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It’s because of the way I reacted in the bathroom. He sensed my stress when he touched me, and he backed off. But the problem, I realize with a start, is that I don’t want him to back off.
I should just let him walk away. This is supposed to be casual, and since we’re obviously not going to have no-strings-attached sex—judging by how much we enjoy each other’s company—it should end now.
“Open the glove compartment,” Rudy says suddenly.
I frown, glancing at him.
His eyes are on the road, but I can tell his attention is on me. So, I press the button that has the glove compartment popping open. Inside, a book-shaped object is wrapped in gold paper.
“Happy belated birthday,” he says. “I only heard about it afterward, otherwise I would’ve called on Wednesday.”
“I was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening,” I explain, even if my pulse jumps. “I keep thinking that if I pretend I haven’t hit forty, it won’t be true.”
Rudy’s lips tilt as I turn the present over my hand. “What’s wrong with being forty? Seems to me like it’d be the best decade of them all. Everyone’s twenties are a mess. In your thirties you might find your footing and make some strides, but you might still wander and stumble. Your forties are when you know yourself and you know what you want. You should be happy that the messy years are behind you.”
Ha! Right. If only he knew. I have a feeling my messy years are very much ahead.
“Now how could a thirty-four-year-old man possibly have any idea what it’s like to be a forty-year-old woman?” I arch a brow, then drop my gaze to the present again. Something tightens in my chest. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Open it.”
“You shouldn’t have done this,” I chide, and I mean it. All week I’ve been telling myself that my dinner with Rudy was just a bit of fun, that this evening at the charity auction was a favor to stick it to his cousin. I’ve dismissed the memory of the community garden, and how it felt to have Rudy’s hand squeezing mine. I’ve ignored the memory of our kiss, except when I’m alone in my bed at night with only my vibrator to keep me company.
I’m the one who said this was casual. No past, no future, no talk of relationships. Those were the rules.
People who are dating casually don’t get each other birthday presents.
Still, I pull at the bow to remove it and tear open the wrapping paper. A beautifully embossed hardcover book appears, and my breath catches.
“You told me you didn’t like fairy tales because they were unrealistic and fluffy,” Rudy says. “I thought Grimms’ Fairy Tales might be more your speed.”
Despite myself, a smile curls my lips. “Are you saying I’m dark and twisted?”
“Hmm,” Rudy says, his hand sliding from the steering wheel to the gearshift. I love his hands, broad and graceful with long fingers. He keeps his eyes on the road. “In the version by the Brothers Grimm, Cinderella’s evil stepsisters cut off their toes and heels with a knife to fit the shoe. The blood soaking their stockings is what makes the prince notice he hasn’t found his princess. In the end, the stepsisters get their eyes pecked out by pigeons and live the rest of their lives in blindness. Is that dark and twisted, or is it poetic justice?”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “What about Rapunzel?” I ask. “She doesn’t kill the witch by cutting off her hair and letting her fall to her death—the witch casts her out of the tower, then tricks the prince into coming up to the top of the tower so she can push him out the window. He ends up blind as well, as far as I remember, and nothing ever happens to the witch at all. All because Rapunzel’s father wanted to feed his pregnant wife from the witch’s garden. A cautionary tale about pregnancy cravings, maybe?”
Rudy’s smile creases his cheeks. “But the prince finds Rapunzel, and when she cries on his face, he regains his sight.” Rudy glances at me with a grin. “If that’s not a happy ending, I don’t know what is.”
My lips twitch. “Sounds like the Grimm brothers had an obsession with blindness.”
Rudy’s laugh is warm and rich, and it feels like a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. He shrugs. “Maybe.”
I open the book and let my fingers run over the thick pages, tracing the words. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
Rudy hums. “Grimms’ fairy tales aren’t so popular at story time, but I like them best of all. I found that edition a few years ago in a small bookshop in Boston when I was there on a vacation. Didn’t know why I was so drawn to it, but when I learned it was your birthday this week, it felt…” He clamps his lips shut and shakes his head, snorting. “Never mind. Maybe I should stop reading so many fairy tales myself.”
It felt what, I wonder? Like he’d bought that book years ago to give specifically to me?
My throat is suddenly tight. This is bad. This is very, very bad. It’s been a bad idea from the moment I veered off course and entered the bookstore.
The car slows as Rudy takes an exit, and I fight to keep my breathing under control. When we roll into the Heart’s Cove town limits, I know I can’t push Rudy away without at least an explanation. He pulls up to my building and cuts the engine while my fingers are still tracing the swirls and floral patterns etched into the front cover of the book.
“Rudy,” I start, then stop. The pause between us stretches.
“Walk with me.” He arches his brows. “It’s easier to walk and talk.”
I huff, then nod. “Fine.”
