As for Damariscotta, I’ve never been there, which seems weird since I’ve lived in Maine my entire life. The family business held us in Port Snow most summers, but then again, I think that’s how it was for most Port Snowians, always catering to the tourists. I hope to travel around the Northeast at some point, especially during fall. It’s one of my favorite times of the year and not because of the gorgeous trees, but because of the noticeable crispness in the air that you don’t get any other time of the year. The smell of dried-up leaves, the crunch of them under your feet, the knowledge that you’re at the end of the tourist season and you can get back to your small town and reconnect with the people around you. I love it. What about you? When is your favorite time of the year?
Also, this may sound corny, but thank you for writing back so quickly. I had no clue I’d enjoy corresponding with a new friend so much. It gives me something to look forward to.
Sending Over Hugs (hope that’s okay),
YSPP (Your Secret Pen Pal)
God . . .
He’s so perfect.
That or I’m just so totally infatuated with him at this point that he can do no wrong.
Well . . . except for make me run.
Chapter Nine
BRIG
“You look like you might want to murder me,” I say, walking up to Ruth, who’s leaning against Snow Roast, arms folded.
Yesterday was weird.
I don’t know how else to describe it, but when I didn’t see Ruth at the Parlor, I felt like I’d scared her away. Call me insecure, but there are times where I come off a little too pushy . . . needy . . . a know-it-all, and when she didn’t show up, I thought maybe I had been all three of those things the day before when fixing her drywall.
Either way, I went to Snow Roast just as it was closing to check in with her.
Never in a million years did I think she would be talking about a date with her vibrator, nor did I consider going to dinner with her. But both of those things happened. When we parted ways last night, it was with a tangle of emotions residing in both of us—me slightly confused, her looking nervous.
I like to consider myself a people person. For the most part, I can read people pretty well. But Ruth is a mystery, an anomaly. Every interaction with her, I think I have her figured out, and then she goes and says something like she has a date with her vibrator, blowing my theories completely out of the water.
There are times where she sounds so damn confident it scares me, and then I catch subtle insecurities here and there that remind me of the girl behind the counter.
And as I walk up to Ruth this morning, decked out in basketball shorts and a tank top with—are those Sketchers?—I realize this is one of those behind-the-counter moments.
“Are you looking at my shoes?” she asks, her voice sounding not quite awake yet.
“Those aren’t running shoes.”
“It’s all I had at last-minute’s notice.”
“You should have told me. You could have borrowed something from my sister, Jen. You guys look like you’re about the same size.”
“Ah, but that would have required a phone number,” she says, pushing off the building and walking up to me.
At least a foot shorter than me, she really is a petite thing. All blonde hair and smooth skin. And in the early morning light reflecting off the harbor, I can see a light hint of whiskey in her normally dark eyes.
“Are you asking me for my number, Ruthie?” I tease.
“I’m asking you to get this hell-on-earth run over with so I can take a shower and eat a cinnamon bun.”
I chuckle. “Do you have fresh cinnamon buns in the shop right now?”
“Yes, and I have two set aside, so let’s move this along.”
“Is one of those for me?”
“I’m not an asshole, so of course one is for you.”
I clutch my chest. “You do care about me.”
“That’s more than I can say about you,” she mutters, folding her arms across her chest.
“Caring about your health is caring about you. Come on, this is to help relax you.” I take her by the shoulders and shake her. “Now, how do you feel about a mile this morning?”
“Dreadful, but let’s get it over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, laughing. “We’ll go at an easy pace, a pace where we can still hold a conversation.” I nod toward the harbor. “Come on.”
Sighing, she saddles up next to me and together we start jogging. In an instant, I realize her slow is a walk for me, due to the difference in our strides, which is fine. I don’t want to push her too hard. After this, I’ll hit up the roads again and get in some additional miles on my own.
“So, how was your date last night?” I ask her, trying to take her mind off what we’re doing.
“Date? What date?”
“With your battery-operated friend.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “Uh, pleasurable as usual.”
I know I asked, but I still can’t believe she answered.
This new Ruthie is something else.
“Does he have a name?”
“Marvin.”
I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and catch my balance quickly. “Marvin, really?”
“No.” She chuckles. “That was just the first name that came to mind. I don’t have a name for my vibrator. I try to keep emotions out of the relationship, you know? Easier that way.”
Fuck. This girl’s smart mouth.
“Understandable. Mixing that much pleasure with emotions could honestly lead to some weird things, like marrying your vibrator. Talk about fodder for the gossip mill. Darla’s mole removal would be old news.”
“And I really don’t want to take the spotlight away from her.”
“Considerate. A real pioneer for those seeking attention, allowing them to have it selflessly. You should really receive an award.”
“I know. I know. But I stay humble, as there’s more power in that than any award on a dusty shelf.”
“Wise beyond your years, Ruthie.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We turn down Cedar Lane, where I know it will make the perfect mile back to Snow Roast. “So what color is your vibrator?”
“Really invested in this topic, aren’t you?”
“Just taking your mind off running. Go with it.”
“Fair enough. Would it be too cliché if I said pink?”
“Not if it’s true . . . is it?”
“It’s hot pink.”
“If I had a vibrator, I think I’d want it to be green.”
“Why?” She chuckles, and surprisingly, her voice still sounds smooth, not choppy at all. I’m tempted to pick up the pace, but I want her to enjoy this.
“Green is my favorite color.”
“But wouldn’t you want to keep emotions out of your vibrator relationship too?” she asks. “Picking your favorite color might add an emotional level I don’t think you’re ready for.”
“With me, emotions are always involved. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and damn it, if I want to attach myself to a vibrator, she better be green.”