AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh,” Dexter says, looking surprised. “Okay. Do you speak French?”
“Not much,” Ruby admits. “I took a few semesters of it and had a dream of moving there and learning the language as I traveled around the countryside, but you know how dreams go when you’re twenty-one.”
“They can crash pretty hard,” Dexter says, reaching for a piece of bread from the basket, which he uses to scoop more grits onto his fork. “When I was twenty-one I wanted to write fiction by day and go to law school at night.”
“Law school? Really?”
Dexter nods. “Really. My dad thought that being a novelist was a job for hacks and hucksters, and that I needed something to fall back on. So I thought criminal law would be the way to go.”
“What happened?”
“My first book was garbage that no one wanted to read, and I realized that I’m not cut out to write fiction and I hate the law.”
Ruby laughs. “Yes, dreams do fizzle when you’re young. But honestly, how long ago was that for you…twenty years?” she ventures. It’s obvious that Dexter is some years younger than her, she just can’t tell how many years.
He gives her a long look. “It was fifteen years ago. I’m thirty-six.”
Something in Ruby’s heart constricts. It’s been years—decades—since she’s sought or desired the attention of a man other than Jack, and while Dexter North is incredibly handsome and rather dashing, she hasn’t really been thinking of whether or not he finds her attractive or appealing. It’s only now that she does the quick math in her head and realizes that he would probably be more interested in her daughters than he ever would be in her that Ruby feels the particular pang of loss that women everywhere start to experience at her age; it’s the reminder that her beauty and her sex appeal aren’t the first things that men see about her anymore. That they look at her and, if she’s lucky, think things like:Hmm, she looks good for her age.Or,Wow, I bet she was hot when she was younger. Never in her younger years had Ruby imagined that she’d be washed up at the ripe old age of forty-nine, but she feels that way now as she watches the fading sunlight playing across the golden hairs on Dexter’s forearms. He’s young and vital and sexy, and she’s…not. At least not in the eyes of the general public. An inner voice reminds her that she needs to take a page from Marigold Pim’s book and embrace herself—at every age—but that’s far easier said than done.
“What’s on your mind, Ruby?” Dexter asks, his deep voice rubbing against her nerves like a piece of sandpaper brushing smoothly over rough wood. “You look lost in thought.”
“Is the book going to tell the world everything that’s on my mind, or will it just be about my life?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him and hoping that her words sound more playful than biting.
In return, Dexter narrows his eyes right back at her. “I’m not sure. I guess it depends on whether what’s on your mind will help sell books.”
“To be honest, it might. Front page news, everyone,” Ruby says jokingly, pretending to shout the headlines like a newsboy on a street corner as she cups her mouth. “The former First Lady is just a regular woman with regular woman problems and feelings! Read all about it!”
Dexter gives her an appreciative smile, but he’s watching her the whole time, and Ruby knows he’s parsing her facial expressions and words for meaning.
“I want to hear more,” Dexter says. “Tell me all about your regular woman problems.”
Ruby sighs. “Not over dinner here on the first night. I’ll peel back the layers as we go. Maybe,” she adds, picking up her wine glass and pointing the forefinger of that hand at him directly. “If you’re lucky.”
From the corner of her eye, Ruby spies Banks sitting at his table, sipping a beer. She’s never seen him relaxed enough to drink a beer while he’s on duty, but something about Christmas Key has made her feel loose-limbed and free, and she actually kind of hopes he feels the same way. There is no clear and present danger; there are no bad guys to watch out for.
Dexter clears his throat like he’s about to say something and Ruby has a sobering thought: maybeDexteris the clear and present danger. Maybeheis the guy she needs to watch out for.
The sun finally sinks below the horizon, and the golden sunlight falls away. Suddenly Ruby and Dexter are just as they are. Without the warm and flattering light, they are simply two people with agendas and fears and worries.
She shivers.
Ruby
Ruby wakes to find a text from Sunday:Condo is sublet. Car in storage. Boxes packed. All I need is a bikini and some sunglasses and for my place on Shipwreck to be ready. Approximate move-in date is June 15. Tell the locals that they’ll be living on the southern outpost of D.C. once we’re both there.
This makes Ruby smile because Sunday isn’t wrong: with both the former First Lady and Second Lady and a Secret Service presence, they are essentially bringing D.C. down to the tropics. But Ruby never thinks of herself as part of the political machine, and when she and Sunday are together, forget about it—they’re just two girlfriends laughing and drinking wine and doing their thing. Sure, they talk about their husbands and their lives amongst the elite of Washington D.C. the same way other women might talk about their peers on the PTA, but at heart, they’re just living their lives and enjoying their friendship like anyone else might.
She sends a quick message back:I’m so glad you liked the places I picked out. Can’t wait for you to get down here!!!
Dexter is waiting for her at Mistletoe Morning Brew when she arrives. Ruby walks into the small coffee shop at the end of Main Street and pauses to appreciate the decor, which is a riot of color in the form of bursting flowers. The walls are covered with flora and fauna made entirely of tissue paper in a rainbow of hues, and the chalkboard behind the front counter has been decorated with lilies and roses and daffodils in full bloom. On each table is a different colored glass vase filled with fresh-cut flowers, and on the giant front window someone with an abundance of talent has painted a tangled garden that teems with blossoms in every color. It’s all quite beautiful.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” a woman in a flowered shirt says from behind the front counter. “I’m Carrie-Anne, part-owner of Mistletoe Morning Brew. Welcome to Christmas Key.”
It’s all very polite and formal, and Ruby instantly wants to wipe it all away and start fresh. Here on this tiny, rustic island she feels more like herself than she has in ages, and she doesn’t want to stand out because people are treating her with any special deference.
“It’s wonderful to meet you. Please, call me Ruby.” She smiles at Carrie-Anne and gestures at the inside of the coffee shop. “I was expecting more mistletoe than flowers,” she admits.
“We decorate differently every month. Usually it’s themed around a book or a song—something like that. Occasionally movies or seasons. This month is our ‘garden’ month.A Secret GardenandA Tree Grows in Brooklyn. OrMidnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, if you prefer something more in that vein.” Carrie-Anne points to a stack of the novels next to her register. “We loan out copies, or you can just sit and read one while you have coffee if you like.”
