Anguish rips through me as I reach out and pick one of the envelopes off the pile and unfold the letter. Familiar red lips caress the bottom of the page, hugs and kisses, a connection so strong, so familiar, it wraps itself around my heart.
My eyes snap toward the bedroom.
Back to the letter.
Holy shit. What the hell have I done?
I press my hand to my forehead, anxiety creeping up the back of my neck.
Summer.
In the whirlwind of Ruth, I forgot about Summer.
I drag my hand over my mouth. Regret and unease push through me, making my skin prickle with dread. Confusion rips through me.
The intimate details we’ve shared.
The same emotions of feeling lonely and unlucky at love.
I glance toward the bathroom one more time.
I’ve felt such an intense connection with Summer. Did I allow Ruth’s attention, her kisses, her advances, to distract me from Summer? The girl I’ve already committed my heart to. The girl I think is the one . . .
I slump in my chair as my palms start to sweat. How could I do that? I’m not that guy, who pursues one girl and has sex with another.
That’s not going to break the curse.
I won’t be forever cured.
Fuck. No.
Only Summer can do that. What I feel for her . . .
What the hell do I do now?
Chapter Seventeen
RUTH
I stare into the mirror, the reflection a completely different person from what I’m used to seeing.
There’s a spark in this girl’s eyes.
A radiant smile on her face.
A contented glow surrounding her.
He likes me.
He actually likes me.
I bury my face in my hands and silently squeal. I’d have never in a million years thought I’d spend the night in Brig Knightly’s arms. Yet here I am, the morning after, coming from shower sex with the glorious man, putting on his clothes so he can drive me back to my place.
Taking a deep breath, I gather myself, put on his shirt—his shirt that smells like him—then slip his shorts on that are far too big, requiring me to roll them at the waist.
I shift my fingers through my hair, give myself one more look in the mirror, and open the bathroom door where I find Brig dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed, head tilted down, hands clasped in front of him. When he glances up, I come face to face with weathered and worried eyes.
Indecision.
Cautiously, I walk toward him and say, “Is everything okay?”
I’ve known Brig long enough to know when he’s lying. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs, he looks away . . . so I know he’s about to lie to me.
“Everything’s fine. I should, uh, get you back to your place. I have to run to The Lobster Landing to pick up some scones before I go to my parents’ house.”
“Okay, yeah. Let me just—”
“Got your stuff here,” he says, handing me a re-usable grocery bag of my things.
A re-usable grocery bag?
My stuff?
That just feels . . . dirty.
Emotionless.
Cold.
Very unlike the way we left each other in the shower.
What the hell happened while I was getting dressed?
I take the bag, embarrassment staining my cheeks. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
He gives me a fake smile and nods. “Yup.” He pockets his wallet, phone, and grabs his keys. “Let’s get going.” He walks to his front door and holds it open for me. Could he get rid of me any faster? What the hell is going on?
With my pathetic bag dangling from my fingers, I follow him down the steps to his car where we get in silently. The engine roars, purrs under my feet, and without a word, Brig takes off. He drives through the back roads. It takes what feels like seconds to get to my place and when he parks, he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his hands on the wheel, stares out the windshield, and clenches his jaw.
I turn toward him. “If I said or did something wrong back there, please tell me, Brig. I feel like something happened and I don’t know what it is.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he keeps his gaze forward. “I just think . . .” His lips press together and dread fills me.
Oh no . . .
Please don’t say it.
Please don’t rip my heart out, not right now. Not after the amazing night we had.
“Fuck, I don’t know,” he says.
“You don’t know what?” I ask.
Head bent forward, he shakes his head. “I think we need to just take a second.”
“Take a second?” I ask, my lip trembling.
“Yeah. You know, I wasn’t really expecting to have sex with you last night.”
“And I was?” I’m trying not to get emotional, but my throat is closing tight, and I can feel tears tickling the backs of my eyes. It was easier when I was numb.
“I wasn’t implying . . .” He breathes out a heavy breath and pushes his hand through his wet hair. “Look, Ruth . . .”
Ruth.
Not Ruthie.
Just Ruth.
My lip trembles. The joy, the satisfaction I felt only moments ago in Brig’s bathroom, has completely vanished, and in its place forms an empty bank of emotion.
“Last night was—”
“Please don’t say a mistake.” My voice comes out feeble, and I hate that. “Whatever you do, don’t say it was a mistake.”
He grips the steering wheel tighter. “It wasn’t a mistake. I just . . . I need to figure some things out.”
“Figure things out.” I nod. “So you’re not really sure about me . . . about us?”
“I mean . . .” He looks down at his lap, and that’s all the answer I need.
“I see.” I open the car door, grab my bag, and take a step out.
“Ruth, wait.”
Since the top of his convertible is down, I don’t have to bend to talk to him. So, I stare at the man who can’t even look me in the eyes.
“I’ve waited long enough, Brig. Too long.” I sarcastically laugh at myself. “God, I’ve waited far too long, and it’s embarrassing. I should never have attempted to make a move on you. I should have known it was going to end like this.”
Finally, he looks at me. “It isn’t over, Ruth. I just . . . fuck, I need to think about some things.”
“Is this about the curse?” I ask, propping a hand on my hip.
His brow scrunches. “No.”
“Okay, so then it’s me.” I nod and take a deep breath.
“It’s about . . . hell.” He blows out a heavy breath. “I’ve just been talking to that girl and I, fuck, I don’t know. I’m not this guy, the one who leads someone on . . .”
He’s got to be freaking kidding me with that.
“The girl you’ve been writing letters to?” He nods. “So you’re saying that you’d rather chance it with someone you’ve never met, than attempt something with me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he says in a panic.
“That’s what you’re implying,” I growl out in frustration, unable to hold it back anymore. “What’s it going to take for you to actually see me, Brig? I’ve spent almost every day with you. We run together, eat meals together, renovate together. We even go out for ice cream, hang out at the harbor, hold hands. We’re practically dating and yet, you still don’t see me. It’s as if I’m an empty vessel and you’re filling me up with whatever you need at that moment. A friend, someone to joke with . . . someone to fuck—”