Page 34 of Nash
"Your phone call."
Her mouth opens. Closes. The grin starts to assemble and stalls. What I just said is too honest for a joke, and she knows it.
"You were listening."
"I'm always listening."
"That's either very sweet or deeply invasive, and I haven't decided which." She picks up the pencil, taps it against the desk, and puts it down again. "You're really staying at my apartment."
"Yes."
"Every night."
"Every night I'm not at Vesper."
"In my apartment. Where I live. Where my stuff is."
"That's how apartments work."
Her grin cracks through. "Did you just make a joke?"
"I made a statement of fact."
"That was a joke. Frankie, that was a joke."
"I heard it," Frankie says without looking up. "Mark the calendar."
Ruby stands up from her station, crosses the shop, and stops in front of me. She's close enough that vanilla and coconut fill the air between us, close enough that I can see every freckle the concealer doesn't cover.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
I nod.
She holds my gaze for a beat. Then her chin lifts and the grin sharpens. "So. Does this mean I get to make you breakfast?"
"You don't cook."
"I make excellent cereal. World-class. I've been told my pour is flawless."
"Ruby."
"I'm just trying to be a good hostess. Since you'll be a guest in my home. My home, which I am returning to, because I am a grown woman who makes her own decisions."
"You done?"
"I'm never done." She turns back to her station. Over her shoulder, she adds, "I'm going to make you cereal, Nash. You're going to eat it. And you're going to like it."
My mouth twitches. I kill it. She catches it anyway.
"Five," she says, pointing at me. "That's five for the week. I win."
Frankie looks up. "What does she win?"
"She hasn't decided yet," I say.
Ruby stops walking. Turns. Her eyes lock on mine, wide, and I realize what I just gave away. I remembered the game, the score, and the prize she never named. The grin that spreads across her face is slow, devastating, and aimed directly at me.
"Oh," she says. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
