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“I know,” she said. “I just… I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me. For putting up with him, I mean.”
His chest tightened. She was obviously traumatized, still working through what that bastard had done to her, not just in the alley but during their marriage.
He closed the distance between them, stopping when he was a few inches away from her.
He could smell her perfume, jasmine and something else he couldn’t place. He fought the urge to trace the line of her cheekbones, the cupid’s bow of her full mouth.
She was as skittish as a cat. The last thing he wanted was to spook her.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ruby.” His voice came out hoarser than he’d planned. Her cheek was red where that fucker had pushed her against the brick building, and he suddenly wished he’d done more than throw the asshole across the alley. “Not a goddamn thing. You know that, don’t you?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Good,” he said, his eyes still locked on her face.
The city’s traffic hummed beyond the walls of the apartment, but it all seemed very far away. Right now, there was no one in the world but them, nothing outside of this room.
This woman.
He had to fight against the demands of his body, the instinct to lean in and kiss her, release her hair from the elastic, slide his hands through its thick waves.
He felt the chemistry crackle between them, like the charge in the air just before lightning tore the sky in half. He thought she felt it too, thought he could see it in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her parted lips and the flush on her cheeks.
But maybe he was just telling himself that to avoid feeling rejected.
“We should go,” Ruby finally said, breaking the spell.
He nodded reluctantly. He wanted to stay in this apartment, with its worn sofa and its accompanying blanket, its houseplants and books and toys.
He wanted to stay with her.
Maybe if he stayed, if he spent more time with her, he’d discover that she wasn’t special after all. That she was just a woman like so many of the others he’d met, a woman he could take or leave when he got right down to it instead of one he wanted to hold and protect when he didn’t really know her at all.
She opened the door and they left the apartment, Ruby carrying a bag with her daughter’s clothing for the kindergarten show.
Back on the street, Ruby tried to insist she could walk to her sister’s apartment, that it was only a few blocks, but Roman insisted he wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d gotten her safely to her final destination.
It was only part of the truth. The other part was that he wanted to eek out these last moments with her, wanted to prolong the moment when he’d have to say goodbye.
Back in the car, Ruby gave Max her sister’s address and Max pulled back into traffic.
“Is the art yours?” he asked her.
She turned to look at him, the city’s lights painting colors over her face. “Art is a kind way of putting it. More like a hobby.”
“It looked like art to me,” he said.
She smiled. “Well… thank you. After my divorce, I found I needed something to pass the time, especially after Olivia goes to bed.”
“You get lonely,” he said.
She blinked in surprise, then sighed. “I guess so.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was… direct. It’s a bad habit of mine.”
“Not bad at all," she said. “It’s kind of nice actually. I’ll bet no one ever has to wonder what you’re feeling.”
I don’t feel much.
