moving out of the winery,” I tell Ella, whose foot taps like she’s keeping time with music on her headphones, only she’s not wearing headphones.
The OB/GYN’s waiting room is packed, and we’ve snagged the last two chairs. In front of us, a low square table has several magazines fanned out, each one at least a month old. Ella normally loves a good gossip rag, but today, she sits with her hands in her lap, eyes staring straight ahead.
“You’re not. It’s a great idea,” she says, not looking at me.
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m not even at the dorm most of the time, so it’s not like I’m lonely, and it saves you two hours of driving each day. It’s a no-brainer.” I regard her serious face and know she’s being honest. “Really. Just do it.”
“Okay. I feel guilty, but okay.”
She turns her whole body in her seat to face me. “Why?”
I shrug. I’ve been trying to figure out the answer to this question ever since Jackson proposed it.
“I guess it’s guilt over being given free lodging, guilt that I won’t see you as much, guilt that I might not be able to help if you need something.”
Ella waves a hand. “Stop it. You’re lovely to worry about me, but get over it. I’m fine. It’s not like you’re leaving the country. And as to the free lodging, you were sponging off of me, so what’s the big deal if you’re sponging off someone else now?”
I get her point, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. “I guess.”
“Just take it, say thank you, and get some more sleep. I beg you.”
“Fine. Bossy.”
“Kettle.”
The receptionist calls Ella’s name, and a nurse leads us to an exam room with light wood floors and an open window shade, letting in some sun. The nurse hands Ella a gown with a light blue pattern and tells her to get undressed and put it on with the opening in front.
She leaves us, pulling the door closed with a quiet click.
“What if the doctor gets mad at me for being irresponsible?” Ella asks, more fearful of a woman she sees once a year than of a potential child she could have in nine months. She starts getting undressed, throwing her clothes into a pile on the chair. Then she puts her arms through the gown and hops onto the exam table.
I start folding her clothes and putting them back on the chair. “She won’t get mad at you. That’s not her job.”
“I know. You’re right.” She bites her bottom lip and looks up at me through her dark lashes. Despite her nerves and the fact that she’s barely slept since she took the pregnancy test, she’s managed to put on mascara and blush. Her eyes are puffy from all the crying she did when she told her boyfriend about the positive test.
He held her hand, let her cry on his shoulder for an hour, and said he supports her whether she has the baby or not. He offered to come with her here, but she told him she’d rather call him when we’re done.
Now, I’m the one holding her hand in the exam room, where she sits as far away from the stirrups as she can get.
“Tell me something to distract me,” she says, looking around the room like a fairy tale prince might emerge from a cupboard and entertain her.
