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“Where’s Ashley?”
Davis glances at me sideways. “She’s taking a nap.”
“She seems awfully tired all the time for someone who doesn’t seem to do much.”
“Maybe you should try it,” Davis says. “It might make you a bit more pleasant to be around.”
I cut to the chase. “I wish you hadn’t brought her here.”
“You’ve made that quite clear.”
“I have a bad feeling about it.”
“You have a bad feeling about a lot of things, Ruth.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” Johnny agrees, which I have to say stings. He usually stays out of it. I assume he’s bitter about being elbow deep in the AC unit, so I try not to take it personally.
Johnny wipes sweat from his brow. Then he looks from me to Davis. “Ruth is having one of her episodes.”
I ignore him. Episodes are what the men around here call things they don’t want to deal with. “She said she’s a kindergarten teacher…”
Davis grins. “Yeah, so?”
Johnny furrows his brow. Even he looks surprised. This gives me a hint of satisfaction, or at the very least the will to go on. “Is she even old enough?”
“Don’t be catty, Ruth.”
“I think you should ask her to leave. At least until we get this thing sorted out with the Holts. I’m sure you wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”
“Like I would let that happen.”
“They won’t give up, you know. Not until they get their revenge.”
Tires crunching gravel steal my attention and the chance of getting a response.
“Must be Cole,” Johnny says.
“Speaking of Cole—” Davis hands Johnny a Phillips head. He’s looking at me. “Don’t you think you might wanna get a move on, Ruth?”
“I’m good.”
“Your clock’s a-ticking. If you want kids.”
I rip the towel I have thrown over my shoulder and throw it at his face. “Why would I?” I motion from him to Johnny. “I already have two.”
I storm off. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but at the same time, he’s hit a nerve, and some things are instinctual.
Chapter Twelve
Ruth
The sun sinks low in the sky, and it’s turned out to be a gorgeous evening. A cool ocean breeze peppers the air, and it’s clear out. Later, a gaggle of stars will be scattered across the sky. It’s the perfect backdrop for a wedding. The bride and groom say their vows under huge oaks with lights strung across the garden in front of four hundred of their closest friends and family, and it looks like something straight out of Home and Garden magazine. It’s stunning.
It feels like I’m finally doing something right in my life, as though providing exceptional weddings for other people will somehow make up for the fact that I’ll probably never have one of my own.
It’s not that I don’t want to get married. It’s just that I can’t get married to the person that I want.
