4. Ruth
Chapter four
Ruth
Ruth
I stopped the microwave at one second, popping open the door with the flat, white button below the keypad, and a waft of spaghetti and meatballs drifted out in a cloud of steam. I hit the “cancel” button to clear the one second left on the timer, and then blowing away the puff of steam, I took the plastic container out with a pair of potholders. I peered at the yellow spaghetti that was swimming in a thin red sauce, and I thought longingly of Chinese with Gemma. Frozen “healthy style” meals were starting to get really old.
But with me proctoring the speed dating session, I didn’t have time for dumplings and lo mein with my best friend, so I took my little frozen dinner to the couch and set it on the coffee table. My one-bedroom apartment had a long rectangle for a living space, with the kitchen to my right and a glass patio door to my left. There was just enough room for a beat-up pleather couch and a coffee table with a TV mounted on the wall across from me.
I checked my smartwatch. 5:43. The speed dating thing started at seven, so I had half an hour to eat and sink into dejected contemplation before being forced to oversee what had to be all nine circles of Dante’s Inferno. The diffuser on the small side table to my left released a puff of lavender-scented steam, and I looked around my tiny apartment with the same dispirited apathy I felt about my future in general. The apartment was empty and so were my prospects.
They were maudlin thoughts, I knew that. But as I slurped up bland, lukewarm spaghetti, I couldn’t help but despair at what the hell was going on with my life. I was twenty-eight, I lived alone, and I had so much student debt, I was surprised FedLoan wasn’t coming for my kneecaps. I had a doctorate in a useless field I’d been fleeced into pursuing, and I had a job I was unqualified for and genuinely sucked at. And I hadn’t even been able to resign from it. Janice’s warm, comforting smile swam in my memories. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I took her advice and kept trying. If she wasn’t going to fire me, then the only other option was to put more effort into it.
I let my head fall back against the couch, and staring at the slowly turning ceiling fan, I chewed the rubbery spaghetti. One thing was for sure—I had been an idiot to cover for Gemma. How the hell had she thought that would be a good idea to tell Janice I had a partner? Me. A husband. No one was that stupid. I could carbon date a three-hundred-year-old manuscript, but ask me to date a human man, and I went brain dead.
Sighing, I shoveled the rest of the pasta into my mouth, swigged it down with diet cola, and heaved my tired body off the couch. “Quit moping,” I told myself out loud. I could do this—people could learn to do just about anything, and if fifteenth-century monks could figure out how to make stunning filigree with pencil lead made of soft silver, then I could oversee a damn speed dating session. Nothing to it. I totally had this.
I changed out of my work clothes and into something I hoped would make me approachable but still look like I was in charge of this shindig. Not that I looked unapproachable ordinarily. I had the weird, off-putting personality of a cat on shrooms, but my face didn’t match that vibe. I had a heart-shaped face and high, apple-round cheeks that sloped down to a “cute” chin that made me look younger than I was. I also had naturally curly hair, and I kept it shoulder-length, which only added to the Shirley Temple aura my look gave off. I was also embarrassingly short, and people were liable to step right on me if they weren’t looking.
I dressed my curvy, short frame in a long, gray and white floral skirt, and I tucked in the gauzy black shirt with a belt cinched around my waist. I thought it looked appropriately… romantic. Or geeky. Hard to say for sure. Then I hurried out of the back sliding door connected to my living room because my car was parked across the bright green lawn of the apartment complex. The hot air stole my breath as I hurried across the grass, and sweat gathered under my arms and breasts almost immediately. Summer could go straight to Hell where it belonged. I was a winter girl. Cozy, snowy days and warm coffee trumped sweltering heat and lemonade, or whatever summer people liked. My tits were too big for summer.
I hit the key fob and adjusting the strap of my eight-year-old laptop bag that doubled as a purse for me, I prepared myself to enter the oven-like conditions of a car in July. As I did, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of the pocket of my skirt—I literally refused to own things that didn’t have pockets—and I saw Gemma’s face on the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked as I slid into the seat.
“Ew, why are you answering?” she asked caustically. “Just text me back like a normal person.”
“ You called me,” I reminded her, pushing the ignition button on my white 2016 Sorento.
“Yeah, but that was to get your attention because you’re ignoring the twenty-three videos I sent you.” I could hear water running in the background, and I assumed she was making her dinner. Her giant Doberman, ironically named Mini, barked twice.
“I’m busy saving my job, remember?” I craned my neck, looking over my shoulder to make sure there were no cars coming before I backed out of the parking spot.
“Excuses. Watch the stupid TikToks I sent you or I’m going to dig a tunnel between our apartments, sneak into your house, duct tape your eyes open, and force you to laugh at my sterling humor,” she replied with deranged seriousness.
I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it for a second before I said, “The shelter really should have put you down when they had the chance.”
She cackled maniacally, and I hung up before she caused me to have an accident on the way to the stupid speed dating thing. I actually might rather have my eyes duct-taped open than do this thing.
I navigated downtown Eugene, rolling past verdant, mature trees that lined nearly every street, and as I turned into the historical district, I admired the lush greenery that the city had hung from pots and allowed to vine along shops and small businesses. The Northwest was known for being rainy and dreary, but Eugene defied that stereotype and bloomed full of color and life. It was what had drawn me to it initially—that, and Gemma. With nowhere else to go after my failure of a research assistant gig, I hadn’t had many choices.
I found a parking garage that was within walking distance of the pub we’d rented out for the event, and while I walked there, I turned over the risks and benefits of slamming back a couple of green tea shots before facing this thing. I was still undecided when I found the pub nestled between two brownstone buildings. When I opened the door and found a crowd of clients already gathered around the bar at the back, I made the only logical decision at that moment. I was definitely getting tipsy.
I met our employee, Scarlet, at the back of the pub where the floor had been raised and housed six small tables. She had already set place cards with numbers on each table, and she paused with her tablet in hand to wave brightly at me. “Hi, Dr. Coldwell!”
Scarlet had a sturdy bone structure and like six inches of height on me, but her voice sounded like she’d sucked on a helium balloon, and the dichotomy of that did fritzy things to my brain whenever I talked to her. She sounded like a princess and looked like she could bench press me for a light workout.
“Hey, Scarlet,” I smiled wanly. “Where should I set up? We’ll be inputting matches into our website, right?”
“Right,” she smiled brightly, and a piece of mint green gum peeked out from between her white molars. She had her short, blond hair straightened, and it followed the line of her jaw at a sharp angle. “I’ve already organized the ladies to sit at designated tables, and each man has their starting point so they can work their way around the room clockwise. All you need to do is welcome everyone, introduce yourself as Doctor Love ,” she winked at that, “and get them going. And field any issues, obviously.”
Easy. No problem. I went to the bar, ordered a green tea shot, choked it back, and buzzed my way back to the tables. Scarlet had put my things over by a small table in the very back of the room where a pair of utilitarian double doors led to the employee area. I sat down for a few minutes, only to jump back up and head back to the bar. One more shot.
Easy. No problem.
Eventually, the clients all gathered and checked in, and I kept myself busy double-checking that they had paid to be here and were already in our system as clients so we could correctly match them up when they “hit it off” with a prospective date. I realized that much of this really might be data-driven, and with that in mind, I felt myself relaxing a fraction. I opened my laptop and focused on the clerical aspect of managing the evening.
And I took a couple more shots. Or a few. I couldn’t remember.
The pub had been built like many of its kind with low lighting, dark, polished wood touches, and soft leather on the seats and booths. It wasn’t overly large, but for the twenty-four clients we had coming for the speed dating session, it was just the right size. Half of the girls would be seated on the lower level where a pool table and the bar were, and the other half would join me on the top level where a short set of stairs led up to a cozy dining area haloed by Edison bulbs and sports memorabilia.
I waited until all but two of the guests were checked in, and after swallowing a few mouthfuls of water—why was my mouth so dry?—I adjusted my glasses and headed over to the bar area.
Scarlet gestured for everyone to gather so we could start. When they were all around the bar, I came to stand at the top of the stairs where the higher level of the floor gave me a good vantage point to welcome them to the event. With two dozen eyes fastened on me, and some of them already whispering and joking with each other, I cleared my throat. “Hi everyone. We’re so glad you could… make it. To this thing you paid for.”
A nervous chuckle rippled through the guests, and I joined them. What had I been so worried about? This was nice. These people were nice. My skin felt nice. “How many of you have never done this before?” I asked. More than half of them raised their hands, and I gave them a self-deprecating smile. “Same.” More laughter, and I felt my nerves unwinding a bit more. Or maybe that was the three shots I’d knocked back. Wait, four? “I’m sure you all know me as Dr. Love, as our website calls me.”
Lots of them nodded, and I could have honestly kicked myself for letting Kiss-Met make such a ridiculous claim on my behalf. These people looked so nice . How many times had I thought the word “nice?” “My real name is Ruth, and I…” I hesitated, my thoughts doing a noodle dance like those wacky inflatable men in front of car dealerships. The bell over the door tinkled, and two more guests entered a bit late. “Well, I’m here to help you. However I can,” I finished.
Some of the girls looked relieved beneath the layers of their makeup and nerves. I gestured to Scarlet, “And this is Scarlet. She handed out cards to each of you, and she’ll explain how this works.”
The bar swam a little, and I tried once more to remember exactly how many shots I had kicked back, but the details were getting increasingly fuzzy. Wait, wasn’t I here to save my job? Shit.
Shaking my head, and then righting my glasses again, I smiled at three girls who came up the stairs to find their tables, then figured it was probably better if I got out of the way. I stumbled back, smiling a little too gooey at each of them, and then I found my way back to my table behind them all. Everyone looked so friendly. Why were all the girls so pretty? I wished I could look that pretty. I had no idea how they did it.
I fell heavily into my seat, and then with my chin leaning on my hand, I watched with dazed interest as the men took their seats across from the women and Scarlet rang a bell. One of the men, who was wearing a red flannel button-down, glanced over his date’s shoulder and gave me a friendly smile. I wiggled my fingers at him. He looked nice, too.
Scarlet found me and slid a Long Island iced tea my way. “Hey, nice job! They seem really happy.”
“Ooh, drinks,” I gushed before taking a sip.
Scarlet smiled broadly. “It’s so cool to see you in a chill atmosphere, Dr. C. We’re all a little afraid of you, honestly.”
“Afraid?” I scoffed, putting a hand to my chest. “Of me?” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together and stuck one of my eyeballs between the gap. “I’m like this big. What’s scary?”
Scarlet laughed. “True. Okay, I’m going to walk around and make sure everyone is okay. You good?”
I took an enormous gulp of the drink I barely tasted. “So good,” I slurred.
Laughing again, she sauntered away, and I admired the way her red dress swished around her long legs. So cool to be tall. I wished I was tall. Why did I have to be a hobbit? How was that fair?
I watched the couples talk, some of them stilted and nervous, and others open and laughing freely as they chatted. I admired every one of them. I didn’t think I was cut out for the battle of love, but these people were determined, and I had to see the beauty in that. Maybe I should be matching them based on how they laughed. I peered at the couple closest to me, pushing my glasses further up my nose with my knuckle. The guy in plaid was listening intently, nodding along while the girl talked. He had dark blond hair he’d combed to the side, and he seemed quite attractive.
His eyes shifted to me suddenly, and his features changed from polite disinterest to keen intrigue. Or I was just very drunk, maybe.
The bell rang through the pub, and chairs scraped against hardwood floors as the men all stood to move on to their next table. The plaid guy hesitated, passing by my table. His steps faltered, and with his gaze trained on me, I watched in shock as his body angled my way. Suddenly, a large, muscled form plunked down in the seat opposite from me.
I turned a startled look at the stranger at my table. Only he wasn’t a stranger. Dr. Reed placed his large palms on the lacquered table, his summer green eyes fastened on me. He was still wearing the same sage green button-down I’d seen him in earlier, and he looked perfectly composed and put together. His lips curved into a wry smile. “Well, if it isn’t Dr. Love.”
I blinked at him, stupefied. “Callum?”
“Oh, I don’t think we’re on a first-name basis yet, Dr. Coldwell,” he replied with simmering anger in his sharp expression. “It is ‘Doctor,’ isn’t it?”
“Yes, you are,” I replied stupidly. My brain buzzed like a ball of insect wings, and I blinked several more times, just in case my head had conjured him, and he wasn’t real.
Callum’s eyes fell to the glass between my hands, and then back to my eyes. “Right. But are you ?”
My mouth felt numb, and I put my fingers to my lips to make sure it was still there. “Am I what?”
His dark eyebrows tilted up with a fraction of amusement. Slowly, he reached across the table, took hold of my glass, and slid it away from me. “I was hoping this would be a good time to talk, but now I’m thinking maybe… not.”
“Hey,” I scowled at the amber liquid as it drifted away from me. “Thass’stealing.”
“Hm,” he replied, his gaze narrowing on me. “Dr. Coldwell, aren’t you in charge of this event?”
“Correct,” I said, lifting my chin, and adjusting my glasses.
His lips twitched like they were fighting a smile, and I admired how bronze-y and full they were. “Then why are you completely plastered?”
I gasped. “Esscuse me?” I looked around the room, expecting someone to come to my defense. “ Plas’stered?” I slurred. Oh. That did sound a little sloshy.
“I like that one because you can never say it when you’re shitfaced,” he grinned. His teeth were so straight. And white. And his dark copper hair was all long on top and swoopy before it faded away to a clean, short buzz along the bottom. Pretty.
I shook my head, straightening my spine and leaning away from him. “What do you want, essact—exscactl—essactly?” I asked sloppily.
“I wanted you to take responsibility for the horrible date you sent me on, and I wanted you to fix it and find me someone who might be willing to at least act like my girlfriend so I can take her to dinner with my parents this Friday.” Callum’s bright green eyes traveled all over me, from my curls to my blouse where I’d spilled a green tea shot. Wait, had I taken five shots ? Jesus, I couldn’t remember.
“Now, I’m thinking I might be out of luck,” he finished. He looked so goddamn amused. What was so funny? “How much did you have to drink?”
I glared at him in affronted outrage. “You’re a ver-ry rude doctor, Callum.”
“Cal,” he corrected. I swiped for my drink, and he easily slid it out of reach again. “Who’s driving you home after you’re done… working?” His lips flattened together, like he was tamping down another smile.
I put my hands on either side of my warm face, pressing hard. “I’m working.” The dawning realization that I was, in fact, totally hammered while at a work event finally sank into my obtuse brain. “Oh, I’m working,” I repeated despairingly.
Cal nodded in mock solemnity. “Poorly.”
“Oh no,” I whispered loudly, looking around for Scarlet. Had she noticed? “Oh no. This’s bad.”
“I don’t know, it seems pretty great to me,” he grinned puckishly. “Your glasses are crooked.”
I gasped again, straightening them with both hands. I held them in place like they were trying to pedal off my face. “You shh-ould go,” I slurred with wide eyes.
Cal shook his head once, his handsome features pulled into a “yeah right” face.
“I shh-ould go,” I mumbled, scrunching my face in thought. I pushed my chair away from the table, intending to stand and go… somewhere. Anywhere but here. But my chair suddenly sucked up hard against the table with a scrrtch. It pressed my stomach against the edge of the table, and I slapped my hands to the surface to steady myself. I hinged a confused look down at the legs. Cal had reached under the table with his feet and hooked them around the legs, pinning my chair in place. I rotated an open mouth his way. “’Scuse you.”
Keeping one foot hooked around the leg of my chair, Cal sat up and leaned his elbow on the table. His eyes flashed with humor as he leveled his gaze with mine. “I’ve just decided who I’m taking home tonight.”
The speed dating bell dinged like a wedding chime.