Chapter Seventy-Two
Ruby
Several Days Later
The text comes through a little after five.
Xavier: What do you want for dinner?
I stare at it longer than I should. It’s such a normal question. Simple. Easy. The kind of thing people ask without thinking when they know where they’re going to be at the end of the day. When they already have a place in someone else’s routine.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I could say anything. I could keep it light. Keep it distant. Keep this exactly what we said it would be, contained, manageable, temporary.
Instead, I sit there, staring at the words like they mean more than they should because they do. This is how it happens. Not all at once. Not in some big, obvious moment. In small things. Dinner. Texts. Him showing up without asking. Me expecting him to.
I don’t type anything. Not yet.
“Heading out in a minute.” Mr. Cole pushes back from his desk.
I blink, dragging my attention off the screen. “Oh…. Okay.”
He gathers a few papers, stacking them neatly, movements steady and practiced. “We’ve got that new framing job starting Monday. I’ll have you coordinate with the supplier in the morning.”
“Got it.” I set my phone facedown on the desk like it didn’t just derail my thoughts.
“Travis already confirmed the delivery window,” he adds. “You’ll need to double-check quantities.”
“I can do that.”
He nods once, satisfied. Simple. Clear. Work. Safe. The front door opens before he can say anything else.
“Afternoon.” Travis steps inside with a grin that carries across the room.
“Hey.” I push to my feet.
He drops a folder on the counter, glancing around like he’s taking inventory. “Everything running smooth?”
“As always.”
“That’s because of you,” he says easily. “Best receptionist we’ve had.”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, unexpected and immediate. “I answer phones.”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “And keep this place from falling apart.”
The door opens again behind him. I don’t have to look to know who it is. I do anyway. Xavier steps inside, boots hitting the floor, gaze sweeping the room, quick, automatic.
He catches the tail end of it. Travis standing too close to the counter. Me flushed—the compliment hanging in the air. Something flickers across his face. Quick. Tight. Gone as fast.
His jaw sets for half a second, then loosens as if he's made a decision not to react.
“About time you showed up.” Travis turns, cuffing Xavier lightly on the shoulder as he passes. “I was starting to think you left her in charge for good.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Xavier mutters.
Travis laughs. “Careful. She might believe you.”
He grabs his folder, gives me a quick nod, and heads back out the door like he didn’t drop a match into a room already full of tension. The silence he leaves behind isn’t loud. Just… aware.
Xavier moves further inside, setting something down near the workbench, already shifting into conversation with his dad. Work talk. Measurements. Timing. Materials.
I let it wash over me, half-listening as I flip my phone back over and settle onto my chair. The message is still there. Waiting. My thumb hovers again. This shouldn’t feel like something important. It’s dinner. That’s all.
My phone buzzes. Not him. Dad. I answer before it can ring again. “Hey.”
“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “You heading home soon?”
“In a bit.” I turn away from the room out of habit. “Just finishing up here.”
We talk for a few minutes about nothing important. Weather, a neighbor, something he needs to fix at the house. Normal conversation. Familiar. Grounding.
When I hang up, I exhale, staring at the blank screen before I look up again. Xavier’s dad is grabbing his jacket.
“I’ll see you both in the morning.” He strides for the door. The same easy walk his son has. However, Mr. Cole’s is slower, as if time is catching up with him. Probably too many years standing on concrete and slinging a hammer.
“Night.”
Xavier nods, already halfway across the room, picking something up, setting something else down, restless energy that hasn’t settled since he walked in.
The door shuts behind his dad. The office quiets. Just us.
I wipe my hands down the front of my jeans, more out of habit than necessity.
“I texted you,” Xavier says.
I blink. “What?”
He glances over, something sharper behind his eyes now that the room’s empty. “I asked what you wanted for dinner.”
“I saw it.”
“And?”
This week has been harder than I expected. Harder and easier. He checks the perimeter. We work on renovations. Order takeout. Or grab something on the way home. Watch television, and sometime after that, we fall asleep or have sex and fall into a heap wherever we lie.
That’s the problem. I’m enjoying it too much.
I hesitate. Just long enough for it to matter. “I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip and inhale. “Whatever’s easy.”
His gaze lingers a second longer than it should—a wrench dangling from his fingers.
“You don’t know,” he repeats.
“It’s just dinner.” The words come out lighter than they feel. He studies me. Not pushing. Not yet. “It’s been quiet.” The words are out before I can stop myself.
His movement stalls. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing’s happened.” I lift a shoulder even though it feels like a weight is pulling it toward the floor. “No notes. No weird stuff. No one showing up where they shouldn’t.”
He straightens, attention fully on me now. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe it does,” I counter. “Maybe it’s done.”
The words sit there. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away. The air shifts as more than one meaning for what I said spins around us.
As he straightens his spine, his chin lifts. “You think it’s over.”
“I think…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I think it’s been days. And nothing’s happened.”
His jaw tightens. Barely. “That’s not how this works.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.” Silence stretches between us.
I look back at my phone, thumb hovering over his message again. Dinner. Routine. Normal. Pretending this is real. Pretending this isn’t real. I don’t even know what in the fuck I’m pretending at this point.
“Whatever you want.”
A glint settles in his eyes, causing my skin to tighten. I’m not ready to finish this conversation. “Fine….” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “Pizza. I want a pepperoni pizza with handmade crust.”
One beat passes. And then another. “See, was that so hard?”
Yes, yes, it was. Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be eaten alive with wanting more and not be allowed to ask for it.