Chapter Thirty-Five
Ruby
For a few seconds, the ceiling holds my attention while I lie there, waiting for something that doesn’t come. Boots on hardwood. The low hum of the coffee maker. The steady presence that made the night feel manageable.
Nothing. Of course nothing.
The hallway beyond the open door remains visible. The light is still on. The space has returned to something that almost feels normal, like the fear packed itself up and left with the dark. Except, I suspect that Xavier left with it.
It shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I shouldn’t expect anything different. But a part of me did. The part that almost let him kiss me last night.
I shove off the bed, feet hitting the floor. The boards creak under my weight as I move down the hall, slower than usual, like something might shift if I go too fast. The sofa is empty. The blanket is folded neatly at one end, with the pillow stacked on top of it.
The kitchen comes into view. He’s gone. Of course he’s gone. Why would he stay? Unfortunately, reality doesn’t stop the pang of hurt that fills my chest. He stayed because someone broke into my house. Because I needed help. Not because of me.
The thought lands, quiet and familiar, settling somewhere behind my ribs where it doesn’t need to be acknowledged to linger.
Then the mug catches my attention. Steam curls faintly from the surface. A scrap of paper rests beside it, its edges flattened as if it were set down with care. Steps slow. Fingers brush the counter before closing around the ceramic, warmth sinking into my palms as I read.
Doors are solid. Windows Locked. Lights are working. Call if anything feels off.
X
Not a goodbye. Not anything more than what it says. Practical. Steady. Exactly him.
The coffee is strong, a little bitter, exactly how I like it. That makes me pause. The mug lowers, and my attention drifts back to the note before I set it beside my keys.
No reason to look at it again. No reason to think about what it means. He didn’t stay. That’s what matters.
The drive into town passes in a blur of early light and empty roads. By the time the office door swings open, the smell of sawdust and fresh coffee relaxes my nerves a little.
Mr. Cole is already at his desk, glasses low, pen moving steadily across the ledger.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” He glances at the clock. “Early.”
Sleep wasn’t happening anyway. A shrug answers for me as I move behind the desk, setting my bag down and pulling the schedule closer.
Phones. Deliveries. Names. Times. Things that make sense. The door opens again. Boots on concrete. No need to look up; I recognize the cadence of his movement. And the scent of his cologne, cedar and musk.
“Morning,” Xavier says.
“Morning.” Paper shifts under my hands as heat creeps up my cheeks. A line that was already straight gets straightened. Silence stretches long enough to feel intentional.
“You sleep?”
“Yeah.” The lie comes easy. His eyes are warm, with a hint of worry and something else. Regret? Frustration? Resolve?
He nods, and the something else shifts away as quickly as it came. “Good.”
The computer goes dark as footsteps move past the desk, slower than usual, like something almost said didn’t make it out.
The phone rings.
“Cole Construction,” I answer before the first ring is done, grateful for the interruption, for the way it cuts through whatever that moment was trying to become and saves me from saying something stupid to fill the space.
By the time the call ends, he’s across the room, plans spread out, attention redirected.
Safer that way. A stack of estimate sheets waits near the edge of my desk.
Lindsey’s is at the top of the pile. I scan it and add her to the schedule.
Unfortunately for her, there’s a lot of work before construction on her deck can begin.
A second later, movement across the room slows. Not stopped. Just… not moving the same.
“Supplies in?” Xavier asks, tone even, eyes on the paper instead of me.
“Looks like it.”
“Travis can take it.” The sheet gets clipped into place. No argument. No question. The tension in the room tightens anyway, brief enough to feel imagined before it disappears under the scrape of a chair and the shuffle of plans.
The door opens again about an hour later. I glance up to find Brent standing in the doorway.
My shoulders tense as my heart skips a beat. He’s not in gym clothes. Jeans. Jacket. A folded sheet of paper in his hand like this is normal, like he belongs here.
“I need a quote.” He smiles like it doesn’t feel like he followed me here. Like he didn’t spend weeks watching me.
I force down a shudder and straighten my spine. “For what?”
The paper unfolds. “Roof repair.”
Mr. Cole looks up.
Brent steps closer. Too close. “I figured….” His gaze travels over me. “Since you work here now…”
The words hang. My pulse kicks harder as I grab the paper calendar. “We can schedule an estimate.”
“Do you come out to do the estimates?”
Stillness settles across the room. Chair legs scrape as Mr. Cole stands. Slow. Deliberate. He steps in beside the desk, not touching, just there, solid enough to shift the space. There’s a clipboard in his hand.
“Estimates are scheduled through me.” His voice matches his stance. Controlled and absolute.
Brent’s smile falters. “I was talking to Ruby.”
“And I’m talking to you.”
Silence. Weight shifts. Brent clears his throat. “It’s an insurance job. Had a little damage from the last storm.”
“Then it can wait for an opening.”
Brent glances back at me, irritation flickering through the mask he usually wears.
A clipboard slides across the counter. “Fill it out. We’ll call you.”
The pen presses hard against the paper. Lines etched deep enough to leave marks beneath the page.
“I’ll be waiting.” Brent’s attention is glued to me as he hands the clipboard back to Mr. Cole.
The door closes behind him, and the air moves again.
My hands are unsteady as I shift the papers on the desk. I answer the next call when the phone rings, and Mr. Cole returns to his desk.
When I hang up, Mr. Cole points at the form. “We’re booked through next month. I’ll let him know he should look somewhere else.”
Relief causes my shoulders to sag as the tension eases. “Thank you.”
He grunts in response. “No one bothers my staff.”
Staff. Not the girl behind the desk. Not temporary. I belong here. I don’t remember ever feeling that way at a job, or rarely anywhere else except with my dad and my friends.
The phone rings again. “Cole Construction.”
Across the room, movement draws my attention. Xavier stands near the filing cabinet, having stepped out of the tool room without me noticing. Watching. Listening to the conversation between his father and me.
A flush climbs up my neck. This is a temporary job. Remember your place. You’re doing this until something else comes along. You must, because staying here and mooning over Xavier is not the answer.