Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlie
I know Ruby is distracted, trying to figure out how to handle Niles’s jackassery. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about how dangerously close she was to biting me in a way I wish she would.
I’m pinballing, ricocheting from protectiveness to lust, and only one of those is right for this situation. Or any situation with Ruby and me, ever.
My eyes flicker to Niles, trying to decide what to do next, when I catch him watching us as if he’d turned around after kissing his girl to see if we noticed. His eyes dart between me and Ruby, and a dull red flush creeps up his neck.
I pluck up another sandwich and hold it out to feed Ruby. “Do that again.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t look, but Niles hates it. Eat.”
She keeps her eyes on me and takes the sandwich again, more deliberately this time, her hand reaching up to circle my wrist as she slowly sinks her teeth in enough to slip the sandwich from my fingers. Sweat breaks out on my nape.
“Is he watching?” she asks.
Who? Oh.
“Don’t check,” I murmur. “It’ll ruin the effect.” I give her a lazy smile, like I’m thinking about dragging her out of the tea and skipping straight to dessert, because I am. Niles will be able to read it.
She gives me a slow, sweet smile and keeps her eyes on mine like I’m the only guy in the room. “I hate that you have to do this. I’m sorry.”
“I have no problem making him suffer at a party he crashed.”
“But you’re okay?”
Not even a little. But I’m okay doing this for her. I lean against the trellis-covered wall, keeping our shared plate held out for her. “Look at me, as chill as ever, unbothered by Niles. Can you feel him getting mad from here?”
She grins. “Yeah. The leaning is mean. You’re winding him up.”
“Duh.”
Her smile stretches, and suddenly Niles is there.
“I knew it,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” My tone makes it clear I know exactly what he’s talking about.
He points between me and Ruby. “Knew there was something going on between you two.”
Ruby’s eyes glint like she’s about to go off, but this is too fun, so I feed her a strawberry to make sure she doesn’t ruin this.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Niles,” I say, not taking my eyes off Ruby, who stares back at me, that glint turning from mad to wicked. “Do you know, Roo?”
She shakes her head as she chews the strawberry and gives Niles an extremely fake innocent look.
“How long has this been going on?” Niles demands.
I consider the question. “Hmm, let’s see, we’ve been friends for, what, three years, Roo?”
“Close to four,” she confirms.
“I mean this more than friends thing.” Niles sounds like he’s asking through gritted teeth.
“Not sure how it's your business,” Ruby says like she’s bored by the conversation.
“Or why you would care,” I add in my best Mean Girls why-are-you-so-obsessed-with-me tone.
“Because you were cheating on me.” His dull red flush is back.
I look back to Ruby. “Imagine if that were actually true,” I say as if it’s actually true.
“You know I love a good fantasy,” Ruby says giving me a look so seductive that we just changed the movie rating on this drama. “But work calls.”
She reaches for my hand and pulls me in the direction of made-up work. As an especially evil touch, she slowly lets my hand slip from hers like she’s trying to be inconspicuous. It gives off the vibe of two people trying to hide a relationship when they can’t keep their hands off each other.
“You’re the worst,” I say as she leads us out of the main doors.
She whirls, her face distressed. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
“Why? That was a nice touch at the end. Literally and figuratively.”
A grin tugs at the corner of her lips. “We played that pretty well.”
“We might have escaped right before the top of your idiot ex’s head blew off.”
Her emerging smile disappears. “I’m sorry you got sucked into all that. I didn’t want to make you feel like I was using you.”
I force my smile to stay relaxed, but her words punch me in the gut. She’s working so hard to make sure I don’t misread her, that I don’t turn it into more than it is. “I didn’t feel that way. I can read the situation.”
Her face turns more anxious. “I don’t want to set us back. I’ve hated this distance.”
“It’s fine, Ruby,” I say, even as my gut twists. I know she’s trying. “I chose everything that just happened, you didn’t take advantage of me, and we’re not set back.”
“If you’re sure . . .” She bites her lip, and I want to groan. They’re warm and full, and they were so soft against my fingers.
“Do you have any idea how much I enjoyed ruining his afternoon?”
Her smile comes back. “I do, yeah.”
“Let’s eat and then judge all the hats.”
“We can’t forsake our most sacred duty.”
I make sure our fingers don’t touch as we pluck the last of the tea treats from the plate, and for dang sure that I feed only myself.
When she’s reaching for the door, I say, “Wait. You should smudge your lipstick so Niles sees you and tortures himself with what you’ve been up to. Then I’ll make a panic gesture that you should wipe it off, like I know exactly what you’ve been up to because I was there.”
She pulls open the door, laughing.
If I’d known that my whole job this afternoon was going to be acting like we came here straight from my bedroom, I’d have driven at high speed in the opposite direction.
But I have to admit when Niles glares at us as soon as we walk in: pettiness has never been this fun.
We take our judging seriously as we walk around from table to table, admiring the fascinators and conferring as if we’re awarding the Nobel Prize in Hats. This delights the guests, who vogue for us to consider all their angles.
At the table Niles and Tally chose, we act as if we don’t see them while teasing and role-playing with everyone else, tapping furiously on the iPad and having heated disagreements about the scores in loud whispers.
This is Ruby and me at our best. All in and silly, safe and comfortable, feeding off each other’s energy.
Happy.
This is a mess, but I’d rather be in it than not. That’s what a month of distance has taught me.
Part of circulating the tables is also to let Sandy know when people are largely done with their tea, and we give her a sign when it’s time for the next part of the program.
Every year, we put a small dais at the front of the room with two armchairs and a small tea table.
That’s where Sandy and the visiting author will sit and do a conversational “tea talk.”
She takes to the front of the room and announces that the honored judges will retire to tabulate their scores for the winning headpiece, and both that winner and the winning table setting will be announced after hearing from our special guest, Emma St. Clair.
It’s possible—even likely—that competing for those prizes is the main reason at least a quarter of the women are here over even hearing from the visiting author.
Luckily for all of us, Emma St. Clair is both gracious and entertaining, sharing stories of how her own mishaps and shenanigans have shaped the comedy in her novels.
We stand at our original spot against the back wall as we pretend to confer. I keep an eye on Niles and don’t care if he catches me, meeting his eyes with cool amusement. Just a small twist of the knife. If he’s not regretting his decision to invade Ruby’s space, then I’m not trying hard enough.
After Emma St. Clair finishes with her Q&A, Sandy rises to announce that we have chosen the winners, and that after they’re recognized, our patrons are invited to wander through our event boutique, a display in the front of the library with tables full of bookish and tea-related baskets for purchase.
Ruby walks to hand Sandy a fancy envelope, which Sandy takes with great ceremony, opening it to read, “This year’s winning fascinator is adorning the stylish head of Miss Viola Wintergreen!”
“Dibs on stealing her name for a children’s book,” Ruby murmurs as Viola comes to claim her prize.
Her fascinator is an architectural wonder of butterflies.
From a few years of the popular Bug Man Story Time enrichment program, I recognize them all as colorful Texas species.
Tropical leafwings, Laviana white-skippers, snout-noses, Mexican bluewings, and pale green lyside sulphurs cluster, their silk-and-feather wings quivering to give the effect of at least a dozen of them alighting on her head.
Her prize is a bouquet of native plants from the grounds of the Canyon Vista estate, Austin’s perennial (oh, I need to tell Ruby that one) winner for a private residence garden. This doesn’t mean a ton to me, but our attendees love it.
Then the real prize is announced, and it’s Mr. Edward Silva, who wins for the best table setting, having gone with a Lonesome Dove theme.
I know enough about Lonesome Dove to think it might be at odds spiritually with a high tea setting, but Texas has a long history of strange bedfellows.
He gets a grand prize blue satin ribbon and a crystal cake stand.
“Congratulations to our winners,” Sandy announces, and Ruby and I are already heading to supervise the boutique, her instructions to the guests following us out of the room.
“Ms. St. Clair will be signing copies of her novel, Doggone Love, which you’ll each receive as part of your Tea and Tales experience today. Please make your way . . .”
Our event room opens right off the main entrance, and there’s a generous amount of open space in front of the circulation desk before the collections begin.
Ten tables display signed books, author experiences, library VIP privileges, and other items patrons will snap up, and the author signing table.
Our job will be to stay out of the way but monitor the boutique in case someone has a question or needs help. We station ourselves in front of the children’s section and watch, the thrum of conversation growing louder, punctuated by exclamations and laughs as the guests stream out.
“What do I do about Niles?” Ruby asks.