Page 31 of Show Me

A white mail truck rattles down the street and stops outside. The engine idles. A minute later, footsteps on the porch. A knock at the open back door.

“Morning, Ruby,” Mr. Peters calls. “Got a package for you.”

She steps down, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Came through this morning.” He hands her a small brown box, tips his hat, and leaves.

Ruby turns the box over. Somehow, her red nails have no chips or scuffs. No return address. Just her name and street in block letters. “That’s weird.”

I lean against the counter, watching. “Secret admirer?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I doubt it.”

“You got a date I don’t know about?” The words come out before I can stop them.

She blinks and returns her attention to the package. “No.”

Something tightens in my chest. I ignore it. “Open it.”

She hesitates, then holds it out. “You open it.”

“Okay.” If she wants me to open it, it’s likely not expected. So who would it be from? I take the package, slice the tape with my pocketknife. Inside is a small box of chocolates and a folded card. I hand it back to her as the tightening intensifies where it has no business being.

She reads it. Her shoulders stiffen, barely noticeable, but there. The note is easy to read upside down.

Thought you might need something sweet after work.

No name. No return address. “Someone from the gym?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t give anyone my address.”

I shake my head. “It’s a small town, Ruby. Someone wants to find you; all they have to do is ask around.” A beat. “Or it’s someone you’re seeing who didn’t think to sign it.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“What?”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” Another beat passes before she drops the note to the island next to the crowbar. “There’s a guy at the gym. Brent Lawson. He’s been hovering around. Even when I play him off.”

Something sharp hits low in my chest. “I’ll talk to him.”

She turns fast. Eyes wide. “No.”

“I’m not asking–”

“I’ll handle it,” she cuts me off before I’m able to say more, leaving no room for wavering unless I go around her.

“I know you can.”

That doesn’t mean I like it. It’s not just the package. It’s the timing. The location. The anonymity. I study her face. There’s no panic. No fear. Just mild confusion.

“Could be a delivery mistake.”

“Doubtful.” It’s not. People don’t accidentally send things to the right house with the right name on it. “But it could be.”