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"As do I," Dexter says. He takes a step closer to her and then stops, letting them both feel the distance between them.
"But Dexter," Ruby says, looking up and down the beach and feeling real anguish. "I'm about to turnfifty."
"Yes. I know."
"And you're only, what--thirty-six?"
"Yes."
Ruby blows out a breath that makes her cheeks puff like a fish. "Doesn't that bother you? Thinking of me being that much older than you?"
Dexter is watching her face as she puzzles through this, and he looks concerned. "No, it doesn't. In fact, on the list of things that worry me, our slight age difference is right at the bottom. In fact, it doesn't even make the list."
"Fourteen years, Dexter," Ruby says, saying the number out loud for the first time. Sure, she's let herself think it before, but never say it--to anyone. "I was fourteen when you were born. I was a freshman in high school. I'd already had a boyfriend, gotten my first kiss, been to New York City, had my ears pierced, and been dumped by a boy. I'd gone to concerts, the beach, cried over sad movies, lost my dad, and gotten drunk with my girlfriends at a slumber party. And you'd just been born."
"Well, when you put itthatway, I guess you are too old. Okay, I'm gonna head out now." Dexter turns to go. "See ya."
Ruby feels panic rise in her chest until she realizes that he's kidding. His face is full of mirth, and rather than turning to go, he reaches for her hand.
"Knock it off, okay?" Dexter says, lacing his fingers through hers. "I don't care about any of that. I'm aware that you're fourteen years older than I am, and I am also aware that you were married to the President, have raised two kids, lived an entire life of your own...and that you're the most amazing woman I've ever met."
Ruby blinks at him as she feels her heart race from the sensation of holding Dexter's hand; she hasn't been expecting this type of declaration from him.
"I've been some places myself, Ruby. I've been in love, had my heart broken--which you know, because I told you all about it when we were in New York--and seen war-torn countries. I've known disappointment and heartache and passion and anger and joy. For a thirty-six-year-old man, I've lived a bit. I've been all over the world, seen every major city, and the place I chose to retreat to is a tiny island that's populated by retirees in their seventies and that's decorated for Christmas all year long. That should tell you something."
"That you like corny things, and that you love hanging out with older people?" Ruby tries, feeling a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.
"That I like simple things, and I enjoy hanging around nice, interesting people who've really lived. And I like solitude. And I don't care what anyone thinks about my choices. If I want to walk around Christmas Key with a coconut on my head while holding the hand of a woman who'd already kissed eighteen boys by the time I was born, then so be it."
"Okay, it wasn'teighteenboys," Ruby says, laughing. "Just a few."
Dexter is looking at her seriously. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but holds Ruby's gaze with his like he's cupping a handful of precious gems in his palms. "I'd like to kiss you," he says with a rasp in his voice.
The beach falls away and Ruby is standing there with the sun on her shoulders and the wet sand beneath the soles of her feet. She feels more alive in this moment than she has since Jack died. Her skin tingles, and the roots of her hair prickle in anticipation: Dexter North wants to kiss her. The man she's found attractive and fascinating and funny since the moment she met him wants to kissher.
Suddenly, the implications of a kiss don't matter. It won't change the way they work, nor will it change the outcome of the book. But it might change other things. It might make them want to go back to the house and tear each other's clothes off and ravish each other's bodies. It might make them lose the plot and forget about the book and fall hard and act like two teenagers in love.
It might make Ruby feel like she's cheating on Jack's memory. It might mean sheischeating on his memory, and even though she knows in her rational mind that Jack did far worse to her while he was alive, there's a part of her that can't quite make the leap from being a loyal wife to being a woman who has the freedom to kiss anyone she pleases.
And, maybe most importantly, they might break each other's hearts.
Ruby squeezes Dexter's hand tightly and then untwines her fingers from his. "I can't," she says. "Not yet."
The curtains close behind Dexter's eyes and he suddenly looks guarded. "Right," he says, taking a step back so that there's distance between them again. "You're right. I've already said too much."
Ruby wants to reach for him again, to comfort him, but she can't. Instead, she watches his face as he goes through the emotions of deciding what's next.
"I know I was going to stay another day or two," Dexter says, resting his hands on his hips. "But I think it might make more sense to get back to New York. I have a meeting I should take there, and you and I can do a Zoom call and talk more about France. It might even help if I spent some time brainstorming a list of talking points for us, and then we can really get into the flow."
"Of course," Ruby says, unconsciously resting her hands on her own hips to mimic his body language. "Whatever you think is best."
Dexter gives a single nod, dipping his chin low. "I think that's best. And I'm sorry, Ruby. I never meant to confuse things here and to put our project at risk."
Ruby is at a loss for words. Nothing Dexter has said or done has truly put their project in danger, but she understands that doing or saying anything further might.
"Right," Ruby says, returning his nod.
They walk back to Ruby's house in contemplative silence with only the sound of the rushing and breaking waves between them.
