Page 18 of Falling Back to You

The letter opener had been a promise I would come watch his first game back after rehab. And he’d done it. Last I heard, he’d been drafted to the Hurricanes.

It was a reminder of the job I loved. It made me feel alive. The rush. Helping people. And now it was gone.

“From a secret admirer?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows.

“No, a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” She smirked but dropped the subject, for which I was grateful. Thinking about Jake and work any longer would upset the fragility of my emotional balance. Stretching, she blew out a breath. “Put me to work, boss. A cleaning service came through this week, and I came over to scrub a few things up after work in the evenings.”

I didn’t deserve her kindness, but I was grateful for it. “Thanks. Let’s start in the kitchen.”

“Aye, aye.”

I didn’t have much in the way of material possessions because New York apartments weren’t known for their spaciousness, especially when two women were sharing them.

Once the kitchen was organized enough that I could find my plates and utensils without having to eat cereal out of a mug with a serving spoon (true story), we moved to the bedroom.

It was buttery yellow with natural wood accents. The queen bed was centered against the far wall with a small pine nightstand and lamp beside it.

I lit my favourite lavender essential oil beeswax candle, which instantly made me miss my candle-making days. Maybe I could restart the business here? I still had all my equipment. New town, new me. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Blowing out a breath, I surveyed the towers of boxes and totes.

“Clothes first.” Ruby rummaged through the piles. “I need to see what you have to wear to the shoot tonight.”

My wardrobe was ninety percent scrubs, something she immediately lamented.

“This shoot is supposed to scream fall romance, not I just got off work and didn’t have time to change,” she wailed, digging through a box and flinging a handful of scrubs onto my quilted blue floral bedspread.

“That was kinda my life,” I defended from where I perched on the edge of the bed.

“I’m taking you shopping soon.” She opened another box. “Ah-ha, this is more like it!” She tossed an oversized cabled cream sweater at me followed by an orange-and-brown plaid A-line skirt. “These are speaking to me!”

“They’re clothes, Rubes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Try to catch the vision and thank me later. You’ll look amazing and he . . .”

“He what?” I prompted, eyebrow raised when she didn’t go on.

“Nothing.” Ruby blinked innocently and waved a hand. “Let’s talk hair and makeup.”

Innocent, my foot. I’d bet an apple-cider doughnut she was scheming.

“Remind me again of how this is supposed to work?” I asked Ruby four hours, twelve bobby pins, and a half bottle of hair spray later. We sat in her Honda Civic overlooking a beautiful meadow and pond, alight in golden hour and early-autumn colours. The world was still brown from the heat of summer, but now threads of orange and gold wove through the sunbaked landscape.

After finishing four episodes of my show last night, I’d scrolled social media, watching videos of every stranger photo shoot I could find. Had I already done that? Several times—ask Macy—but I thrived on being prepared.

We could hold hands, have a cute “oh what a surprise moment,” and I would smile my way through the whole thing for Ruby’s sake.

Simple. Relatively painless. And an award-winning performance the Oscars would never see.

“It’s simple. My friend Stephanie Prescott—you’ve heard of Nash Prescott the millionaire, yes? Well, he married Hiram Addams’s daughter.” She paused, clearly expecting a reaction like this was pivotal information.

“I don’t read the gossip rags, Rubes.” I stretched my tight shoulders. Unpacking wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “It’s not gossip, but it took the social world by surprise. Everyone knows about it. Anyways, they’re the sweetest, and Stephanie’s best friends with Juliet Satterfield, but she’s a Delavan now. You remember Myles? Of course you do, you were friends. Anyway, Stephanie’s looking to hire a second shooter, and I want it to be me,” she said simply. “She told me to put together a unique portfolio project, and I decided to do a stranger’s couple shoot. After all, if I can capture chemistry between two strangers, I can do anything.”

I loved her confidence, mixed with a dash of delusion. She’d spent the day helping me turn the cottage into a cozy haven. And I had to admit it was nice having her around. It wasn’t awkward. Ruby was too bubbly for awkwardness.

“It’s time!” she announced, checking her phone and very deliberately angling it to keep me from seeing the screen. As I said, she was scheming. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”