Chapter 2
RUBY
I’m in the bathroom getting ready for work when my phone starts to vibrate against the countertop.
I smile. I don’t have to look down at the phone to know it’s five forty-five on the dot.
With one hand, I continue to swipe the mascara wand through my lashes as I use my other hand to answer the call. “Morning, Daddy.”
“Mornin’, Button.” My father’s voice filters through.
Dad has been retired for a little over two years now, but still wakes up before dawn each morning.
He says it’s his internal clock that won’t allow him to sleep in, but I know it’s because of me.
Ever since I moved out on my own, the day starts with a call from my dad.
I have no problem admitting I’m a daddy’s girl through and through.
“How was your weekend, darlin’?” he asks.
Finished with my mascara, I toss it back in the makeup bag and reach for the lip gloss.
“It was good. I hung out with the girls.” By girls, he knows I’m referring to Sadie, London, and Promise.
“I also worked out my lesson plan for the next couple of weeks and tackled about three weeks’ worth of laundry,” I add just as I finish my makeup.
Snatching up my phone, I pad out of the bathroom and across the hall to my bedroom, where I already have today’s outfit spread out on the bed.
“Speaking of, how’s the squad doin’? You need to tell Promise to bring that boy of hers around sometime, and I’ll take him fishin’.”
Dad has always referred to my girls as ‘the squad.’ He’s a goof.
He’s a goof who also happens to adore Promise and Nova’s little boy, Jaxson.
Mom does too. In fact, my parents occasionally babysit for Promise and Nova.
Dad takes him fishing, though Jaxson is not quite big enough to hold a pole, which doesn’t matter because Jaxson has proven himself to be a boy.
He’s more interested in playing with the bait worms than he is in learning to fish.
“I’ll tell her you and Mom ‘volunteer as tribute’ to babysit next time she and Nova want a kid-free day.” I don’t hide the amusement in my tone. “What about you? What did you and Mom get into over the weekend?”
“I took your momma to the strawberry festival. She’s been itching to make some of her preserves. I suspect she’ll be canning up a storm this week.” Dad is not wrong. Mom is famous for her strawberry preserves. When she’s not giving them away, she sells them at a few local shops around town.
“So,” I hedge. “While Mom’s busy making preserves, what’s on your agenda for the day?” I set the phone down on the dresser and sift through my jewelry box until I find my favorite pair of gold hoop earrings, watch, and bangles.
“I’m gonna go down to the yard and shoot the breeze with Charlie and probably grab some lunch.”
Charlie is Dad’s best friend and former boss.
Mr. Charlie owns the lumberyard in town.
The lumberyard belonged to Mr. Charlie’s dad, and Mr. Charlie took ownership when his dad died.
When Dad retired two years ago, so did Mr. Charlie.
Now, Mr. Charlie’s son, Charlie Jr., runs the yard.
Still, Mr. Charlie spends a few hours there every morning, hovering over Charlie Jr., making sure he’s doing things ‘the right way.’ However, all he’s really doing is driving his son crazy.
And at least once a week, Dad will go down to the yard and hang with Mr. Charlie over a cup of coffee.
Dad, Mom, Mr. Charlie, and Charlie’s wife, Nora, go way back.
And when I say way back, I’m talking decades.
Dad and Mr. Charlie have been best friends since they were seven.
Both Dad and Mr. Charlie went on to marry their high school sweethearts, Mom and Nora.
Basically, my mom and dad’s story is similar to a classic boy-meets-girl movie.
It’s nauseatingly perfect. It’s also everything I want.
On that thought, only one face comes to mind, but I quickly push thoughts of him away.
My stupid crush on a man who doesn’t know I exist is the last thing I need to be worried about.
“Button, you there? Did I lose you?” Dad rumbles, bringing me out of my wandering thoughts.
I shake the fog away. “Yeah, yeah… you didn’t lose me.
Just spaced out a second. I told Janice I’d come in thirty minutes early to help her with the PTO fundraiser, and my mind has been on that.
” I lie because I have bigger problems than the school fundraiser.
Issues that would cause nothing but heartache, disappointment, and most of all, anger, if my parents ever found out.
“Listen, Daddy, I’m going to let you go so I can finish getting ready for work, but I’ll stop by this evening.”
“Sounds good, darlin’. Have a good day.”
“You, too, Dad. Say hi to Mr. Charlie for me.”
“Will do. Love you, Ruby.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
After hanging up with my dad, I get dressed.
Today, I’m wearing a floor-length floral dress, a short-sleeved cream-colored cardigan with pearl buttons, and a pair of brown sandals.
I walk over to the corner of my bedroom and look in the floor-length mirror.
Being short means I have to either shop in the juniors’ section or get some of my clothes altered.
When you are only five feet two inches tall, my options are limited.
If I had to describe my style, it’s boring.
London, on the other hand, says it’s boho chic, but she’s just trying to be nice.
I’m exactly what you’d think a kindergarten teacher would look like.
I’m not bold with my style. Sure, I sometimes dazzle it up when we go out, but that’s only because Sadie will bring me one of her outfits and insist on forcing me out of my comfort zone.
Then she’ll go all out by doing my hair and makeup.
Sadie owns a salon and is the only person I trust with my hair. My hair is honey blonde, hangs past my shoulders, and is so curly that most days it ends up in a messy bun that somehow looks cool. Sadie says I have the best head of hair she’s ever gotten her hands on. I think she’s nuts.
At the end of the day, I’m just me. There’s nothing extraordinary about me.
It’s not as if I hate the way I look, I’ve accepted it.
I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sting my feelings when I go out with the girls, and guys automatically trip over themselves to get their attention.
London is sassy, quick-witted, and exudes confidence.
Promise is all legs and has gorgeous eyes, and Sadie has her flaming red hair and outgoing personality.
Then there’s me. Ruby, with my crazy curls I can’t tame, plain-Jane skirts, and cardigans.
And don’t get me started on how shy I am.
Even if a cute guy did try to buy me a drink, I’d clam up and say something stupid.
But since men don’t approach me and definitely don’t offer to buy me drinks, I have nothing to worry about.
I’ve had two long-term boyfriends in my life. The first one, I dated all through college, and then we mutually agreed to end things when he decided to move back to his home state. He was sweet, shy, and gentle. He wasn’t in-your-face handsome, but he was cute.
Then there was Greg. Greg and I dated for about two years.
Greg reminded me a lot of Toby, again, not overly handsome but cute.
I ended that relationship. It took me months to work up the nerve to do so.
I knew Greg was way into me, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
The problem was that there was no sexual chemistry, at least not on my end.
Truth be told, the sex was flat-out bad.
Not once during the time we were together did Greg give me an orgasm.
That relationship ended three years ago.
There hasn’t been anyone since. Not even a hookup.
One-night stands are not my style. Call me old-fashioned, but I need to feel a connection with someone to sleep with them.
That’s not to say I haven’t dated. There have been plenty of dates.
They don’t go anywhere because either there’s no chemistry or the guy ends up breaking things off or ghosting me once they realize I’m not going to give up the goods after only a few dates.
Leaving my pity party behind, I turn on my heel and head to the kitchen.
Opening the refrigerator, I grab my premade lunch and pack it into my lunchbox along with a bottle of water.
As I’m doing that, I spy the stack of bills on the kitchen island.
Sitting on top is an open credit card statement with ‘Past Due’ stamped across the top.
That one is just one of four due this month.
As I stare at those red letters, all I can think about is how much I hate my brother.
I love my big brother, God knows I do, but I hate him.
I hate him for what he’s put my family through for years.
Let’s just say Robby is a fuckup. I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year, not since my parents kicked him out and washed their hands of him for the last time.
So, imagine my surprise when, about three months ago, I received a statement in the mail.
See, I was confused because I don’t have any credit cards.
But apparently, I did, and it was maxed out and past due.
Over the course of two weeks, I received three more statements from three other credit card agencies.
I knew then it was my brother. I learned just how big a selfish fuckup Robby truly is.
Something else I’m learning is that proving credit card fraud is challenging, but I’m not giving up.
Needless to say, my credit is in the toilet.