Chapter 8 Ruth
Chapter eight
Ruth
Everett
have dinner with me tonight
ROO
excuse you?
Ev, you’re in Texas. I am not. There are like a billion miles between us right now.
Everett
I know.
Do you trust me baby girl?
ROO
I trust you
so help me god
don’t make me regret this Everett
Everett
using the full name I see
can’t pretend it doesn’t do something for me
ROO
‘do something’ like make you realise you’re ridiculous?
Everett
more like unlock a sexy schoolteacher kink tbh
ROO
jesus christ
I have absolutely no idea what Everett meant when he said have dinner with me, but for better or worse, I trust him.
I’ve met the man in person for a grand total of twenty-five minutes, but in the last week or so, we’ve spent countless hours texting and talking on the phone, and I haven’t felt this kind of ease with a new friend since Amie, Katy, and I met Paloma.
When we FaceTime, I can’t take my eyes off him.
There’s just something about him, some kind of magnetic force pulling me to him, whether I want to be or not.
He was thrilled when I sent him my flight details. He sent me a selfie of his grinning face, a light sheen of sweat coating his tan skin as he stood shirtless in the high midday sun. He’s been texting me with all kinds of plans and ideas for the last twenty-four hours since I booked the ticket.
I study his bright, boyish smile in his contact picture.
I don’t think I mind being pulled into his orbit.
He told me to be ready with my food at seven—London time—and to dress nice.
I think I’ve understood the assignment. I’m in a pair of black suede leggings and a loose, camel-coloured blouse with a pussy-bow collar.
I’m just applying a dusky red lip gloss when my phone buzzes at precisely seven o’ clock.
I answer the FaceTime call to a grinning Everett, dressed in a charcoal button-down shirt with the top few buttons open and sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His muscled forearms ripple as he moves around his kitchen, serving a steaming heap of pasta into a bowl and sprinkling enormous handfuls of parmesan on top.
“Hey, Ruth,” he says with a happy sigh. “God, it’s good to see your face again. You look really pretty.”
My head is spinning already. Between this—seeing Everett in his own space, moving so effortlessly around his kitchen and preparing food like some kind of domestic God with those damn forearms. He thinks I look pretty.
Down, girl. I take a breath before I fix my smile in place.
It’s an easy one to wear when Everett’s around.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You look nice, too.” Understatement of the century.
I use a tea towel to pull a casserole dish from the oven.
I’ve baked a salmon fillet in a honey and soy sauce glaze, and cooked a mountain of potatoes and vegetables to eat with it.
The steam from the dish fogs my phone screen as I serve my food onto a plate.
“That looks good,” Everett says through the fog. “What are we eating tonight?”
I explain the meal to him as I quickly tidy the counters and set the casserole dish in water to soak. By the time I’m done, the steam fog has cleared, and I’m looking at Ev’s face again.
“God, that sounds fucking incredible,” he says. He shoves a forkful of noodles into his mouth and chews before continuing. “I just made a sausage and spaghetti casserole. It’s pretty much my specialty dish… and the only thing I can cook, other than potatoes and eggs.”
“It sounds good, though. What kind of sausage?”
“Well, ma’am, I thought you might never ask,” he says with an exaggerated accent and a laugh.
I laugh too. It’s so easy to laugh with Everett.
“It’s a pepper beef sausage. It’s one of our specialties here—it’s Tanner Ranch beef, and a local kitchen takes the meat and produces the sausages.
We wholesale to local stores and markets, but we always end up with plenty for ourselves, too. ”
My mouth is watering as I sit down at my breakfast bar with my heaping plate of veggies. As delicious as the salmon smells, I’m not so sure I’m in the mood for it anymore after hearing about Everett’s farm-to-table dinner.
“Ugh, that sounds amazing. You’ll have to bring me some next time I see you.” I cut into my salmon fillet, smiling as the flaky fish melts apart.
“Ruth, next time you’re in Austin, I’ll cook for you. That’s a promise, honey.”
He called me honey.
This man is dangerous, and not for the reasons my friends have worried about. I told them a few days ago about meeting him again in Austin. About the way he all but invited me to visit him and stay out there for a few days.
And how I’m seriously considering taking him up on his offer, and visiting him on the ranch. He chews thoughtfully on another mouthful of spaghetti as I begin to eat my own food.
“So, Ruth,” he begins after swallowing. I find myself captivated by the way his throat works as he speaks. “What five things are you taking with you to a desert island?”
“A getaway boat?” I suggest. Everett snorts, choking on a mouthful of sausage. It takes him a minute to regain his composure.
“Come on, Ruth,” he says with a laugh. “For real, what would you bring with you?”
“Are you coming too? What are you bringing? I don’t want to double up—we should maximise our items.”
“Ruth!”
“Okay. Fine. An endless power supply, so I can play my Taylor Swift discography. That’s two things, because I’ll play it on my phone. A blanket, because I’m always cold. A good moisturiser, because all that sea air will dry my skin. Does food count as a singular item?”
Everett’s face is torn between amused and indignant, and I relent.
“Okay, okay. A month’s supply of Doritos. That would get me by until I’m rescued, right?”
“Who said we’re deserted out there? We have free will. We can leave any time.”
“Oh my god, Everett. In that case, a bikini that won’t give me tan lines, and a straw, for coconut juice.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Why, what are you bringing?”
“A good knife, so I can fillet fish or meat, crack open coconuts, fight off intruders. Swim shorts. Maybe a snorkel.”
“That’s three. What are you bringing for fun?”
“Honey, you’re there with me.”
“Oh. Oh, it’s that kind of desert island? Maybe I should bring a razor to shave my legs.”
“Shave, don’t shave. As long as you’re there with me, honey.”
My God, this man. He might be the most effortlessly charming man I’ve ever met.
Never before have I wanted to melt through my own skin at the nickname honey.
Never before have I met anyone who puts me so immediately at ease the way Everett does.
Even when I first met Amie and Katy, I had to fight through several layers of my own adolescent awkwardness before I could truly relax into our friendship.
But there’s something about Everett Tanner, something that tells me I was supposed to meet him when I did.
And something that tells me he might just change my life.
“Well, by virtue of being on the island with my own independent five things, I can’t be one of your items. So you still have two to choose, Cowboy.”
“I didn’t realise this would be such a tough question when I asked it,” he admits, ducking his face to hide his sheepish smile. A tiny hint of a dimple pops in his cheek, and it’s fucking adorable. “I think—maybe I’d bring origami paper. Or a sketchbook and a pen.”
“Origami, huh?”
“I dabble.” A shrug accompanies his embarrassed smile, and for the first time, I notice one of the tattoos decorating his biceps features a paper crane. It moves with the muscle as he lifts another forkful of food to his mouth.
“What do you draw?”
“Oh, not much. Not so much as I used to.”
“Portraits? Animals? Landscapes?”
Everett’s cheeks flush a sweet shade of pink. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Promise.” I wave my finger in the shape of a cross over my chest.
“I just like drawing… shapes. Like, geometric patterns. Sometimes I’ll draw objects or animals, whatever I can see in front of me. But mostly, I just like to scribble and let my mind shut off.”
“Why would I laugh at that, Ev?”
“Some people think it’s kind of pointless.”
“Isn’t everything? If you enjoy it, then that’s the entire point.”
Everett looks right into the lens of his phone, right at me through the screen. I see a wall or two come down in his eyes as his boyish smile turns just a little bashful.
“I think you’re right,” he says.
“Of course I am.” I flip my hair with a shrug and a smile.
“Do you draw? What do you do for fun?”
Fun. Not something I’ve done much of lately.
“I spend time with my girls—my three best friends. And my goddaughter, she’s three. I like to cook. I come up with new margarita recipes. I like to scrapbook, but I haven’t done that much lately. I haven’t really had the time. Honestly… I don’t do fun much. Mostly, I just work a lot.”
“What is it you do? It sounds like it brings you out here pretty often.”
“I’m a lawyer—an intellectual property lawyer. I work for Trenton Langley.”
“Wow, suddenly I’m feelin’ real dumb over here.”
“You’re not dumb, Everett,” I say quietly. Sincerely. There’s still a smile on his face, but the more we talk, the more it morphs into something more awestruck than simply happy.
“I ain’t stupid, I know that. But here I am, coasted through high school, never went to college, still working on my family ranch.
Barely even left Texas until this year. And there you are, a lawyer, working in—what was it?
Property? A property lawyer, do you have any fucking idea how incredible that is? ”
“It’s not that special, honestly. It’s intellectual property, so right now I work to protect things like patents and trademarks, as well as the brands and assets we own.
” I duck my head. There are a lot of needlessly big words involved in my job, and sometimes, I feel like I sound pretentious no matter how simply I try to explain it to people.
“Ruth, whatever it is, you know what it tells me? It tells me you’re fucking smart, and you’re insanely motivated and determined, and on top of all that, you’re beautiful as hell. I can’t even quite believe you’re giving me the time of day, honestly.”
“Ev…”
“You’re beautiful, Ruth. I saw it in New York, I saw it in Austin, and I see it now. I can’t pretend I haven’t noticed. I can’t pretend it’s not makin’ me feel things.”
“Feel things?”
“Come on, Ruth. I’m a man. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Oh. Things.” Everett is feeling things. That explains the way he’s shifted in his seat every time I’ve laughed. Which has been often, because laughing with him is so fucking easy.
“Am I on the wrong track, here?”
I’m quiet for a moment. There are the things I want to say, and the things I shouldn’t say, and those circles on the Venn diagram in my mind overlap completely. And yet, those are the circles I choose from.
“No,” I whisper. “No. You’re not.”