Chapter Thirty-Three
Idiots don’t understand code.
Ruby
We’re eating dinner.
Just. Eating. Beside each other. At the table.
My leg bounces.
What is he doing ?
I mean, I called him Candy? He said lovers speak in code. I told him it was code. I practically spelled it out for him!
And yet, here we sit.
Bite.
I invited him inside to eat, also known as having a date .
Chew.
I stab at my plate. Chomp a carrot.
He hasn’t even tried to kiss me again!
Bite. Chew. Huff.
I lay my heart out for the man, and what? We just… go about our day? What is this ?
The weight of Will’s arm settles on my shoulders, and I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth with its latest victim.
Is this it? He’s chosen this exact moment , the middle of a garlic-heavy spaghetti dinner, to make his move? Is he serious?
I should’ve fallen in love with a smarter man.
I drop my fork and run my tongue over my teeth, wincing at a piece of salad I find stuck between a canine and the tooth next to it.
“Rubble,” he mutters, close.
Close! Close is good. Close is maybe kissing again?
I would really like to do the kissing again.
Preferably not in the middle of spaghetti, but beggars are most certainly not going to be choosers.
“Yes?” I respond, twisting toward him until our breaths mingle.
“Is there something wrong?” he asks.
Why, yes. Yes, Will, there is something wrong. I professed my love to you in the clearest way I knew how, and you – supposedly in love with me for many years – did not sweep me off my feet, kiss me, and whisk me away to… do whatever people in love do. Puzzles, I assume.
“No,” I say instead. “Why do you ask?”
He hums, still not kissing me, and a rough, calloused finger presses against my cheek, tugging up the corner of my lips. “You’re being awfully huffy.”
Oh? Am I? Perhaps it’s because you’re being a big, giant idiot .
“I’m not huffing,” I huff. “I’m fine.”
So fine. The finest. Totally, completely, incandescently fine .
“Uh-huh,” he says, skeptical. “Have I done something to anger you in the hour between now and an hour ago, when you forgave me for the last time I angered you?”
“Absolutely not,” I lie. “That would be ridiculous.” Except for that it’s not, but if he doesn’t want to kiss me, what am I supposed to do? Beg?
Absolutely not .
“Okay…” he says, unconvinced. “Are you mad at Roman, then? For not being home and forcing you to eat my subpar cooking?”
I snort. Will’s cooking is anything but subpar. It’s not Roman levels, I’ll admit, but then, what is? Will’s done well, though, making us some sort of creamy chicken pasta with broccoli. I could happily eat this for the rest of my life. You know. If Will would ever get around to kissing me.
First comes love, second comes marriage. Third comes Ruby eating Will’s cooking for the rest of her days.
I stab another bite, chewing it not at all angrily before answering, “I’m not mad at anyone.”
“Liar,” he calls me out. “What’s wrong?”
Hmph. “Nothing, except that you’re making me talk when I could be eating this super yummy pasta.” Distract, distract. See this compliment? Isn’t it so pretty? Doesn’t it make you want to kiss me?
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s no Roman specialty, though. It’s like giving a princess sludge when she’s used to ambrosia.”
“You think I’m a princess?” Please, tell me more. And then, when you’re done comparing me to royalty, freaking kiss me, idiot .
“Is that not obvious?” he asks. “From the way that I fall at your feet?”
Aha. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“So, if it’s not me, and it’s not Roman, and it’s not the food, then what is it?”
Or I guess not.
I groan. “I’m fine,” I repeat. “Let’s just eat. Then we can…” What do people do on dates? “Watch a movie?”
“Absolutely,” he answers readily. Not a single hesitation.
I frown. If only he were like that in all areas of his life.
“Or… not?” he asks, and I rearrange my face.
“Definitely let’s,” I say. “Is there anything you’d prefer?”
A beat where we both stand in uncharted waters, because since when do I let him pick the movie without a fight?
Since I realized I’m in love with him, I guess.
Gross.
Love is so… pesky.
“We could watch Onward ?” he suggests hesitantly, as if I would say no to that masterpiece of fantasy and brotherhood. I mean. I would have, pre-losing my mind and falling for him, just to be contrary. But, now…
“Onward to Onward , then.” And while we’re at it, onward to more kissing before I lose my mind.
? ? ?
I’m losing my mind.
“I love how they bring the story full circle back to the beginning,” Will mumbles from several feet away as the movie nears its end.
We’re on the floor in front of the couch in a nest of bedding again, but this time instead of settling close enough to meld into my skin, Will made a spot for himself distinctly away from me. He even set up a pillow barrier.
What happened to being in love with me? What happened to it’s an ache in my chest ? What happened to a burn beneath my skin ?
“Candy?” I whisper, leaning over the stupid barrier.
The blankets and pillows on his side of our nest shift, then a choked, “Yeah?”
I frown.
Did he just…
He just leaned away from me.
I’m living a nightmare.
“Um,” I say, having nothing prepared. I didn’t think past Candy , because honestly, what more does he need?
Boys are stupid.
“I’m cold!” I declare in a stroke of pure genius, remembering that Elodie once used that line to successfully initiate a make-out session with a professional hockey player she was into for a while.
I immediately encounter a problem with this plan.
Hockey rinks? Notoriously cold.
My house? Not so much.
“Are you feeling sick?” Will asks. “Do you have a fever?” His hand is on my forehead the next instant, but only fleetingly, moving to each cheek in turn before leaving me forever. I don’t even have enough time to lean into his touch, all loving heroine-like. “You feel okay. Here, let me get you some more blankets.”
He leaves the nest, heading upstairs to fetch me warmth.
I scowl, punching the pillows between his spot and mine. Then, I lift one and throw.
Glass shatters.
I cringe. Whoops.
“Ruby?” Will calls, frantic. His weight shakes the stairs as he shoots down them, calling, “Are you okay? What happened?”
I clear my throat as my face heats. “I… threw a pillow. And it hit something.”
Silence.
“You threw a pillow?” he asks.
Yep. I am as confused as you, sir. Love is confusing.
And icky.
And gross.
And now I am going to go to my room to escape the consequences of it, thanks.
“Do you mind cleaning that up for me?” I ask. “I think I’m not feeling so great after all.” Lovesick is a type of sickness, surely. “I’m going to go lie down.” And die of embarrassment and frustration.
“Of course,” he mutters, concern lacing an uncomfortable thread through his voice. “Go rest, Rubble. I’ll handle this.”
I nod, then make my escape, mumbling a thanks as I pass him. I shut my bedroom door quietly, clicking the lock before falling face-first into my bed. Perhaps the fluff of it will suffocate me, and I can escape the torture that is love in a permanent sort of way.
Unfortunately, it does no such thing.
Not through the clinking of Will cleaning up my mess. Not through Roman getting home, and the distant murmurs of Will telling him I’m unwell.
Not through Will leaving, taking my heart with him.
I groan, rolling onto my back.
Okay.
Okay .
It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. It can’t be that hard to get a man who’s already in love with me to just… be in love with me.
I’ll just…
Remind him.