Page 65 of On the Rocks

I’m here, whenever you’re ready.

I stood, wrapping her hand in mine to help her up before I released her and put the space between us again, packing up our picnic without another glance in her direction.

The ride home in my truck was quiet, only the soft melody of my playlist and the wind whipping in from the windows the only sounds between us. Ruby Grace looked out the window the entire time, her eyes distant, mind somewhere far away.

I let her be.

When I pulled into the department store parking lot, parking next to where we’d left her convertible, she finally pulled her gaze inside the truck.

“We didn’t get a thing done today,” she said, unfastening her seat belt.

I smirked. “But do you feel better?”

At that, she sighed, a genuine smile coloring her lips before she nodded. “I do. I really do.”

“Then it was a successful day.”

The sun had already set, the department store long closed, and the light from the moon above and my headlights seemed to be the only ones in the world.

Ruby Grace reached for the door handle, but paused, looking back at me over her shoulder. “Thank you for today, Noah.”

“Anytime, Legs.”

She shook her head, pushing the door open and sliding out before she closed it behind her. She leaned her elbows on the edge of the window, her hair a mess, skin sun-kissed, smile lazy and sated.

“I’ll see you around.”

I nodded. “See you around.”

Her smile slipped, eyes searching mine for something that I was sure she didn’t find because she tore them away too quickly, crossing her arms over her chest and walking across the lot to her own car. She slipped inside, offering me one last wave before she pulled away, turning left down the main drag that would take her all the way home.

And I just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, eyes on my passenger seat, and heart somewhere down the road with a girl who didn’t even realize she had it.

Ruby Grace

“I call bullshit.”

I smirked, holding my cell phone between my ear and shoulder Saturday afternoon as I packed up all the supplies for the centerpieces Annie and I were going to make that day. Photos of Anthony and me throughout the year had been printed, frames of the same size waiting to be filled, flowers and jars that would hold floating candles rounding out the look.

We had a lot of crafting to do.

And apparently, a lot of talking, too.

“There is absolutely no way you spent an entire day in a bathing suit with Noah Becker and he didn’t put his hands on you.”

“Not even once,” I assured her, hiding my own disappointment at that fact. I folded the top on one box before working on filling the next. “He’s my friend, Annie.”

“Friend, shmriend. He wants you. And the way you talk about him, I think you want him, too.”

“This is literally the first time I’ve talked to you about him, other than when youforciblyleft me alone with him that night at the Black Hole.”

“Exactly. You don’t talk about him, but you spend at least four days a week with him and have been since you got back into town. You never talked to himbeforeyou went to college.”

“Yes, I did,” I argued. “I sat behind him in church, remember?”

“Right. Must have been thrilling conversations between a nine-year-old and a senior in high school,” she deadpanned.

I sighed, plopping down on my bed and surveying the half-packed boxes around me. I didn’t know why I was trying to hide it from Annie. She was my best friend. She could see through me like a jelly fish.