7. Cal
Chapter seven
Cal
Cal
T he wariness in Ruth’s eyes softened with a hint of hope. Based on what she’d said last night, I had figured she was in some dire straits. But the fast flip-flop from outraged to intrigued made me think that there was more to Dr. Coldwell and her strange job choice than met the eye. She regarded me with a lofty tilt of her chin from behind her glasses. “I’m listening.”
I pushed her tumbler back toward her. “Drink that. I’m already running late, and I assume you want to go home before you stumble back to your office?”
Ruth looked around. “What time is it?”
I checked my watch. “Six-thirty. I have rounds at the hospital at eight, so if we could multi-task…” I gestured to my left where the house trickled down the hill in gradual steps that led to a media room, guest room, and bathroom. “The bathroom is back there, and then I’ll explain everything while I take you home.”
Weariness tugged her eyelids into slits. “Oh. Well… yeah. Okay.” She glanced to her right where the wall of windows continued through a hallway and down to the guest area. “I’ll uh… I’ll be right back then.” She gave me another distrustful glance. “You do have a decent plan, yes?”
“Go,” I smiled mildly. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
With reluctant, stiff steps, like her joints had all rusted over, she headed out of my living room and down the hallway with the red tumbler clutched between her fingers. I went back to the kitchen with my brain turning over the wealth of new information Ruth had just given me about herself. For one thing, she was not what I would call quick to anger. If anything, she had woken up in a stranger’s house and handled it with surprising aplomb.
Also, she was attracted to me. Or I was pretty sure she was. The way she’d leaned into me, the way her eyes had gone round and had—rather boldly, actually—traveled from my chin to my navel had all shocked the hell out of me. And now that made me insanely curious. Who was Dr. Ruth Coldwell under those tortoiseshell glasses and haughty stares? Something told me she wasn’t everything she appeared to be at first glance.
I looked around my kitchen, suddenly wondering what I was going to feed my hungover, bewildered guest. It had been a while since a woman had woken up in my house…
I hated eggs, so I didn’t have any of those on hand. I settled for a toasted whole wheat English muffin in the hopes that she didn’t hate that. I added some turkey sausage leftovers from my fridge for protein, put it all in a plastic container, and closed the lid over it. When I had that done and in a bag for her, I went back through the living room to the foyer. My tennis shoes were the same every day—black and easy slip-on that could be shoved on my feet at a moment’s notice. I’d gotten into the habit of buying and wearing various pairs of them during my residency, and old habits died hard.
Ruth tentatively shuffled back into the living room, and she looked a little more alert. Her cheeks were flushed and glistening like she’d splashed water on her face, and she’d adjusted her rumpled skirt and blouse. Still clutching the tumbler to her breasts, she panned a look around the bright room until she spotted me leaning on the wall in front of the foyer. I waved. “Feel better?”
“Ish,” she admitted, still letting her gaze rove over the furnishings, sunny windows, and random decor items I had in the space. Her short curls brushed the slope of her shoulders, and she pushed her glasses back up her nose in a nervous gesture. When her eyes settled on me, she seemed to swallow. “So… our plan to lie to my boss benefits you how?”
I gestured with my head to the front door. “I’ll tell you on the way.” Then I held out the plastic container with the admittedly pathetic breakfast warming the bottom. “I didn’t plan on handing out continental breakfasts, but this is something, at least.”
“Oh.” She started forward, and after stepping up the two levels it took to get to me, she took the container from my hands. “Thanks. You didn’t have to. I can eat at home.”
“Felt wrong to kidnap you and send you away with no food,” I joked with half a smile.
“Very conscientious,” she agreed sarcastically.
I headed for the front door, and double-checking that she had her shoes on and everything she needed in her hands, I gestured her out the open door. “Your phone was going crazy in your pocket. Anyone worried about you? Another fake husband?”
She snorted, walking past me. “Just my friend, Gemma. She thought I ‘went home with a guy’ last night and got a little too excited for me.”
Curiosity nearly pulled the words, “Do you not go home with men often, then?” from my mouth, but I bit them down. “Getting wasted and rescued by your ex-client isn’t as exciting.”
“Ex-client?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder and raising a brow above the rims of her glasses. She was walking along the bridge-like balcony porch made of wrought iron and pinewood, and looking over her shoulder, she didn’t see the incline of steps she was approaching.
I leaned forward and caught her elbow before she could trip. “Watch it.”
She whipped a look over to me in surprise as I leveraged her away from the first step and into my side. When she glanced down and saw the stairs, she looked mildly chagrined. “Oh, shit.”
“Still kind of woozy there, Shortstop?” I teased. Now would be the time to release her, but I didn’t want to.
She didn’t pull away from me, either. “I guess… so.”
I adjusted my grip on her elbow so it was softer. “I can’t be your client if I’m married to you.”
“I see,” she breathed. She tucked her lip between her teeth, and the way her small, white teeth indented the delicate skin shot straight to my groin.
Oh. Fuck. I yanked myself out of thoughts about her lips and back to the present. With gentle pressure, I guided her arm so she stepped up the first set of stairs. “You asked what I have to gain, and I’ll be honest. My parents are totally nuts.”
She smiled at that. “Ah.”
“Yeah, and beyond that, we have an awards ceremony we’ll be attending in two weeks.” We headed across a short balcony that angled across where my bedroom window overlooked the street, and then we started down the stairs that led to my garage. “I’m not the only one, either. A lot of my coworkers were hoping to find dates for the occasion because it’s our urgent care center that’s receiving the award. In my case, my parents have been pressuring me to ‘settle down,’ whatever that means. They’ve been pestering me to use Kiss-Met, so I gave in to get them off my back.”
“I guess their ex-daughter-in-law would have been a bad choice for that,” she said with a mixture of mischief and chagrin.
I bit down a smile. “They would have flayed me alive.”
“Sorry,” she said with scrunched-up features. “I know I ran that first time you told me, and I’m sorry for that too. Truly. ”
“I see.” I tapped an app on my smartwatch and the garage door opened with a slow, mechanical groan. “I just had to kidnap you to get an apology.”
Ruth laughed, soft and husky. “Nothing comes easy, Dr. Reed. So, in summary, you need a fake date to waylay your parents’ machinations?”
I nodded, stopping behind my SUV in the garage. “And you need a husband. Right?”
“Right,” she said with a suspicious tilt of her heart-shaped face.
“I’ll act like your partner wherever you need me to, and you can be my date once or twice if you’re up for it.”
“Hm.” Ruth went around my SUV to the passenger side. I opened my door, and when she opened hers, she hesitated, not getting in. From across the car, she asked, “Why me?”
Well, there was a loaded question. The obvious answer was that she had been an easy mark. But it wasn’t that simple. Had it been the vulnerability in the bar? Or maybe the realization that Dr. Coldwell was breathtakingly beautiful? I leaned my forearm against the car frame. “Honestly? Because you’re my type. And my parents will love you.”
Her cheeks went cherry blossom pink. “Oh.”
I slid into the seat and pushed the ignition button. “That okay with you?”
“It’s not like I can argue with that,” she muttered, pushing up her glasses in a nervous gesture. She sat down, closed her door, and fastened her seatbelt, all while avoiding looking at me. “ Your type,” she added under her breath. Louder, she asked, “What is your type, anyway, Dr. Reed? Desperate?”
I angled a look to the side. “Are you desperate?”
Her fingers drummed on the metal cup, making a tinny beat in the quiet car. “I’m not,” she said. “But I am, what was the word you used?”
“Opportunistic?” I asked, putting the car into reverse.
“Opportunistic,” she agreed with a nod. “And as long as you don’t loathe me for my gaff, we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement.”
“I don’t loathe you,” I replied easily, stretching an arm across the back of her seat and turning to look over my shoulder before backing out. “Actually, I rather like you, Shortstop.”
She stared at my profile. “You like me.” She said it like a fact she didn’t believe.
“I like you,” I repeated, backing down the hill carefully. “You make me laugh. And you clearly can’t handle your liquor, so that has the potential to be hilarious.”
She clicked her tongue in annoyance, facing forward again. “I can, too. I just got nervous about doing something I’ve never done before.”
“What, speed dating?”
“Yeah.” She took another sip of the electrolyte drink I’d given her.
I shook my head, rotating the wheel and pulling out into the road. “How did you get this job, anyway? Don’t tell me it's your vast experience with relationships, either.”
She breathed out a cynical laugh. “No. Honestly, it was my friend, Gemma. Kiss-Met wanted someone with a doctorate on staff so they could flaunt that, I guess. Gemma knew I was… struggling… after I finished my dissertation and graduated. She kind of wiggled me in. I’ve been there two months.” She twisted the dark, floral fabric on her skirt. “I know I suck at it. Trust me.”
“Why were you struggling? A doctorate is no small feat.” I shot a curious glance her way before I returned my attention to the road.
In my peripheral vision, I saw her wince. “Long story. Mostly, I’m an idiot.”
“I’d say idiots don’t become doctors, but I’ve met a few in my time,” I teased. “But I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
She scoffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know. It was pretty bad. Head downtown, by the way. It’s the Blueridge Apartments.”
“Oh yeah, I know the place. Close to where we work, right?” She nodded. I gave her another brief look. “So?”
Ruth groaned. “You really want to know? Seriously?”
“We’re married,” I replied with mock gravity.
Laughing and shaking her curls, she sighed. “So, I got my master’s degree in archaeological science—carbon dating, subsistence strategies, sedimentology, that sort of thing.” She rotated her hand like she was listing off ingredients in a pot of goulash, not listing off highly technical, incredibly intelligent scientific fields that she had apparently taken years of her life to master. “But in my last few months, I met—” she paused, screwing up her face again.
I gave her a fast, pitying glance before making a right turn. “A guy?”
Nodding, she fiddled with her skirt again. “He was a humanities professor. He’d just gotten a big grant for really specific research into medieval art forms. It’s a rare thing to get that sort of funding—it was a shit ton of money that the historical arts don’t usually receive. And I… well, I fell pretty hard.” She said the last part like she was admitting to having a rare skin disease.
“Anyway, to fulfill the requirements of the grant, he needed four postdoc researchers. As far as post-graduation research gigs go, it was amazing, and he lured me in with the promise of half a decade of research in Italy. He convinced me to get my doctorate in humanities, which, he argued, was close to the things I loved doing. The funding was for ten years, which is huge, and I had plenty of time to finish my dissertation and join his research team.”
My stomach got a foreboding, gurgling feeling. “Uh oh.”
“Yeah. I got the degree. I did six months of postgrad research with him, which fulfilled the base requirements of the grant. Then he took all our funding and went to Italy on his own to finish the research.” Ruth pushed her glasses up her nose and sniffed. “And I was left with a doctorate I can’t use.”
And probably a broken heart , I added silently. “Well,” I tightened my hold on the wheel, sneaking one more look at her melancholy features. “What a dick. ”
She turned a hesitant smile my way. “Yeah. He is.”
“So,” I summarized, eyes on the road but mind on her predicament, “you gave up on finding a humanities position and took up matchmaking ?”
She puffed out another laugh, leaning her head back against the headrest. “I didn’t give up. I just… floundered. He left in November. I had some money saved because everyone knows that postgrad can be a little brutal. But eventually, that dried up, and my odd jobs weren’t doing so well keeping me afloat while I looked for other professions. And let’s be real,” she shrugged, “finding humanities jobs is like playing the lottery. I knew that, but I—” The words seemed to catch in her throat, and she put her hand to the base of her neck.
“You trusted him,” I finished for her. My heart squeezed painfully. Whatever Ruth had done in her life, she certainly didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
She shrugged. “I told you. Idiot. I should have gotten the degree I wanted and not let someone else influence my future.”
“Trusting and loving doesn’t make you an idiot,” I pointed out, stopping slowly at a red light. I looked over at her again. “Although, you matched yourself to someone about as well as you matched everyone else, apparently.”
Ruth laughed, and the sound left her lips with a reluctant lilt before she looked down and pressed her glasses to her face. “My survey data is consistent, it’s true.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, yes, that’s how I got myself in desperate circumstances. But more importantly, we need to discuss some terms, don’t we? ”
“Terms?” I rubbed the back of my neck. “What terms?”
“Well, you know, like,” she gestured wordlessly between us. “What do we… do?”
“What did you do with your dick ex-boyfriend?” I challenged, knowing full well I was teasing her now. It was probably because she’d been unable to ask with her words if we’d slept together last night. I sensed an easy target.
“Hell,” she muttered, rolling her eyes up to the car roof. “I mean, how many times do you want me to show up as your date? How much do I need to know about you? Are you usually into PDA, and if we don’t touch each other, is that going to tip off your parents? Do I have to hold your hand or… or should we—”
“Okay, brainy babe, relax.” I reached out my hand and rested it heavily on the top of her head. “Turn your smart noggin off. We’re going on two dates. That’s it. Just do what you usually do on dates.” Without moving her head, she swerved an uncertain look my way. I cocked my head, glancing at her quickly before returning my attention to the downtown street we crawled down. “You did say you had a boyfriend.”
“I said I fell for him,” she clarified in a quiet voice.
I removed my hand, speechless. There was no conceivable way this adorable, intelligent, quippy little scientist hadn’t been snagged by someone at some point. Unless…
“Wait, did you hold off on dating throughout your entire doctorate program for this asswipe?” I asked.
Ruth winced, pushing up her glasses again. “We did hookup. Casually. Sometimes.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This keeps getting better.”
“I’m just saying, my experience with going on dates is, er, limited. So, I need a little information, okay?” She drummed her fingers on the tumbler again. I wanted to squeeze her hand in mine and calm her nerves. What a disaster.
“Alright,” I said slowly, “in that case, just go with the flow and follow my lead. It’s really not complicated.”
“What lead?” she asked, exasperated. “This is what I’m saying. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I have no experience with this sort of thing. I should just resign and work somewhere else. I don’t need a doctorate-specific position. I’ll just be a waitress. Or a coal miner.”
I snorted. “Will you chill? You don’t need to run for the hills just because you’re facing a date with me.”
Even in my periphery, I could see the half-lidded look of derision she turned my way. “Because you’re so irresistible, right?”
“Because it’s easy, Shortstop. It’s just a date with my parents and an award ceremony. And in return, I’ll act like a doting, handsome, irresistible husband for your boss to take note of. Seriously, what could go wrong?”
Her silence told me that her brain had already conjured a long list of what could go wrong. I pressed my lips, fighting a smile. Of all the harebrained, zany things to happen in my life, this had the potential to top them all by a long shot. And I was in the mood for zany, apparently. “If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. We’ll both survive, I’m sure. But if you really think about it—why not? Give it a shot. It might solve both our problems.”
Groaning, Ruth writhed uncomfortably in her seat. “Alright. I guess… yeah, fine. Let’s try it. You said you’re meeting your parents on Friday?”
“Friday night dinner. They live in Newport, but we’re meeting for dinner in Corvallis. It’s about an hour drive.” I turned on my blinker, pulling up to her apartment building.
“That’s fine.” She pushed at her glasses nervously. “I kind of owe you, anyway. Thank you for last night. And this morning.” She glanced down at the plastic food container on her lap and the drink. “I do appreciate it. Sorry I was such a—”
“Don’t,” I cautioned her sharply. “You’re perfectly smart, Ruth. We all get stressed and do random things now and then.” I pulled up to the curb, unsure which building was hers. In the early morning, a light mist trickled across the green lawn between buildings, and some of the residents were getting into cars or sending their kids off to school. Was it that time of the year already? Summer was almost over—I’d blinked, and it had passed. “Which apartment is yours?”
“This is fine.” Ruth set her cup in the cupholder—I noted that she had drunk hardly anything—and put the plastic food container next to it. Hastily, she opened the door and hopped out. “Thanks again. Appreciate it. I’ll see you Friday.”
“Whoa, hold on.” I put the car in park and undid my seatbelt. “I need your number so I can text you, at least. And what do you need me to do for your boss?”
“Nothing,” she replied with rushed indifference. She blinked at me from behind her glasses, those yellow-ringed, gray eyes a little too wide and worried. “Literally, nothing. In fact, what you did last night is more than enough. I’ll just say you’re sick for the picnic.”
“What picni—”
“Bye!” she waved and then slammed the door. She hurried off, pulling out her phone from her pocket and fast-walking down the sidewalk to the building furthest from me. Those cute curls of hers bounced with every step, and her hips swayed side-to-side as she hurried out of sight between the thick rows of trees that lined the walkway.
I leaned my elbow on the window, smoothing my fingers over my lips. Well. Dr. Love was getting more interesting by the second. My car display lit up with a call. From my mom. “How’s that for timing?” I murmured, zipping my seatbelt back into place. I pressed the green button on my phone and put the car back into drive. “Morning, Mom.”
“Hey there, handsome,” her bright voice responded. This time in the morning, she would be headed to the school where she worked as a school counselor. “I have some news for you,” she sang.
I rolled my eyes, looking left and then right before turning out of the parking lot. “What a coincidence. So do I.”
“Oh, you first,” she said, and I heard the smile in her voice.
“I have a date for Friday night,” I replied, bracing myself for the onslaught of bubbly joy that would follow that pronouncement. She didn’t disappoint .
My mom gushed, and I heard clapping in the background, and then she put me on speaker phone before asking, “Who is she? How did you meet? Is she nice?”
“Is she hot?” my dad asked with his usual blunt sense of humor.
“Terrence,” Mom chided.
“Jayla,” he shot back.
Smiling, I replied honestly, “She’s beautiful. The way we met is a funny story, but I’ll save it for Friday. She’s excited to meet you both.” A blatant lie, but so was the rest of this charade.
“Okay, but son,” my mom said, and her voice took on that hard, sobering tone that she often took with students who were tiptoeing the line of her patience. “Is this another one-off girl? My heart can’t take this anymore. You’re thirty-six.”
“Yes, I know, and my eggs are drying up,” I joked, leaning my cheek on my fist.
Dad barked out a laugh, and Mom scoffed. “I mean it, Callum. Aniyah has no interest in having children, as you know, and you are my only hope.”
“Mother,” I replied in monotone. “I’m not having babies with my just-met girlfriend. Take a chill pill.”
“Does she want babies?”
“Do I?” I challenged. “Listen, Mom, I have to go. I have rounds at the hospital. But for the love of God, do not bring up babies to my date on Friday. I’m begging you.”
“God brought you to me, and He knows what He’s doing. And I’m certain He wants me to have grandbabies,” she said resolutely.
“Dad,” I intoned. “A little backup, here?”
Silence reigned for two beats before Dad said, “What your mom said.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I rubbed my eyes.
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Mom chastised. “But I’ll let you go. Love you.”
“Love you,” I sighed and then hit the red button. I beat my head against the headrest. It was an amazing thing to be loved by two parents who had taken me in when no one else had been willing to. It was even better to have parents who were so full of love, they didn’t care that raising a multi-racial family had caused them no small amount of pain and difficulty. But God help me, if I had to hear one more thing about babies…
Still. Ruth seemed to be a perfect solution to my problem in the short term. She wasn’t in danger of falling in love with me, and she wasn’t in danger of feeling overly put out if my mom did talk about grandchildren because she had nothing at stake. If Ruth were my real girlfriend, she might run for cover. But she wasn’t, and she would hopefully take that in stride.
Or she would run for cover. Time would tell.