Chapter 30 Ruger
Ruger
I pull up to the house after a long day at the CO office. It was a day that was mostly permit renewals and wildlife reports, which is more exhausting than when we actually have to go out and take care of something. I hate paperwork.
But now I’m home with Wrenley. Thank God.
After our date in the woods yesterday, she seemed happier. When I held her in my arms last night, she tucked right against me, and it felt like she was back. I hope that means whatever has been bothering her has finally started to work itself out.
I turn off the truck and climb out, heading for the front door.
When I walk in the house, not a single light is on. When I pulled up, I noticed it was dark, but I’d assumed maybe Wrenley was in the kitchen and I just couldn’t see it from the outside. But the house is completely still.
My stomach tightens.
Wrenley?
Nothing.
Then I hear something rustle toward the back of the house.
I move down the hallway, reach into the kitchen, and flip on the light.
Oh, hey, Ruger, Wrenley says completely nonchalantly.
She’s sitting at the table with a pink bakery box open in front of her. One hand holds a fork while the other supports her chin.
For a second, I just stare at her.
Hi?
She takes another bite of cake. Hi.
Hi? I repeat. Baby, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why are you sitting in the dark?
She looks around the now illuminated kitchen as though she’s only just realizing the lights weren’t on.
I guess I didn’t notice, she says.
I pull a chair close to her and sit down. Everything okay?
The question just hangs there, unanswered. It only takes a split second for a familiar worry to start to grow inside me.
Wrenley?
She bites her lower lip.
Want to try our wedding cake? she asks.
She’s evading the question, but I’m also a little scared to know why.
Sure.
She digs the fork into a piece of cake and holds it out to me.
I take the bite, and passion fruit and coconut settle across my tongue while I watch her.
It’s good. Really good. But Wrenley isn’t watching my reaction the way I’d expect her to.
Instead, she’s staring down at the box, twisting the fork between her fingers.
A knot forms in my stomach. The cake’s amazing, I say.
Yeah. The answer comes too quickly.
She isn’t eating anymore. She’s just sitting there, staring.
Wrenley.
She lets out a shaky breath. Do you ever feel like your life is moving in one direction, and then suddenly, someone picks it up and shakes it?
The question catches me off guard, but the uncertainty in her voice is all too familiar.
Without thinking, I reach across the small gap between our chairs and take her hand in mine.
What’s going on?
For a moment, she looks at me, her fingers tightening around mine as though she’s trying to decide whether to jump.
A few days ago, I got an email.
I swallow, worry creeping into every corner of my existence. “From who?’
Someone I used to work with in Vancouver.
Her name is Tammie Roswell, she explains.
Long story short, apparently, she heard what happened with my ex and my career, and she reached out because there’s a period drama looking for costume designers.
She recommended me. They liked my portfolio, and they want to talk.
Suddenly, the distance and sadness make sense.
Is this what’s been bothering you?
She nods. I don’t know what to do.
And neither do I.
There’s a selfish, primal part of me that wants to tell her to say no. To delete the email, forget Los Angeles exists, and stay right here with me. I want to tell her that working at Fabric Delights in the day and spending her evenings on the couch beside me would be enough.
But what good would that do?
I told her I only wanted her to choose me if it was what she truly wanted. If staying here would make her happy. If Alaska was the life she would pick even if I wasn’t here.
If I love her, then that has to remain true now.
So instead, I say, Come here.
I pull her chair closer, and she lets me, her shoulder settling against mine. I hold her hand and stare at the wedding cake samples, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the woman I love is being handed this big opportunity.
Where do we go from here? she whispers.
I let out a slow breath. I don’t think I can answer that question.
Our eyes meet. We have the tour of the Cultural Center tomorrow.
I nod.
The thought of touring the place feels different than it did before. It used to just be another thing on the wedding checklist, and now it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a road that forks in two directions, pretending we know which way we’re going.
We don’t need to worry about that right now, I say quietly.
What do we worry about? I ask.
I think for a second before answering, Just enjoying this for what it is right now.
Something in her expression softens. Like she’s finally able to relax a little because everything she’s been holding inside has finally been released. And I’m glad she no longer feels like she’s carrying it alone.
Okay, she whispers.
I brush some of her curls from her face. Okay.
She snuggles closer to me, and I lazily run my fingers along her arm while the silence stretches between us. Even though a part of me wants to solve everything right now, a bigger part wants to enjoy that for a few precious minutes, the uncertainty of our future can feel far away.
Ruger?
Hm?
She lifts her head to look at me. Make love to me.
My breath catches. What?
There’s no uncertainty in her eyes when she repeats, Make love to me. Don’t just fuck me. Make it mean something.
I want to ask what she means by that. There isn’t one moment we’ve shared that hasn’t meant something to me.
Wrenley…
Whatever question I was about to ask disappears as she leans forward and kisses me. I kiss her back, cupping her cheek, and feel some of the tension that has been wrapped around both of us begin to loosen.
Without breaking apart for long, I unclip my CO belt and set it on the table before slipping an arm beneath her knees and another behind her back. She lets out a surprised laugh as I lift her from the chair.
Show-off, she murmurs.
Only with you, babe.
Holding her close, I carry her into the living room toward the couch.
Outside, the October darkness presses against the windows, and tomorrow waits with all of its unanswered questions.
But tonight isn’t about decisions or careers or wedding plans.
It’s about the woman in my arms and feeling that no matter what happens next, every moment we share together will mean something.
The next day, we park in front of the Cultural Center and wait for Remi. It’s a modern building on a manicured lot with a totem pole rising from the centre of the lawn like a sentinel. Wrenley’s sitting in the passenger seat, looking down at her hands.
Last night was amazing, but it didn’t solve anything.
We are still standing at a crossroads, but it hasn’t been brought up again after our conversation in the kitchen.
There didn’t seem to be much point. If Wrenley knew what she wanted to do, she would’ve told me.
And the last thing I want is for her to feel like I’m hovering over her shoulder, waiting for an answer.
So instead, we carried on.
We slept in the same bed and kissed good morning when we woke up. We went downstairs together, and I made coffee while she toasted bagels for us. Everything is the same.
And also not.
There’s a tension between us now that comes from knowing a storm is sitting just beyond the horizon. We don’t know exactly when it’s going to arrive or what it’s going to change, so for now, we’re both pretending we can enjoy the sunshine a little longer.
Remi’s grey truck pulls into the parking lot, and we get out to meet her.
Wrenley slips her hand into mine as we talk toward the front door, and I lace our fingers together.
Morning, Remi says when we reach her.
Her smile is tight, and there’s a hint of sympathy in her eyes when she looks at me. I know Wrenley must have told her about the job offer.
Morning, Wrenley says back.
Morning.
The three of us stand there for several seconds, which is about three seconds longer than people who know each other this well should ever stand in silence.
Okay, this is awkward, Remi finally says.
I told him, Wrenley says, confirming what I already figured out.
And? Remi’s gaze bounces between us.
Nothing’s been decided, I say
Wrenley nods beside me.
If anything, she looks worse than she did yesterday, and it’s eating at me. She keeps carrying the weight of the entire situation on her shoulders. Like she believes every hour she spends not making a decision is somehow letting all of us down.
But it’s not true.
Nobody here is expecting her to have her entire future figured out at the snap of a finger. Judging by the expression on her face, she hasn’t gotten that message.
We should probably go in, Wrenley says finally.
We walk into the Cultural Center, which is probably the most beautiful building in Alpine Harbor.
Cedar beams stretch toward the ceiling like open arms, every wall in the vaulted space filled with photographs, artwork, and displays detailing the history and traditions of the Sugpiaq people.
Another towering totem stands proudly in the centre, and I can’t help staring at the colour and sharp lines of each figure carved in wood.
Wrenley drifts toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean and jagged mountains beyond, her hand still linked with mine, dragging me like a tail trails a kite.
Remi!
I look up to the catwalk that overlooks the lobby. A man our age leans against the railing, his dark hair pulled into a long braid that hangs over one shoulder. His brown skin and strong features are the same as they were in high school, only with a few more age lines.
Hey, Drew! Remi calls back. Meet you up there?
He nods.
We climb the floating stairs, the sunlight streaming through on either side painting the air in gold. The lofted hallways smell of the cedar ceiling.