Chapter 16 Ruth
sixteen
Ruth
I slide two mismatched plates onto the counter, a red plate for Noah, and a blue plate for Bill. "Here you go,” I aim for casualness and pray they don’t see my hands shaking. "Enjoy."
Bill reaches for his silverware and looks directly at me. “Looks amazing."
My heart flutters as I get the double meaning. "Flattery gets you decaf," I reply flatly, and Bill snickers low in his throat. That smile. I hate how much I like that smirk.
Standing back against the counter, I wait for him to take his first bite.
Instead of eating, he glances at Noah as he cuts his first pancake.
“Did you notice all the road construction on Main Street? Seriously, what are they thinking about, doing that this time of year? It’s going to be buried in snow soon. ”
Noah throws his head back and grumbles with annoyance. “They always do that. All summer long we’re forced to deal with potholes. Then right when the snow flies, boom, they make an even bigger mess.”
“It’s unreal.” Bill plops a bite into his mouth.
“I used to attend all the city hall meetings, trying to talk some sense into the clowns. They won’t take anyone’s opinion.
That’s one of the reasons why I built our arena out of town.
I can’t handle the city’s lack of leadership.
If I had it my way, I’d be on an island. ”
I move to refill a coffee mug across the diner, pretending I’m not listening. But I’m listening. Oh so intensely while my heart thrums hard.
Noah goes on, “It seems like every other year Mom is fighting with it here too, and it’s months of low business, because no one can get in the parking lot.”
“You’re right,” Bill says simply. “They usually rip up this road. Sometimes it doesn’t even need it. I think the city has contracts with their friends and get kickbacks. It’s a yearly paycheck for them, living off the taxpayers, while wreaking havoc on the traffic.”
Moving to a table in the back, I busy myself cleaning finger smears off the window, but thank goodness their voices carry.
They’ve returned to a conversation about hockey, which sounds so natural it tugs at my lower gut.
I head into the kitchen, fill a few more orders, and circle around to the front again.
"Wait, you actually like that band?" Noah’s voice cuts in through chuckles.
"I know they’re old," Bill replies. "But that’s what was playing on the speaker when I was in the NHL, and I’m transported back instantly to my best days."
I catch myself smiling as I wipe down the back counter, even though I’ve wiped it at least ten times.
It’s like watching two parts of my life collide in slow motion.
One I never expected to matter.
One I’ve protected with my whole heart.
They found a way to click together, and it terrifies me.
Since my late husband passed, I’ve never dated, and even if I were to date, I knew I’d always be the mom who would never let a guy get close to my kid. That’s not the mom I am.
This is exactly the kind of moment I don’t trust.
Bill’s phone rings, and he excuses himself from talking to Noah as I head toward the register to ring up a regular’s tab.
From here, it’s easier to hear exactly what Bill is saying, "Yeah, I know. I’m not in the office now.
Can we hold off on the call for another hour? I’m having lunch with a friend."
I freeze with my fingers poised over the register keys.
Did he just call Noah a friend?
Not a player on his team.
I glance back in time to see Bill put his phone face down on the counter and return to their conversation without missing a beat. Noah’s eating with his full focus on Bill.
He’s in it.
And me?
My heart is pounding like I ran a marathon.
Because I’m watching my son, who I’ve protected from everyone, and this man who has every reason to walk out that door to tend to whatever business was trying to pull him away but chose to stay. They’re laughing like they’ve known each other for years.
My hand finds the front of my chest, and I hold it there while I take a deep swallow. Man, I want to believe this is genuine. It’s so scary to think about what opening my life, and Noah’s life, would actually look like. We’ve been just the two of us forever.
I turn away, heading to the kitchen, but not because I don’t care.
I care too much.