AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We spent the night talking and fucking and making a batch of cookies. I had jack all in the refrigerator, but she claimed she could do something with it, and neither of us has ever met a challenge we didn’t want to dominate.
They were terrible. No, terrible doesn’t cover it. Inedible is a better word.
“You’re supposed to tell me they’re delicious,” Ruthie told me. “I’ll bet you could do it convincingly too.”
“Oh, because I’m a good liar?”
“The best.”
There was a smear of flour on her nose and I wiped it off, feeling a surge of…it took me a solid ten seconds to identify it as happiness. “As much as I regret to admit it, there are limits to my ability to dissemble.”
She shoved my shoulder. I asked if she wanted another cookie, then threatened to bring them over to Danny and Mira’s and tell everyone she’d baked them. And we both doubled over laughing.
For the first time in my adult life, I left dirty dishes in the sink at night, and I didn’t care. And I don’t care now, because Ruthie has agreed to make a go of this with me.
Her hand is splayed beside her head, her ring on display, her eyelashes brushing her cheek, the dark waves of her hair mussed from my hands. Calm satisfaction fills me, an unfamiliar sensation, because for so long my life has been a quest for more, better, next.
But disquiet snakes in and wraps around my throat.
I’ve never wanted to be in a relationship. I’ve avoided it. Relationships end. They all end. Even if both people choose to stay together, to fall in love with each other again and again as life changes them, they will fall apart eventually. It’s rare for people to die at the same time, unless it’s from an accident or natural disaster. So if a divorce or breakup doesn’t claim the relationship, death will. It’ll end badly for someone.
I’ve never wanted to find myself on the other side of divorce court, arguing about frequent flyer miles or my favorite wooden spoon because I’m so pissed and broken that those things suddenly seem important.
I’ve never wanted to be the person who is left behind with a missing piece, like my mother. But I also can’t bear the thought of being responsible for breaking another person that way. My father would have hated what his death did to my mother. Hated it.
A voice in my head—Ruthie’s—tells me that he would have hated what’s become of me too. He would have hated the way I’ve avoided making real connections. How I’ve avoided any woman who might make me feel more than passing lust. Until now.
I want this woman in a way that baffles me, and the more I’ve leaned into that feeling, the more I’ve realized a surprising truth about myself.
I’ve wanted her for a while. I’ve wanted to kiss that smart mouth and slide my hands under her big sweatshirts. I’ve wanted to help her with her schemes and hold her hand. I’ve wanted her. But I’ve buried it down, made it into a volcano that spurts out words that push away rather than pull in. Because I’m scared of Ruthie Traeger. Scared, too, of what it will mean if I really try—and fail.
Ruthie and I are more alike than I ever let myself see.
Feel the fear and do it anyway.
I remember seeing that poster in the room of the school counselor they sent me to after my dad died. The counselor didn’t say anything useful—I didn’t need someone to tell me it was okay to cry, because the tears wouldn’t come. In fact, hearing that it was okay to cry made me wonder what was wrong with me for not crying. But that poster…it slid under my skin. It became my blueprint, and if I can follow that motto professionally, then I can also follow it with Ruthie.
Still, I’m worried about Danny. He knows how I feel about relationships—and the three most important people in his life are Mira, Ruthie, and Izzy. He’ll probably tell me to forget it. To do what I’d promised and no more. To be a friend and stay the hell away from her, because friends don’t screw friends’ little sisters.
But there’s no unscrewing her, and I wouldn’t if I could.
Besides, this isn’t just about what I want. Ruthie’s willing to take a chance on me. I can’t throw that away.
We’ve agreed to tell both Danny and Izzy most of the truth. We’ll say that we may have married for convenience, but we’ve decided to date because we care about each other. And we’ll assure Izzy that we both care about her, no matter what happens.
I get up to make coffee, pausing to pull on a T-shirt and sweatpants from the closet. It’s an old house, and if it gets cold outside it lets you know it. I smile at the dirty dishes and then decide to add to them by making scrambled eggs.
I’m still standing at the pan when Ruthie comes into the kitchen and wraps her arms around me from behind—and I feel it again, that glimmer of simple happiness, even if it’s chased by the feeling that any happiness is going to be temporary, because happiness is always, always followed by loss. Her arms are wrapped up in my shirt, my scent, and it unleashes a primal joy inside of me.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she comments into my ear, then bites the lobe lightly. “If I’d known, I would have forced you to make those cookies.”
“So I could be the one to get the blame?” I ask, reaching back to pull her closer.
“Absolutely. Ooh, coffee.” She detaches from me, a feeling of cold crowding my back now that she’s gone. Without asking, she pours coffee for each of us. “Let me guess,” she says, “you’re a very serious man who will only drink his coffee black.”
“I have flavored creamer in the refrigerator.” I glance back, wanting to see her smile.
She opens the fridge with anticipation on her face, then shakes her head, laughing. Because there’s only a plain carton of Half & Half.
