My eyes fall to my lap, as I mentally sift through the last few weeks. My time spent with Ruth meshing with the letters. The feelings I felt for the anonymous person clashing with the even stronger feelings I felt for Ruth.
She is smart.
She is funny and outgoing.
She is kind and caring.
But she’s sassy. She tells me like it is. She doesn’t take my shit.
And she’s beautiful. Fuck, is she beautiful. And the way she looked at me the other night when I was thrusting deep inside her, like I was the only man that’s ever mattered. How she stroked my hair at night when we were sleeping, the hugs she gave me when I walked into the room followed by the happiest smile I’ve ever seen . . .
Fuck.
“I love her,” I say, looking up at everyone. “I love her so fucking much.”
“Brig,” my dad chastises, but my mom pats his legs again.
“I think that warranted a swear word.” Turning to me, Mom says, “Okay, you love her, now what are you going to do about it?”
I glance at Reid. “She was crying last night?”
“Yeah, dude. She was.”
Eve chimes in. “She woke up yesterday morning thinking she was yours, only to realize you weren’t ready to commit to her.”
“Moron,” Dad mutters, shaking his head.
“Well I’m ready now,” I state.
“The blinders are off?” Rogan asks.
Some might say . . . the old mind has matured. Damn you, witchy palm reader. Damn you!
I nod. “I’m seeing clearly, possibly for the first time in a long time.” Had I not witnessed my brothers find their own happily ever afters, I may not have been able to see this. They found love. And somehow, despite the curse . . . love found me. The blinders are off. “Now the question is, how do I show her how much I love her?”
Reid rubs his hands together. “I might have some ideas.”
Chapter Nineteen
RUTH
“How are you feeling?” Beck asks, coming up from behind with a load of clean mugs.
“Fine,” I say softly as the front door to Snow Roasts opens. My heart panics as I glance up, spotting a tourist.
It’s been like that all day. Hearing the ring of the bell, dread filling me that it’s Brig or a Knightly or someone who was at the wedding mentioning how they saw Brig and me fighting.
But nothing.
Absolutely nothing, which makes me feel even worse.
Maybe I really didn’t matter.
Maybe I haven’t mattered to anyone.
“You don’t look fine,” Beck says. “You look really sad.”
Because I am sad.
I’m sad that I haven’t heard from Brig since Saturday, even though I said I was moving on.
I’m sad that I haven’t heard from any Knightlys, including Mrs. Knightly, who’d pushed me to find the hidden strength to go after what I wanted. Or even the holy trinity of Knightly significant others, who I thought were my friends.
I’m sad that my heart was broken, irrevocably broken, by a man I thought was my best friend.
“How about we don’t talk about it?”
“Because that’s always the best way to handle things,” Beck says in a sarcastic tone.
Just then, Rylee comes through the door, looking exhausted. When she reaches the counter, she slaps her hand on the wood and says, “I know you’re closed, but please, for the love of God, give me some sort of caffeine. The triplets—”
Beck places a to-go cup in front of her, already anticipating the needs of his wife, and when Rylee looks up at Beck, as if he just gave her the world, the floodgates open, and I start bawling right there, in front of my friends, receipts in my hands.
“Told you. You needed to talk about it,” Beck says as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and brings me into a hug.
“You know, I feel like this is partially my fault,” Rylee says, hopping up on the counter and taking a seat. “If I didn’t agree to fill out the fake application then none of this would have happened.”
“Wait . . . what?” I ask, lifting my head form Beck’s chest. “Fake application?” Rylee’s eyes widen, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Oh no, did I just say that? Damn kids have made me lose my senses.”
“What do you mean, fake?”
She waves her hand at me and takes a sip of her coffee. “It’s really no big deal, but if you want to talk about it, we can.”
“Uh yeah, I’d like to talk about it.”
“Well, you know, funny story. I was approached by the Knightlys when I was at the Landing grabbing more blueberry pancake mix, and they asked me if I would be up to, you know, matching you and Brig together. Clearly, I was more than happy to help. So they told me about this fake Summer of Love program and well, the rest is history.”
“So everyone knew?”
“Looks like everyone wants you and Brig together.”
I scoff. “Yeah, besides the one that matters . . . Brig.”
A sly smile spreads across her face. “I don’t know, I think you might be wrong.” She hops off the counter and says, “Can you help me out with something outside?”
I don’t move. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“Like you’re about to trick me again. Like that story you just told me was intentional. As if you came in here ready to spill the beans.”
“Paranoid much?” she asks.
“No, I’m just very weary of my meddling friend.”
“Nothing to be worried about.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say as Beck pulls off my apron. “What are you doing?”
“Just go with her.”
I point at him. “Are you in cahoots with her?”
“She’s my wife, what do you think?”
“Does boss trump wife?” I ask, hoping.
“Sorry.”
“Damn it.” I glance at Rylee, who’s holding out her hand, twiddling her fingers at me. “I don’t trust you,” I say. “And I’m really not in the mood for whatever you have planned.”
“I didn’t plan it, Ruth. But I’m sure glad I had a hand in it.”
Beck pushes me from behind the counter toward Rylee who takes my hand in hers. When we reach the door to Snow Roast, I notice the streetlights are out. What the hell is going on?
We push through the doors to a pitch-black, empty Main Street.
“Uh, what’s happ—”
One single streetlight turns on and illuminates Eve. She’s holding a single piece of paper just as My Girl starts playing through the Main Street speakers.
Rylee takes my hand and takes me to Eve, who hands me the piece of paper that I now see is in the shape of a whoopie pie.
My heart stutters.
My breath catches in my throat.
And my knees feel like they’re about to give out.
Oh . . . my . . . God.
“Read it,” Eve says.
Hand shaking, I look down at the familiar cursive and nearly sob.
I thought it was the coffee that brought me into Snow Roast every morning. Truthfully, it was your smile.