Chapter Two
Ruby
The restaurant smelled like garlic bread and decades of marinara sauce soaked into the walls. Ruby loved it immediately.
She spotted Jackson in a corner booth, his arm draped casually over the shoulders of a man who had to be Braden.
The resemblance to his voice on the phone was uncanny: an easy smile, the kind of face that probably made patients trust him instantly.
Mary Norwood sat across from them, silver hair pulled back in the same neat bun she'd worn for as long as Ruby had known her, laughing at something Braden had just said.
“There she is,” Jackson called out, standing to pull Ruby into a hug. “The prodigal traveler returns.”
“Hey, I have visited Cheyenne Valley at least once a year since my family moved away.” But she squeezed him back, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. Same brand since college, apparently. Some things never changed, and Ruby was grateful for it. “You look disgustingly happy.”
“I am.” He turned to the table. “Ruby, this is Braden. Braden, Ruby Langley, menace to society and my good friend Ronan's favorite sister.”
“Only sister,” she corrected, sliding into the booth. She extended her hand to Braden. “The famed boyfriend. Jackson talks about you constantly. It's very cute and also slightly nauseating.”
Braden's handshake was firm, his smile genuine. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mortifyingly good. I know about your weird thing with true crime podcasts and your inability to remember where you parked.”
“Once,” he protested. “That happened once.”
“Three times,” Jackson said.
Mary laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze Ruby's hand. “Look at you. All grown up and still causing trouble.”
“Hi, Mrs. Norwood. You look exactly the same.” Ruby grinned. “What's your secret? I need to know for when I hit my fifties.”
“Gardening and stubbornness. And it's still Mary, sweetheart. How many times do I have to tell you?”
Ruby had known Mary since she was fifteen, back when her family had moved to Cheyenne Valley for two and a half years.
Jackson had befriended her older brother Ronan almost immediately, and by extension, Ruby had been absorbed into their circle.
Mary had been the kind of mother who always had cookies in the jar and never asked too many questions when teenagers showed up unannounced.
“How's the garden?” She asked. “Jackson mentioned something about tomatoes?”
“Coming in early this year. I've been making sauce and freezing it. You'll have to take some home with you.”
“I most certainly will.” Ruby accepted the menu from a passing waiter. “What's good here besides everything?”
“The chicken parm,” Jackson said. “But pace yourself. The portions could feed a small army.”
They ordered—Ruby went with the parm, naturally—and she launched into the story of her drive from Chicago.
The massive wooden rooster sculpture outside Bloomington.
The bartender who'd tried to convince her that Illinois had better barbecue than Texas.
The traffic jam caused by a loose cow on Route 55.
“A cow,” Jackson repeated, grinning. “You're making that up.”
“I have photographic evidence. Bessie and I bonded while the farmer chased her with a lasso. Well, it might've been a rope. I'm not great with farm equipment terminology.”
Braden leaned forward. “Did you actually name the cow?”
“She looked like a Bessie. Besides, we were stuck together for forty minutes. It would've been rude not to introduce myself.”
The laughter came easily around the table, thawing something in Ruby's chest that had been solid for months. This was good. Normal. The kind of simple joy she'd been missing. No expectations, no pressure to produce or prove her worth.
She'd always been good at this, at filling silences with stories, at making people laugh. It was easier than letting them ask questions she didn't want to answer.
“Oh,” she said, stabbing a piece of bread. “I ran into Celeste on the way here. Literally almost ran into her.”
“How'd that go?” Braden asked.
“Frosty. Like, polar vortex levels of frosty.” Ruby grinned. “She looked at me like I'd personally offended her entire bloodline. Classic Celeste Russo, serious as a heart attack.”
Except that wasn't entirely fair. Celeste had looked tired, circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide. And when Ruby had pulled up beside her, there'd been something else in her expression. Not just annoyance. Something deeper, more complicated.
Something that made Ruby want to pull over and ask if she was okay.
And she'd been gorgeous. That was new. Or maybe not new, but Ruby had been seventeen and stupid the last time she'd really looked at Celeste. Now, with the afternoon light catching the auburn tones in her dark hair, the vivid intelligence in her brown eyes…
Ruby had felt something kick within her that had nothing to do with old rivalries.
Well. If Celeste could read minds, she'd probably drive her car off a bridge rather than spend five minutes in the same room as Ruby. Especially given that her ex-husband had just come out as gay. The poor woman was probably questioning every relationship choice she'd ever made.
The last thing she needed was Ruby Langley having inconvenient thoughts about her bone structure and the firm way her hands had gripped the steering wheel.
“She's been through a lot,” Braden said. “The divorce was hard on her, even though it was the right call.”
Ruby nodded, pushing her thoughts aside. “I'm sure. That must've been a hell of a shock.”
“Actually—” Jackson started, but Braden shook his head, and he stopped.
Oh? It appeared there was more of a story there. But it wasn't hers to know, and she wasn't going to push.
Mary cleared her throat delicately. “So, Ruby. Jackson mentioned you're interested in the New Orleans festival?”
“Obsessed is more accurate.” Her eyes lit up.
“The arts showcase is supposed to be incredible this year.
They've got installations from all over the world, plus live music, and this absolutely insane parade route that winds through the French Quarter.
There's this one artist, Margaux Vartolomei, she does these massive textile pieces that are basically sculptures.
I've been following her work for years.”
She stopped herself, suddenly aware she was gushing. “Sorry. I get excited about hyper specific things.”
“Don't apologize,” Braden said. “It sounds amazing. Your interest is why Jackson connected us.”
Right. The phone call from two weeks ago, Jackson's voice crackling through a bad connection. I might have a solution to your New Orleans problem. Then Braden, smooth and persuasive, explaining that his ex-wife, Celeste, needed a travel companion.
Ruby had asked the obvious question: “Celeste Russo? Tall, terrifyingly smart, looks capable of taking on any obstacle in the world and coming out on top?”
Braden's pause had been telling. “That's the one. How do you know her?”
“We were rivals or, more specifically, academic nemeses. I beat her for top ranking sophomore year. She never forgave me.” Ruby had laughed, but the memory still stung a little.
She'd wanted Celeste to like her so badly back then and had competed for her attention the only way she knew how, by being smarter and more visible.
It had backfired spectacularly.
According to Braden, Celeste held grudges. He hadn’t even been sure it would work.
Ruby had offered to back out. She didn't need the drama, didn't need to spend more than a week with someone who actively disliked her. There were other ways to get to New Orleans, even if they were more expensive.
But Braden had gone quiet for a long moment before saying, “No. She needs this trip. I'll make it happen.”
And Ruby, curious despite herself, had agreed.
Now, watching him across the table, she tilted her head. “So what's your grand plan? Because based on our extremely warm reunion today, Celeste would rather eat glass than voluntarily spend so much time with me.”
Braden's smile was pure mischief. “I'm not going to trick her.”
“But?”
“But I might have neglected to mention who her travel companion would be.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Babe. That's the definition of tricking someone.”
“It's strategic omission. Look, if I'd told her it was Ruby, she would've said no immediately.
Not because she hates you, but because she's scared of anything that doesn't fit into her planned out life.
This way, she'll show up, you'll both already be committed, and maybe she'll actually let herself have fun for once.”
Ruby rubbed her forehead. “That's either brilliant or completely insane.”
“Could be both,” Mary offered. “Braden has a gift for chaos disguised as good intentions.”
“I prefer 'controlled spontaneity.'” Braden looked at Ruby. “I know it's asking a lot. But Celeste is my best friend, and she's been drowning. She won't admit it, but she is. This trip could be good for her. If you're willing to deal with some initial hostility.”
The waiter arrived with their food, buying Ruby a moment to think. The chicken parm looked incredible, steam rising off the cheese. She cut into it absently.
She should tell Braden this was a terrible idea and ambushing Celeste would only make things worse.
But there was something in Braden's voice when he talked about Celeste. A kind of concern that came from being aware someone was suffering and not knowing how to help.
She understood that feeling. She'd been drowning herself for months now, avoiding calls from her agent, ignoring increasingly desperate emails from gallery owners.
Maybe she and Celeste had more in common than she thought.
“I hope your plan works. Because I need this trip too.”
More than she wanted to admit. More than she'd tell anyone at this table, even Jackson, who'd known her since she was fifteen and wearing her brother's hand-me-down band shirts.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. Third time in an hour, but she wasn't ready to deal with reality yet. Not when she had good food and better company and a few more days of pretending everything was fine.
“You're staying at our place tonight, right?” Jackson asked.
“If the offer still stands. I can find a hotel if it's weird.”
“Not weird,” Braden assured her. “We have a guest room that's criminally underused. Plus, Jackson makes excellent breakfast.”
“I make acceptable breakfast,” Jackson corrected. “Braden's standards are suspiciously low.”
“I have refined tastes.”
“You eat cereal for dinner.”
“That's efficiency, not poor taste.”
Ruby laughed, letting the familiar banter wash over her.
They ate and talked, the conversation flowing easily.
Mary launched into a detailed explanation of her tomato varieties that was somehow both informative and entertaining.
She asked about Ronan, and Ruby filled them in on her brother's latest startup success.
“He's thriving, annoyingly. His startup just got another round of funding. He keeps trying to give me investment advice.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I'm going to suddenly become interested in cryptocurrency.”
“What do you do?” Braden asked. “Jackson mentioned you paint?”
The question landed like a stone in still water. Ruby shrugged, aiming for casual. “Sometimes. Mostly I travel. See things. Try not to stay in one place too long.”
Run from pressing obligations, she added silently. Avoid phone calls from well-meaning relatives and disappointed mentors and art lovers who keep asking when I'll have new work ready.
But New Orleans would be worth it. The festival, the art, the chance to lose herself in something beautiful and uncomplicated. Even if it meant spending a week and half with a woman who'd probably rather walk on hot coals than make small talk with her.
Even if Celeste's face when she realized who her travel companion was would probably haunt Ruby's nightmares.
Mary reached across the table again, patting her hand. “You were always so brilliant in school. Top of your class that whole time you were here. Your teachers couldn't stop talking about you.”
“That was a long time ago.” Ruby shifted uncomfortably. “Different person, different priorities.”
“Still,” Mary insisted. “Such a bright future ahead of you.”
Ruby smiled, the expression feeling tight on her face. She'd heard variations of this for the past decade. So much potential. Such a waste. There’s so much more you can do.
Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out under the table, just enough to see the screen.
Nora: Please call me. We need to talk about the gallery situation.
She turned it off completely.
“Everything okay?” Jackson’s eyes gave away that he knew everything was not okay.
“Perfect,” Ruby lied. “Just my mom checking in. I'll call her later.”
“Saturday morning,” Braden said. “Nine AM at the rental place on Fifth and Main. Don't be late.”
“I'm never late.”
“You were late to Jackson's twenty-eighth birthday party. He told me all about it.”
“That was one time, and there was a legitimate tiger situation.”
Jackson grinned. “I still don't believe the tiger story.”
“Your loss.”
They finished eating, lingering over wine and meatloaf that Mary insisted they all share. The sun was starting to set, painting the restaurant windows gold.
Two days until setting off for New Orleans and seeing Celeste's face when she realized who'd be sitting in the passenger seat.
Ruby probably should've felt guilty about the ambush. But mostly she felt curious. Because the Celeste she'd seen today, tired and defensive, wasn't the same girl who'd competed against Ruby for top grades in high school.
That Celeste had been controlled, yes. Serious, absolutely. But not hollow.
Whatever had happened in the years afterwards had carved something out of her. And Ruby, despite knowing it was none of her business, desperately wanted to know what.