“What’s your coffee order?” Another classic question, but I’m betting you can probably tell a lot about someone from their caffeinepreferences. That’s what Ashton always says, anyway. But then again, she drinks her coffee with a metric fuck-ton of sugar and about half a pound of flavouring in it.
“Hot and black, baby. Unadulterated, right from the pot.” I grin, and Ruth giggles at my answer. It’s another musical sound and it sets my blood simmering.
“Mine is a caramel latte, light on the caramel, extra shot of espresso.” I make a mental note of Ruth’s preference. A little sweet, extra strong. That matches perfectly with everything I know about Ruth Bevan so far. And I can’t wait to learn more.
There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it makes me want to know everything about this woman. It makes me want to hold on with both hands, throw caution to the wind. Talking to her every night the way I have for the last two weeks, even just through text, gives me the same kind of elation, the belly-swooping freedom that I feel when I climb up on a horse, when the wind blows through my hair as we gallop across the plains.
“Your turn to ask a question, Ev,” Ruth reminds me softly. I realise suddenly that I’ve been staring at her image on the screen, at the way her lips are curled into a gentle smile that reaches all the way to her eyes, crinkling them at the corners.
A question. Right.
“What’s your favourite style of potato?”
She laughs suddenly, a full belly-laugh this time. One that has her swaying in place as the force of her laughter knocks her off-balance. One that has her whole face lighting up in the most dazzling way. I’ve seen the Texas sky at sunrise, sunset, and at every moment in between. I’ve seen the circle of life working with cattle. I’ve even seen the world from above now, flying across mountains and deserts. But my god, Idon’t know if I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than Ruth Bevan when she laughs.
“My favourite kind of potato?” She’s still laughing.
“Ye-yeah. You know, they’re the most versatile food.”
“Oh, I don’t disagree,” she says with a smirk. “I just wasn’t expecting the question.”
“So, what’s your answer?”
“Granny Bevan’s dauphinois,” she says decisively, without any hesitation at all. And then she adds, “But you can’t go wrong with a good French fry.”
“Have you ever had a Texas baked potato?”
“I’ve had a baked potato. What difference does Texas make?”
“Oh, honey. Next time you’re in Austin, come hungry.” I wink into the lens, and I realise I’m flirting hard.
“Are you offering to cook for me, Cowboy?”
Well, if I’m flirting, Ruth is flirting right back, with a coy smile on her face. I feel my cheeks tighten as my grin widens, ecstatic at the thought of seeing her again.
“Might be,” I shrug. “Depends on whether you’re gonna come and see me again.”
“Tell you what,” she says, grabbing her phone and bringing it towards her face. “I’ll come visit if you cook for me. Deal?”
“Why, Ruth, I do believe you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter seven
Ruth
Istayed up untilmidnight talking to Everett on the phone. We covered everything from potatoes to aliens, and I don’t know what it was—that boyish smile, the effortless charm, the southern drawl—but something had me hanging on to absolutely every word. Something in my heart, mind, body,soul—it wants me to know Everett Tanner.
Either way, I’m tired this morning. I dragged myself out of bed and chugged a cup of coffee before I even showered, and I’m already desperate for another hit of caffeine. I whirl around and point the key fob at my car, clicking the button furiously to make sure it’s definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent locked before I walk away and leave it in the car park. It’s a habit I’ve got myself into—locking and re-locking the car about a million and one times—no matter how many times I try to stay chill and just hit the button once. Once I’m satisfied that the car is definitely secure, I weave my way between a myriad of poorly-parked vehicles until I reach a pair of wooden doors, and I push my way through them just in time to see a streak of red dart into one of the lifts. I take three large strides, determined to catch up.
“Roo!”
Paloma and Amie are already in the lift. I slip through the doors just as they begin to slide closed, and greet two of my best friends with big bear hugs.
“Hey, Sweet Thing,” I say into Amie’s hair as I wrap my arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, babe,” she says wistfully. “Summer flying schedule got me working like crazy already, and it’s barely April.”
“You’re dropping your hours though, right?” Paloma asks. She slaps at Amie as the doors slide open again, and as Amie releases me, Paloma pulls me into a walking hug.
