Page 32 of Love’s a Script (Hearts Collide #1)
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was an early morning on a Saturday, but Ruben was at work recording narration for the feature. Novak—the only other person at the station—was already in the rack room running a sound check with a pack of sour candy by his side when Ruben entered the studio.
At his desk, Ruben massaged his jaw and began his sequence of vocal warm-ups.
It was a mindless routine he usually did while scrolling on his phone, but today, he kept losing his flow, remembering the time he led Mary through those very exercises over the phone.
Of late, many previously unremarkable things conjured thoughts of her.
Like days ago, he’d stopped at the library to pick up books on hold, only for sentimentalism to strike as he recalled sitting with Mary on the carpet with her nephews during story time. She was even tethered to his favorite vegetable pot pie order.
The antidote for this rumination was time, and Ruben would’ve been okay with that if not for the longing.
It was so strong on occasions that it took his breath away.
He’d not anticipated that, and several times he’d been close to sending Mary some random text message just to reopen the lines of communication.
But he’d held strong. He’d committed to this conclusion.
She was off living her life, and eventually, he would too.
“You ready?” Novak asked into the microphone that connected to Ruben’s headphones.
“Yes, sir,” Ruben replied, straightening the script in front of him. “Let’s do this all in one take and get outta here.”
That must’ve jinxed him because everything that could’ve gone wrong recording the tracks did.
The opening of his script took several takes as he kept stumbling over his words.
His speech had more sibilance than usual, which would mean extra work for Novak.
And when Ruben randomly got a case of dry mouth, he rectified it by guzzling water but then needed a bathroom break fifteen minutes later.
At the end of the session, Ruben apologized to Novak for the inefficiency and left the station exhausted.
On his way home, he stopped to put gas in his car and grab snacks from the convenience store that would tide him over a weekend on the couch.
Moments after he joined the queue to pay, the customer at the counter let out a loud whoop.
“I won!” the man shouted, waving a lottery ticket. “I won! Three thousand dollars! I won!”
The other patrons, including Ruben, cheered and offered the man their congratulations as he left the store doing a jig.
After that display of luck, everyone ahead of Ruben purchased some sort of lottery ticket.
When it was Ruben’s turn at the till, the attendant asked if he was interested in any lottery or instant games, and he declined, barely holding back a remark about the rising rates of gambling addiction.
But as his collection of junk food was being rung up, Ruben looked out of the store’s window to see the winner from minutes earlier still in the parking lot. He leaned against his car while he spoke on the phone with animated gestures and a goofy smile.
Ruben turned back to the clerk. “Why not?”
“Sir?”
“I’ll get a couple of scratch tickets. Why not?”
Once Ruben had the glossy tickets in hand, it felt urgent that he find out if he’d won anything.
As he walked back to his car, plastic bag of snacks looped around his wrist, he used the broad end of his keys to scrape off the foil coating on the lottery tickets.
For several seconds, his world became limitless.
Perhaps he’d win. Turn this day around. Get a goofy smile of his own. Even a couple hundred dollars would do.
Sorry, try again.
He tossed the useless tickets into a nearby bin, feeling silly for indulging in a statistical improbability. He knew better. As they said, death and taxes were the only certainties.
And your feelings for Mary.
The ardent thought stopped him in his tracks. So plain and as real as the sharp smell of gasoline around him and the humming engines of cars coming and going.
He was in love with Mary.
It was the first time he’d let himself think it, but the truth had been simmering below the surface.
He’d been terrified to surrender to the vast, intangible feeling.
Instead, he cleaved to skepticism—a bottomless well of doubt—because it was easier and risked him nothing.
But wasn’t Mary—lovely, beautiful, incredible Mary—worth taking a leap of faith?
With a racing heart, Ruben got into his car and pulled out his phone. He found Mary’s contact and dialed the number. With each plodding ring, he became less sure that she’d pick up, and he readied himself to leave a voice message, but she answered, “Ruben?”
“Mary—”
“Ruben, where are you right now? Are you busy?”
Thrown by the questions, his intended words left him, and his focus narrowed to the overlapping chatter coming from her end and the slight strain in her voice. “You okay?” he asked.
“I could use your help.”