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“I’d like you to stay for a while,” I say, pulling back slightly.
“Thank God.” He smiles at me, and this time it does meet his eyes. He nearly glows with it. “Because I had no intention of leaving, and it might have gotten awkward.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Shane
My alarm bleeps to life early in the morning on Saturday. Ruthie groans beside me.
“Smash the phone,” she says into her pillow.
I’m smiling as I turn it off. I want to stay. I’d like nothing better than to burrow into her warmth and hold her and forget anything but now, here. This apartment that seemed like such a dump to me a week ago is…well, still a dump, but more inviting than my place. But Ruthie and I agreed last night that I’d leave early so Izzy won’t see me. I don’t know who the ruse is for, because we’ve already explained the situation for her. Change is best undertaken in stages, though, and I need time to process everything, too. I’m feeling raw in a way I didn’t expect.
Before leaving the room, I let myself admire Ruthie for a moment, from the dark hair covering her forehead to the ruby shining from her neck. My wife. It’s a thought I didn’t ask for, but it’s factual, at least, so I let it rest. I bend to kiss her forehead and then bring Flower out for a walk around the neighborhood. I’m not at all surprised to see Mrs. Longhorn peeking out of her door when I return.
“Good morning, Mrs. Longhorn,” I say, barely holding back a how’s the peeping?
“Is it?” she says with a sniff. “It’s cold and dank. Makes my knees squeak.” She lifts a finger to the door. “You said you were just a friend.”
“At the time, it was true.”
“If you like her, you should marry her. No good can come from playing around with a single mother’s heart.”
Well, I’ll be…
This woman has always struck me as nosy as hell with little actual affection for Ruthie, but I suppose people can be complicated, capable of being snoops and actually giving a shit.
I’m tempted to tell her that I did marry her, thank you very much, but that would undoubtedly lead to twenty more questions, and I’d prefer not to be mired in this conversation for the indefinite future.
“You’re right about that,” I say.
She gives the harumph of someone who enjoys being right—a feeling I understand perfectly well.
“A man was over here yesterday, you know. The dog was barking. Loudly.”
My pulse picks up. “Oh?”
“I looked out of my spyglass.”
“Naturally.”
“He was fumbling around with a package—” she releases a loud sniff, “—and you know there are plenty of package thieves around these parts. Someone needs to keep an eye.”
With her around to watch the stoops, it’s surprising anyone gets away with anything. Still, I nod.
“I opened the door to ask him what in tarnation he was doing, and he said he’d come to deliver it. So, naturally, I took it from him. Didn’t want any funny business. That girl over there’s had enough of it, what with you and that dog and those cameras.”
She hands over an Amazon package from a table just inside the door. I’m surprised there are no signs of tampering, but this woman runs a tight ship. She probably owns a steam machine that allowed her to open and then reseal it.
“She gets a lot of these packages, you know,” Mrs. Longhorn says, the snoop overtaking the caring neighbor.
“Most people do. It’s why they’re taking over the world.”
Her lips pucker. “She told me she has some secret admirers. They buy her stuff off some kind of wishlist. Are you okay with that?”
I’m okay with Ruthie getting the things she needs without feeling the compunction to send them back, absolutely.
“Yes, I’m okay with that.”
