Page 19

Chapter 19

Ruth

I can't stop pacing. Four steps forward, spin, four steps back, repeat. It's ten at night and I'm wearing tracks on my floor, replaying Tobias's drunk phone call in my head for what must be the hundredth time. I thought about it all day at work and now it's back in my head.

Joey rolls over on his back and snores. Men , I roll my eyes.

"I miss you... Maybe the real me isn't the man you think I am... I'm a failure... It's better if you stay away from me..."

When his voice had broken on the word "failure," something inside me broke too. The Sheriff—always so composed, so in control—sounding utterly defeated. Then he'd mentioned Michael, the nightmare that he is. It's so stressful for Tobias. And that bizarre "hairy kangaroo" comment that I still can't decipher.

"What does it all mean?" I ask my sleeping dog. "Is he pushing me away, or pulling me closer? He didn't know, but I could tell he was touched I called about the shooting."

The shooting. God, what a night. First a drunk call from Tobias that left me confused and worried, then hearing about shots fired at Good's Sporting Goods and nearly having a heart attack when I thought he might be injured. I've been on this emotional rollercoaster for hours, and I'm exhausted. I know it's his job to handle unsavory characters. I know it, but damn when I heard there had been a shot but they didn't know which officer, I about went out of my skin. The thought enters my mind, do I want to be with someone in law enforcement? But then a picture of Tobias in his uniform, power radiating off of him, and the thought vanishes.

The throw pillow I've been carrying goes sailing across the room, "I'm a damn hot mess!"

Joey yawns dramatically, and rolls over.

"Fat lot of help you are. I'm calling in reinforcements."

Forgetting what time it is, I grab my phone and send an identical text to Auntie Irene and Mary: 911 MAN EMERGENCY. Lunch tomorrow? Amelia's Cafe, Noon?

Mary responds instantly: OMG who? SHERIFF??? Never mind who, keep it a surprise, I'm there!

Auntie follows a minute later: That handsome sheriff finally making a move? Wouldn't miss it. Bringing my matchmaking notebook.

I groan, already regretting this, but knowing I need their perspective. With two replies confirmed, I grab Joey and collapse into bed. Joey promptly curls up against my neck, his warm weight comforting as I drift into restless sleep.

"Spill. Everything. Now!"

Mary slides into the booth at Amelia's Cafe, not even bothering with a greeting. Her curly hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she's wearing the "I'll cut you" t-shirt I bought her last Christmas. Auntie Irene appears a moment later, immaculately dressed in one of her signature floral ensembles, her sandals clacking on the tiles, her silver hair perfectly styled.

"Ladies," I say, my hands wrapped around my iced tea like it's a life preserver.

"Don't 'ladies' us after that text," Mary says, "I thought about nothing else all morning. I was so distracted."

"Well, I think it's wonderful," Auntie says, settling her purse beside her. "That man has been giving you eyes for months."

"No, he hasn't," I protest weakly.

"Wait, are we not here to talk about the sexy Sheriff Trenton?" She asks as Mary's mouth hangs open.

I can feel myself blushing, "We are."

"Good, well then, I'm sorry to tell you this honey, but that man looks at you like you're a premium filet and he's been on a hunger strike," Mary says. The waitress appears, and we quickly order—chicken salad for Auntie, Cobb salad for Mary, and a BLT for me.

"So, what happened?" Auntie asks the moment the waitress leaves. "And don't leave anything out."

I take a deep breath. "He called me. Drunk. At midnight."

"Wait," Mary raises her hand, "you texted us at ten."

"He called the night before."

"AND you're just now telling us about it?" Auntie Irene joins in on the shock.

"Bad Ruth, very bad." Mary narrows her eyes at me. "OK, so, Sheriff straight-arrow drunk dialed you? The man who gives traffic tickets for going three miles over the limit?"

"The very same." I can't help the small smile that creeps onto my face.

"And?" Auntie leans forward eagerly.

"That's the confusing part." I launch into a recap of the entire bizarre conversation—his slurred words, the meandering talk of ninjas and carousels, his self-deprecation, and finally, the confusing declarations about being bad for me.

"And then there was the shooting call, and I nearly died thinking he was hurt, and when I called to check on him, he apologized about the drunk dial but didn't explain anything. Just said 'maybe we could talk later.' I have no idea what any of it means."

Mary and Auntie exchange a look I can't quite interpret.

"Well, it's obvious he's crazy about you," Auntie says matter-of-factly.

"Based on what? Him telling me he's bad news and I should stay away from him?"

"Men always push hardest when they're afraid of their feelings," Mary says sagely. "Remember Jake from high school? Told me I was too good for him, broke up with me, then cried for a week until I took him back."

"Different situation entirely," I argue.

"Is it?" Auntie raises an eyebrow. "Listen to what he actually said—not what he thinks he should say. 'I miss you.' 'I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years.' 'Clear enough to know I can't have you.' He's not saying he doesn't want you, Ruth. He's saying he thinks he shouldn't have you."

I think about it for a moment. "Well, that's just stupid," I say, just as our food arrives. "Who is he to decide what I deserve?"

"That's my girl," Auntie says, smiling proudly. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" I pick at my BLT, suddenly not hungry. "What can I do? He's made it clear he doesn't want to pursue anything."

Mary snorts. "This girl," she looks at my auntie while pointing her thumb in my direction. "No, he's made it clear his sober brain thinks he shouldn't pursue anything. His drunk brain, which is usually the honest one, wants you so bad he called you at midnight to hear your voice."

"And don't forget, he called you 'Roo,'" Auntie points out.

"But why all the resistance? If he's interested, why push me away?"

"The age gap?" Mary suggests. "He's what, early forties?"

"Forty-six," I correct automatically.

"And you're thirty-three," Auntie says. "Thirteen years isn't nothing, but it's hardly scandalous."

"Especially since you've always been attracted to older men," Mary adds, pointing her fork at me. "Remember Professor Wilson?"

"We agreed never to speak of that again," I hiss, feeling my cheeks heat.

"The point is," Auntie says, steering us back on track, "if age is his excuse, it's a weak one. There must be something else."

"Like what?" I push my plate away, too agitated to eat.

Mary taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, he is the Sheriff. Maybe he thinks dating someone in town would compromise his position somehow?"

"Or maybe he's one of those honorable types who thinks relationships are all-or-nothing propositions," Auntie suggests. "The kind who doesn't want to start something unless he's sure he can finish it."

"Or maybe he's hiding a dark secret," Mary's eyes gleam. "Like a criminal past, or a secret family, or—"

"Or maybe," I interrupt, "he's just not that into me and the drunk call was a mistake."

"Bullshit," Mary and Auntie say in unison.

"That man wants you," Auntie continues. "I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. Like he's memorizing every inch."

"And the way he stutters whenever you're wearing that green sundress," Mary adds. "That's not disinterest, honey."

I feel a flicker of hope, which I immediately try to squash. "Even if you're right, what am I supposed to do? Chase after a man who explicitly told me to stay away?"

"Absolutely," they chorus.

"You need to take matters into your own hands," Auntie says decisively. "Show him exactly what he's missing."

Mary nods enthusiastically. "You initiate Operation Sheriff Seduction."

"WHAT?" I protest, though the idea sends a not-unpleasant warmth through me.

"You need to up your game," Auntie agrees. "When's the last time you bought new lingerie?"

"You need to work what your momma gave you." Mary says, eyeing my outfit critically. I'm wearing my usual day off clothes—jeans and a t-shirt. "Now, answer the lingerie question."

"I'm not discussing my underwear in public," I hiss, glancing around nervously.

"Fine, we'll discuss it while shopping," Mary says, already signaling for the check. "Because that's what we're doing next."

"I have to—"

"Frank," my Auntie's talking into her phone. "Please, go over and get Joey, we're going into shopping mode here. Yes, she needs a full-on makeover."

"I don't need a makeover," I protest weakly.

"Darling," Auntie pats my hand, "you're a beautiful young woman with a wonderful figure, but you dress like you're trying to hide it. He knows what he likes, now it's time to kick it into acting on what he likes."

"Exactly," Mary agrees. "Nothing extreme—just some strategic enhancements. A push-up bra can change your life."

"And a good lipstick," Auntie adds. "I'm thinking something bold. Red, maybe."

"And a skirt with a high slit—"

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation," I groan, covering my face.

"Believe it, sweetheart." Auntie stands, smoothing her skirt. "A little bit of this and a little bit of that and he'll be at a loss for words."

Mary grins wickedly. "Time to unleash your inner femme fatale."

"I don't have an inner femme fatale," I mutter, but I allow them to pull me from the booth anyway.

"Every woman does," Auntie says, linking her arm through mine. "Some just need help finding her."

Three hours later, I sink onto a bench outside the third boutique we've visited, surrounded by shopping bags. "I think you've both lost your minds."

"Maybe," Mary says cheerfully, "but you're going to look incredible."

I peek into the bags with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. A push-up bra that creates cleavage I didn't know I could have. A green wrap dress that Auntie insisted brings out my eyes. Jeans that Mary claims make my ass look "criminal." And the coup de grace—a red lipstick that made both women high-five when I tried it on.

"Get in here, Ruth, this outfit is the one." Auntie Irene yells from inside the store.

Sighing and grabbing the bags, I stand and drag myself into the store.

"Look," Mary and Auntie Irene step aside from a mannequin wearing a one-piece black dress that's cut high in the front with a swooping neckline. On the floor are a pair of boots I'm certain my calf won't fit into.

"THAT?" I drop the bags.

"THIS!" They echo.

"I can't wear that!"

"You can," Auntie says.

"You will," Mary says.

"I'm still not sure this is the right approach," I say hesitantly. "I mean, if he has genuine reasons for keeping his distance."

"Then he can explain them to you properly," Auntie says firmly. "Not in some drunken, self-pitying monologue."

"Exactly," Mary nods. "This isn't about tricking him into anything. It's about giving him a visual reminder of what he's denying himself."

"And then what?"

"And then?" Auntie's eyebrows shoot up, "do I need to have the birds and bees talk with you?"

"No, please no." I shake my head.

"But first, before the bow chicka wow wow," Mary adds with a wicked grin, "you knock him sideways with how gorgeous you are."

I bite my lip, considering. "You really think he's interested? This isn't just my imagination?"

"Honey," Auntie's voice softens, "that man is tying himself in knots over you. I don't know what's holding him back, but it's not a lack of interest."

"The drunk call proves it," Mary agrees. "People don't dial exes or crushes at midnight unless there are serious internal feelings involved."

"And that," I point to the outfit. "Is going to help me, help him sort out those feelings?"

"Yeppers," they both nod their heads.

"Alright."

An hour later, we're finally leaving the mall. I have to admit that I was shocked at how good I looked in the black outfit. Normally I wear bright colors but now I'm seriously considering adding in some darker colors.

Stopping in the parking lot since we each came separately. I laugh, "You two really are incorrigible. You know that right?"

"That's why you love us," Mary says.

"You make the outfit stunning. He'll react, you'll see."

As we part and I walk to my car, I feel a new sense of determination. If Tobias Trenton thinks he can brush me off with vague warnings and mixed signals, he's about to learn how persistent I can be.