I roll my eyes. Honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue what Ruth does at work. She’s busy and important, and impressive as hell, and all I know is that she does it from Austin, or New York, or London. Sometimes she does it from her bed instead, because the thought of getting up, putting heels on and going into the office makes her want to die inside. And my stomach clenches uncomfortably at the thought of her, huddled under her duvet, replying to emails from people I know she can’t stand.
“I’ll ask her next time I talk to her. Tell Res I’m not making any promises.”
“Gotcha. Thanks, man.”
“Yeah,” I say. I pull out my phone to shoot Ruth a text, but am momentarily distracted by my screensaver. It’s a picture of Ruth, eyes closed and face up to the sun, arms open wide as she greets the morning on the ranch. I say it every day, and I think it every moment, but she really is the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen in my life. It was that beauty—some kind of cosmic, magnetic pull—that had me introduce myself to her that day in the airport in New York, and whenI saw her again a month later in Austin, I couldn’t stay away. I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. She’d been on my mind every single day since our first meeting, and she hasn’t left it at all since.
And now that I know her, now that my heart has all but rewritten the shape of its veins to spell her name… now, I know. She’s the one I want to walk through the rest of my life with. The only one.
I didn’t know who I was before. I had no concept of where I fit into the world outside this ranch. But since meeting Ruth, it’s become crystal clear: I’ve only ever been one half of a whole.
Chapter twenty-four
Ruth
Itoss the lastof Maisy’s toy planes into a woven basket, slide it into the square shelf opening in the bottom of the TV console table, and sit back on my heels with a sigh. Amie has just emerged after putting Maisy to bed—an event that involves a quick FaceTime call with Cam to read a bedtime story, and tonight, a near-miss with a tantrum from a little girl who misses her daddy.
“You guys didn’t have to tidy everything,” Amie starts. Paloma washed Maisy’s dinner plate whilst I tidied away the toys, and she’s now sat with her back against the sofa, long legs straight out in front of her, bending forwards to wrap her hands around the soles of her feet.
“We don’t mind,” she says, her voice muffled against her shins. “You’d do it for us.”
“Maybe,” Amie says cheekily, tongue between her teeth. “But thank you, anyway. I love her so much, but I do miss the days when I had a tidy house.”
“Can we order food now? I’mstarving.” Paloma sits up suddenly, rotating her ankles in circles one way, and then the other. The glittery polish on her toenails shines in the golden hour light coming through the window.
I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.
“My turn. What are we ordering?”
“I could murder a Thai curry,” Amie muses. “Or a pizza.”
“Those are two very different options,” I say, opening the food delivery app. It immediately delivers four different offers, none of which are even remotely related to anything I’ve ever ordered before. I cancel all of them.
“I vote pizza,” Paloma decides. “Roo? Pizza?”
“I could do pizza,” I agree. I type in Amie’s postcode and select her local pizza place. It’s one of our favourites, and I immediately navigate to my order history. “Same as usual? Something different?”
“Depends what the usual is,” Amie says with a crinkle of her nose. The crinkle-nosed smile is an expression Maisy has inherited, and it makes me smile to think of the sweet little girl upstairs. Of how lucky I am to be her godmother, to play my part in raising her. Of how lucky I am, that even though I’ll never have my own children, I still have Maisy.
“One pizza with sausage, olives, and mushrooms, and one pepperoni with barbecue sauce.”
“There are only three of us tonight, and I can live without the pepperoni to be honest.”
“Yeah, just get some wings or garlic bread or something instead.”
“Aye, captain,” I say, swiping at my phone. “Getting both.”
“Don’t forget the garlic dip!” Amie demands. I add it to the basket.
“Anything else?” I raise my phone in the air. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Amie and Paloma are both silent, so I tap the order button with a flourish.
“Thanks, Ruthy.” Paloma tips her head to mine as I shuffle to sit beside her.
“I got you,” I say, bumping my shoulder into hers. “Next time, pizza’s on Katy.”
“Yeah, what was her excuse, anyway?”
