Page 58 of Nash
At eleven-thirty, the front door opens. Kyle walks in.
He's wearing a headset. A lanyard. A clipboard. The lanyard holds a laminated badge readingPRANK WAR COMPLIANCE OFFICER.Below that,DEPARTMENT OF OPERATIONAL MISCHIEF. BADGE #001.
Ruby looks up from her station. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Ma'am." Kyle crosses to her station with the measured stride of a man fully committed to a bit. He clicks a pen. "I'm here on official business."
"Kyle, what the—"
"Officer Dawson, ma'am. Routine compliance check on behalf of the Prank War Regulatory Commission." He consults hisclipboard. "Are you Ruby Leighton, primary instigator of the Knox Bedazzlement Incident of last Tuesday?"
"I invoke my right to an attorney."
"Noted. Denied." He makes a mark on the clipboard. "Ms. Leighton, I have here a formal citation for unauthorized emotional warfare, defined as the deliberate deployment of rhinestones, tassels, and/or pink ribbon with intent to cause psychological distress to a fellow club member." He tears a slip of paper from the clipboard and presents it with both hands. "Your fine is two six-packs and a formal apology to Knox's Harley."
Ruby takes the citation. Reads it. Her lips press together. Her eyes brighten. She straightens on her stool, and the grin that spreads across her face is the one I haven't seen in four days.
"The Harley loved it," she says. "She has never looked better. The Harley sent me a thank-you card. With glitter."
"That's for the tribunal to decide, ma'am." Kyle clicks the pen. Turns to Frankie. "Ms. Devereaux. Any prank-related activities to report?"
"Leave my shop, Kyle."
"Understood. Compliance verified."
Ruby laughs. Full, real, the sound bouncing off the shop walls. The laugh I hear through the floor when she's on the phone with Candace and makes Frankie look up from her station. The one that hits me in the chest every time.
Kyle turns on his heel, pauses beside me at the door. Lowers his voice. "Mission accomplished."
He leaves. Ruby is still holding the citation, and the smile on her face is the first real one in days. She folds it and tucks it into her apron pocket. The smile holds. Her eyes are bright. She laughs at something Frankie says about Kyle's badge. For ten seconds she's the woman who aimed every joke at me, who stolefries off my plate and waited to be caught, who said make me and meant it.
Then it goes. The laugh fades. Her jaw resets, shoulders pull in as her eyes drop to her station, then she picks up her pencil and starts sketching.
My hands flex at my sides.
At three, Frankie stops working. She turns toward the altar shelf. Her hand reaches for the sage dish. Pauses. Her fingers hover an inch above it. Her head tilts.
She touches the dish. Moves it back three inches to the right. Precisely. Her jaw sets. She turns, scans the room, and her eyes land on me at the door.
I hold her gaze. Tilt my chin up. Just barely.
"Nash," she says.
"Frankie."
"Three inches."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Her eyes narrow. The look holds for five full seconds. This one carries a specific message: she will find out everything I've ever moved in her shop, and the response will be disproportionate.
Ruby glances over from her station. The glance is brief. Her eyes skim past me and land on Frankie, then go back to her work. I might as well be furniture.
My hands curl at my sides.
The rest of the afternoon stretches. Ruby works her session, talks to her client, laughs at something the woman says about her teenage daughter's first tattoo. The laugh is real. Warm. For her client. Not for me. The sound of it hollows something behind my ribs.
She stretches between sets, rolls her neck, and pushes her hair off her shoulder. The movement exposes the line of her throat, and my jaw locks. A week ago I had my mouth on that throat. Myteeth on her pulse point. Her head tipped back against the wall because my hand had put it there.
