Chapter 37
Ruby
I WANTED TO RUN AFTER him. I wanted to call, “Don’t go! Stay!”
My heart pounded, my voice caught in my throat, and my legs stayed put, frozen, like they knew they should wait for my mind to herd all those wild emotions back into line.
I called him Seb. We never used nicknames. Those knocked down a layer we ensured to keep in place all these years.
“I want you. God, I do. I fucking love you, okay? That’s what you want to hear?
That I fell in love with you? Because I did!
And I’m terrified. Terrified that I’ll become someone who depends on it, who gets soft and open and starts needing things.
And then what happens when you decide you’ve had enough?
Or change your mind? Or realize I’m not the forever kind? ”
I was screaming all of this in my head, but I couldn’t utter a single word out loud.
Much like my inn, my heart was falling apart piece by piece—and there was no crew I could call to fix it. Not even my friends. The only engineer who could draw up a plan to put me back together was him.
And just like that, all those emotions colliding inside me—fear, love, need, fear again—hardened into something I could actually deal with—anger.
I stormed out of my office.
“Ruby, we have—” Sandra tried to call after me.
“Later,” I snapped, not even glancing back as I pushed through the crowd of workers and equipment at the entrance.
Through the garden. Into my cottage. I grabbed what I came for. Then straight to Sea Glass.
I didn’t hesitate. One knock. No pause. I barged in.
Sebastian was in the bedroom, duffel bag on the bed, half-full.
“Here. You left this at mine.” I tossed the T-shirt and boxers into the open bag like they were on fire.
He turned toward me, a surprised smile tugging at his mouth. “Thanks?”
It wasn’t rational. Part of me was sure he wouldn’t need them again, because he probably wasn’t coming back. “Just so you know—” I started, then faltered. “Just so you know—”
“Yes?”
He was going to let me wrestle this on my own. And I hated him for it. And I fucking loved him for it.
The words exploded out of me, sharp and raw. “Why did you have to go and ruin everything?”
He blinked, then replied, his voice low and steady. “You’re the only woman who thinks loving her is ruining things.”
Loving. The word dropped like a stone in my chest, heavy and even more terrifying now that it was out in the open, mirroring my unuttered one.
“You know I’ve never even been to your apartment in Houston, right?” My voice was too loud. But wasn’t that my staple? “You live in Houston, Texas. Not around the corner. Not even in the same state!”
He stepped closer, jaw tight. “You think distance is the problem?”
I fired back instead of answering, my volume rising, “I’ve tried this—monogamy. I experimented with it, and let me tell you—it was shit.”
He let out a laugh, flat and bitter. “Experimented? What, till morning do you part?”
I ground my teeth, frustration twisting inside me. Couldn’t he see all these perfectly valid reasons—the mess, the distance, the lie of forever?
His tone softened, but his words didn’t. “You still don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?” I shot back.
“That the ugly duckling you say you used to be—she never left you. Not really.”
I froze. His words landed like a spotlight on the parts of me I worked hardest to keep in shadow or leave behind.
“No matter how many men look at you now, no matter how casual you make it seem ... deep down, you’re still waiting for someone to decide you’re worth choosing. And you’re still afraid that you’re not enough.” He paused, jaw flexing. “And not all men are like your father, Ruby.”
He didn’t say any of it to hurt me. That made it worse. He just saw right through me.
Through a part of me.
I swallowed hard, throat tight, voice controlled.
“You’re right,” I forced out, hating how true it was.
“And that’s exactly why I can’t do what you want.
Because there’s only one way I know how to be.
” And it’s always either not enough or too much, and somehow, always the wrong combination, I burned to add, but didn’t.
“I know,” he said, voice even, eyes locked on me, unflinching. “And I want that. You.”
My defenses crashed to the floor, clattering so loudly I was surprised he didn’t hear it. Every word he said was a direct hit. Each word jolted my heart to beat for him—but I couldn’t forget that just as fast, he could pull the plug and stop it from beating altogether.
I wanted to throw myself into his arms, I wanted to give it all, admit it all. In that moment, I desperately longed to be someone else, someone like Evangeline, who could love without the weight of an invisible countdown ticking away.
But I was me. Lost in a maze of my own making, with no clear way out.
Any woman in her right mind would be stumbling over herself, running to him, and thanking whatever luck or deity for sending her this man.
Any sane woman would be hearing a choir of hallelujahs at that kind of declaration.
Any normal woman would be crying tears of joy right now.
But I was me. I heard the choir, felt joy trying to claw its way into my heart, knew it was the perfect declaration. But perfect things don’t last. So I stayed silent, meeting his gaze with all the defiance I had left, desperate not to show how much I was breaking inside.
He didn’t look away. Didn’t soften or falter. Just stood there, letting me unravel in silence.
He held my gaze for a long moment. Then zipped his bag, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and walked to the door.
I almost broke. Almost told him to stay, to forget everything I’d said. But almost wasn’t enough.
“You think you want me,” I called after him from the bedroom door. “But give it time—I’m not what you think I am. I’m not one for forevers.”
One last look—firm, unshaken—then he stepped out.
The door closed.
I didn’t chase him. I couldn’t bring myself to. My heart screamed for my legs to move, but my mind shackled them in place.
I stood breathless in the silence he left behind.
Defeated by my own victory.
Much like the storm damage outside, the hollow ache he left behind wasn’t something a coat of paint could cover up. I wouldn’t be able to easily fix it, or myself. It was structural.
I wasn’t a crier. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. The inn closing down or death were the only things on my to-cry list.
And, apparently, Sebastian Sawyer.
Because here I was—curled on his bed, clinging to things that still held his scent and his touch, crying my heart out.
Like it was the end of the world.
And, to me, it was.