Page 160 of Nash
"Nash."
"Yeah."
My voice is barely there.
"You chose me," I say. "And I chose you back."
His hand moves through my hair.
"Every time," he says.
Epilogue
Nash
Three Years Later
RubyisarguingwithKyle about the mural.
"It's a twelve-foot painting of Nasty Nash Jr. in a crown," Kyle says, standing in the clubhouse yard with his arms crossed. He's staring at the side of the building where Ruby spent three weekends painting a pygmy goat wearing a jeweled crown, avelvet cape, and an expression of absolute authority. "On the side of our clubhouse."
"It's art, Kyle."
"It's a goat in a crown."
"It's a goat in a crown, AND it's art. Those two things are not mutually exclusive. The Mona Lisa is a woman in a chair, and nobody complains about that."
"The Mona Lisa doesn't have a sparkly collar."
"The Mona Lisa would be improved by a sparkly collar, and that is a hill I will die on."
The goat walks across the yard, stops at Kyle's feet, and sits on his boot. Kyle looks down. Looks at the mural. Looks at the goat.
"He's sitting on my boot again."
"He's admiring his portrait. Let him have his moment."
I'm leaning against my bike as I watch this. Sunday cookout is winding down, the grill still smoking, the string lights coming on across the yard. East and Darla are loading the twins into their truck. Declan fights the car seat with the determination of a man who inherited his father's opinions about being restrained. Knox and Sloane left an hour ago with Lena asleep on Knox's shoulder. Malachi and Candace are inside, Candace's laugh carrying through the open door. James and Maggie are at the picnic table, Maggie's head on James' shoulder, his hand covering hers.
"Ruby," I say. "Bike."
"One second. I need Kyle to formally acknowledge that the mural has improved the structural integrity of this building."
"It has not improved the structural integrity," Kyle says.
"It has improved the spiritual integrity, which is more important. Frankie would agree with me."
"Frankie isn't here."
"Frankie is always here. Her sage is in the walls, and her energy is in the foundation. Her spirit lingers like a benevolent haunting, and I will not hear otherwise."
"Ruby." I swing my leg over the bike. "Now."
She grins at Kyle, pats the goat on the head, and walks toward me across the yard. She's in shorts that barely cover her ass, a crop top that shows a strip of stomach every time she moves, and the red lipstick she put on this morning specifically to ruin my concentration. It worked. I've been watching her mouth all day. The red caught the light every time she laughed, every time she bit into something, every time she pressed her lips to a beer bottle and looked at me while she did it. Her hair is down. Her boots crunch on the gravel. She's carrying two beers she forgot to put down and a brownie wrapped in a napkin that she's eating with one hand while she walks.
"I'm coming. I'm coming. I was in the middle of an important artistic negotiation."
"You were harassing Kyle."
