“Maybe I should check on her,” I say to him, glancing at my watch.
The memory of last night plays behind my eyes—Ruby curled up, pain pouring out in sobs. The vulnerability in her voice when she admitted how alone she feels. My stomach tightens with worry. I’ve seen that kind of despair before, the way it can swallow someone whole when they’re left on their own with it. Especially now, with her leave stretching ahead of her. I suspect work is the only thing that keeps her going.
“Yeah… I think I should check in,” I continue, though Zeus has turned his attention to grooming his massive paw. He pauses to give me a look that seems to say, “Then do something about it.”
I close my laptop. Enough watching. Time to act.
The mounting heat of the day is harsh as I walk to Ruby’s house, and I pull my white hat farther over my forehead to shield my face from the sun. In my white palazzo pants and silk sleeveless blouse, I’m overdressed for a wellness check perhaps, but old habits die hard. The intercom buzzes, and I wait, counting heartbeats until Ruby’s voice comes through.
“Athena?”
I let out a long breath. “Hey. I thought you might like some company.”
A pause, then the gate swings open and Ruby appears in her doorway. Her silk pajamas are wrinkled, auburn hair tangled around her shoulders. Dark circles shadow her eyes, making the green even more striking against her pale skin.
“Did I wake you?” I ask.
“No,” she says, one hand clutching the doorframe like it’s holding her up. “I’ve been awake for hours. I just…” She swallows hard. “I couldn’t seem to get out of bed.”
“You look like you could use a friend.” I step closer, noting how she shrinks slightly. “Let me help.”
Confusion clouds her face. “With what?”
“With anything.” I vaguely gesture toward the back of the house. “For starters, we could fill that beautiful pool—if only for my own pleasure. It’s rather depressing, seeing an empty pool from my window. It looks…abandoned.”
It’s a lie, of course. I rarely spare a glance out my bedroom window. Between running the Olympus and my other ventures, I have more pressing matters than neighborhood watch. But I’ve learned that sometimes people need an excuse to help themselves, a reason that doesn’t hurt their pride. And right now, Ruby looks like she needs any reason at all to get going.
“I’m fine and I don’t need help,” she says automatically. “I don’t even use the pool, but if the view bothers you, I’ll ask the yard worker to fill it when he’s in next week. And about last night…” A flush creeps up her neck. “I’m sorry for being drunk and falling apart like that. The wine, and the stress, and?—”
“Please, never apologize for being human,” I interrupt. “And you should know by now that I’m not someone who takes no for an answer.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “So I’m learning.” Shehesitates, then steps back from the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m taking the day off.” I move past her into the foyer. “I’ll check in later.”
“I don’t want to be your charity case. Or your pity project.”
“Trust me,” I say. “I have no intention of taking on any new projects. I’m just here as a friend.”
She frowns, tilting her head slightly. “A friend?”
“Yes, a friend. Or a friendly neighbor. Call it whatever makes you comfortable.” I meet her eyes. “I’m not here because I feel like I have to be. I’m here because I want to be.”
Ruby studies my face, then her expression softens slightly, though doubt still lingers in her eyes. “Well, you’re here now, so I guess I’ll get dressed,” she says, retreating toward the stairs. “Give me a few minutes? I’ll make us coffee.”
The house feels different in daylight—even more empty. I head to the living room that opens onto the pool area through sliding glass doors. They glide silently on their tracks as I open them fully. Outside, the pool sits empty, its blue tiles dulled by a fine layer of desert dust. The surrounding space holds such potential—built-in planters waiting for greenery, covered seating areas begging for cushions, an outdoor kitchen that’s never known fire.
I walk into the kitchen where everything gleams with the particular shine of disuse. The professional-grade appliances stand silent, their surfaces unmarred by cooking spills or coffee rings. A high stack of mail sits on the counter, and my heart catches when I see the name on the envelopes—Claire Walsh. Bills, magazines, credit card offers, all stillarriving for a woman two years gone. Ruby hasn’t even opened them.
I pull out my phone and dial Asha’s number. “I need you next door today,” I say when she answers. “There’s no cleaning involved, just small chores. Oh, and bring Andreas. Tell him he’s doing yard work here instead.”
As I hang up, the La Marzocco espresso machine catches my eye—top of the line. I find the Ethiopian beans in a container next to it, noting it’s a brand I’ve never tried before. I must admit, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, but the routine of grinding beans and pulling shots is almost meditative.
Ruby appears as I’m finishing the second cup, her hair damp from the shower. She’s wearing loose white linen pants and a navy tank top. Her fingers tug at the fabric of her pants, like she’s forgotten how to dress for anything but the office. She stops short, staring at me behind her own kitchen counter. “How on earth… That machine took me two months to figure out.”
“What?” I chuckle, adding a precise amount of hot water to the espresso. “You think I don’t know how to make my own coffee?” I slide her cup across the counter with a smirk. “Please. I make a small fortune before breakfast. Making coffee isn’t exactly quantum physics.”
THIRTEEN
