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There’s a strangled yelp that makes me frown, followed by a muffled curse, and the door to the apartment directly across from Ruthie’s cracks open. I turn toward it and see an older woman. Her gray hair is in curlers, and she has beady eyes that remind me of the hamster Danny adopted last Christmas. She’s got to be cold in her pink, long-sleeved nightdress, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Was that a dog?” she asks in a voice that sounds like an exhaled cigarette.
“No, ma’am,” I say, even though it sounded an awful lot like a dog. What the hell is Ruthie up to now? Whatever it is, I feel like I have no choice but to be complicit, since I came here with half a grocery store in hand to ask for a favor. “I jammed my foot against the step.”
“You made that sound, young man?” She gives me a measuring look, taking in my suit and peacoat. The bag in my hand.
“Yes, it was me.”
Her gaze narrows. “Awful late to be paying a visit to a young mother, don’t you think?”
Awful nosy is what I think. Then again, I’ve cracked harder nuts. This woman has nothing on me.
“She’s my best friend’s little sister. I like to keep an eye on her and her girl.” It might be my imagination, but I could swear I hear Ruthie snorting behind the door.
“There’s no need for that,” the woman says as if I’ve offended her. Her expression shrivels like an old lime lost at the back of a fridge. “I keep an eye on everything in this neighborhood, particularly those girls.”
Yes, I’m sure she does.
“It reassures me to know that,” I tell her with a respectful nod, and the old biddy retreats inside her apartment and closes the door behind her. Something tells me she’s got her eye glued to the spyglass, though, and I resist the urge to salute. Barely.
Another beat passes, and Ruthie opens the door to her apartment. She has a single slender finger pressed to her full lips. Maybe it’s the power of suggestion, but I’m struck silent by the sight of her thick, wavy mass of dark brown hair and light blue eyes, currently fixed on me with a scowl. And even though it’s cold as a witch’s titties out here, or so my friend Leonard would say, she’s got on an oversized sweatshirt and lycra shorts so small a microscope would be needed to locate them. I’ve seen these particular shorts before—they’re a favorite, I guess—so I’m familiar with the way they cup her ass, and how it’s nearly impossible to look away.
The realization that Ruthie’s beautiful crept up on me. It was like one day she was an aggravating kid, always trying to grab attention from anyone who’d give it to her, all elbows and knees and messy hair, and the next she’d become a woman. And not just any woman—the kind of woman who’d stop men in their tracks.
I’ve learned to steel myself against reacting to Ruthie as a woman, though. It’s what I call my own, personal Rule Number One: pretend you’re not attracted to Ruthie Traeger.
Swallowing back my reaction, I roll my eyes and lift the bag. “You asked, and I delivered.”
“Come in,” she mouths, forcefully waving me inside.
I follow her in, and she hastens to shut the door behind me as I take off my coat.
“What was that all about?” I ask, glancing around for somewhere to put the coat. The corners of my mouth lift when I notice the two coats already slung over the side of the sofa, and I add mine to the pile.
Ruthie glances at the door, frowning, then gestures me farther inward. I shrug and follow her into the kitchen. It’s an open floor plan and only seven or eight paces from the door.
Tucked under the little round kitchen table is a wire crate with a little big-headed, small-legged dog in it, chowing down on some chew stick that’s probably the desiccated body part of an animal.
I groan. “Well, will you look at that, I hadn’t even walked in yet before you made a liar of me.”
I set the bag down on the table and cross my arms. It’s the lawyer in me—the man trained by Fred Myles—but it crosses my mind that she’ll be more willing to see things my way because I have some leverage.
“I’m going to tell the front office,” she says, her tone annoyed. “We’re allowed to have pets. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Why’d you get a dog, anyway?” I ask, amused. “Danny told me about the reading-to-dogs thing, but I didn’t realize you planned on kidnapping one. Don’t you think you’re taking the big white van thing a little too seriously?”
She stomps one of her feet, which makes me grin, and then the neckline of her oversized sweatshirt slips over her shoulder. I look away from the slope of her neck and the sight of a bright red bra strap as she bends to examine the contents of the bag. “You’re such an ass,” she says. “The event got cancelled earlier. Josie the Great says hello, by the way.”
“What?” I ask, jolting to attention. It’s been weeks since I’ve given any real thought to my buddy’s psychic friend…
Well, friend feels like it would be a stretch. But she did tell me that I was going to get married, and I’m here because I need to convince Ruthie to pretend she’s my wife. I’m the last person to be taken in by hacks and liars, but it…
It makes me a little uncomfortable, is all.
Ruthie hoots and pulls out one of the heart-shaped cakes. Looking up at me with shining eyes, she lifts the box. “She was very concerned about making sure you had cake for your wedding, and look, you bought some.”
She must see the frozen look on my face, because she shakes her head and smirks, then saunters over to a drawer and pulls out a couple of forks. “Don’t worry, Romeo. I told her you’re a player, and you’d sooner cut off your finger than put a ring on it.”
