“Better?”
Working my eyes open, I lift them, not ready to face the woman who just got me through the worst panic attack I’ve suffered in years.
But Ruth isn’t asking any questions. She’s not looking at me with judgment for my inability to control my emotions. She just gives me a rare soft smile as her nails continue to gently scrape my scalp.
I loosen my grip on her, but don’t let go. “Better. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Her fingers slowly work their way from my hair, and I miss her touch the second it leaves. “Panic attacks can be hard to deal with.”
I can’t bring myself to completely take my hands off her, so I rest my palms on her hips, fingers barely sinking into theluxurious curve of her ample ass. “You don’t seem like the type to have panic attacks.”
Ruth is so reserved and calm. Even when that prick was on her doorstep, she didn’t react the way most people would have. Was she scared? Sure. But there was no uncontrollable panic dictating her words or actions. Just fear putting her on edge.
Ruth snorts. “Pretty sure there isn’t a type when it comes to panic attacks.” She rocks back a little, pulling the temptation of her bountiful breasts farther from my face. “I had them a lot after my mom died. I was trying to finish college and figure out how to navigate life on my own, and sometimes it got to me.”
I stare at her face, rubbing my lips together instead of putting them on hers the way I want to. Ruth and I are so different. Different in how we interact with others. The way we approach the world. How we carry ourselves and the words we choose to say. But there are similarities. Important ones.
The value we put on the people who matter to us. Our willingness to do anything for them. Our work ethics. A shared love of grilled cheese and tiramisu. The way we react to loss.
And to being alone.
I have my family—which does make it different—but in some ways I’m very much isolated. By design, but still. When it comes to navigating loss and all it entails, I’ve been on my own. I know how hard it is, and I don’t like thinking about Ruth facing the same sort of struggle.
That’s why, when I see the sadness on her pretty face, I do what she did for me. Reaching out, I curve a hand at the back of her head, gently pulling her closer. “Come here.”
She’s short enough it’s not difficult for me to adjust her positioning, moving both her legs to one side so she’s cradled against my chest, head tucked beneath my chin as I lean back on the couch. Ruth doesn’t fight me. She comes willingly, curling close to relax inmy arms. I almost feel like I’ve managed to coax a feral animal into allowing me to offer pets. Convinced them I’m not a threat. That if they just give me the chance, I can make life better. Keep them safe.
Make them happy.
A big part of me wishes that could all be true. I know I could make Ruth’s life better. I’m confident I can keep her safer than anyone.
I could probably even make her happy.
Except she’s leaving. Taking Birdie and moving across the country. It’s what she’s planned. What she’s worked so hard for.
Do I like the thought of her being in a place I can’t help if she needs me? Fuck no. But it’s better for both of us if she goes. I’m not cut out for relationships. They require putting too much on the line.
And she deserves someone who can jump in with both feet. Love her without fear. Build a life without the shadow of uncertainty constantly blotting out the sun.
But for now, I can pretend I could be a man like that. I’ve got a week left to soak up a glimpse of what I will never have.
And I’m going to take it.
“Tell me something interesting about your mom.” I want to give Ruth the space to talk about the woman she so clearly adored, but I also want to learn more about her. About what her life has been like. What led her to me.
Ruth laughs softly. “What wasn’t interesting about my mom.” She sighs, one hand lifting to toy with the front of my shirt. “Everything about her was cool. She could play three different instruments. Spoke fluent French.” Her head rocks back, eyes lifting to my face. “And made the best bananas foster bread in the history of the universe.”
“Bananas foster bread, huh?” I stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankle as I relax into a moment unlikeanything I’ve ever had. “I’ve never heard of bananas foster bread, but I’m a big fan of banana bread.”
I’m a big fan of most food. I was kind of a scrawny kid up until my junior year of high school. Then I had a growth spurt. One that made it impossible to keep my stomach full, so I got in the habit of eating anything that crossed my path.
Pun intended.
Ruth pinches her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes drop to my mouth. “I could make it for you, if you want.”
“I’m never going to be a man who turns down a baked good, Ruthless.” My lips curve. “Or anything else you’re willing to let me have a taste of.”
I’m teasing her. Mostly. I just like the way she rolls her eyes when I blatantly flirt.
