Her pout says she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Listen, Ruby. It’s my responsibility to tell waiters that I’m deathly allergic to cilantro. And to always carry my EpiPen. It was extremely irresponsible and dangerous. With all the moving around…anyhow, I won’t make those mistakes again.”
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
I tilt my head. “You are?”
The surprise on my face must be obvious because she lets out a snort.
“What wasthat?”
“A laugh,” she says, her face reddening.
“That was no laugh. That was a…” I mimic the same sound.
She snorts again.
Before I know it, we’re sitting on her sofa making ridiculous pig noises, snorting until we’re both wheezing, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, my ribs aching. It’s absurd and childish and somehow exactly what I need after a day that could’ve ended with a tombstone.
When the laughter fades, I clear my throat. Time to ruin everything.
“I need to be straight with you, Ruby. I don’t think the shop is salvageable. It’s hemorrhaging money.”
Her whole demeanor shifts in an instant. “Why do I get the feeling that you want it to fail?”
Her words hit like a punch. Because she’s not faroff. Not that I want Clara’s beloved business to fail or for Ruby to be out of a job she clearly adores but I don’t want to spend my valuable time trying to breathe life into a lost cause.
“What I want is irrelevant. The numbers speak for themselves.”
Her hands fly to her hips, jaw jutting out. “Doesn’t it matter to you that your aunt loved Oopsie Daisies? Built it from scratch in the town she adored and called home for decades?”
I sigh, staring at the ceiling, wishing I was better at this, like Logan is. “Business is based on fact, not hopes and dreams.”
The room temperature drops ten degrees.
“I should go,” I say.
Frustration paints every line of Ruby’s face. “Maybe instead of spending your time conjuring all the reasons it will fail, you could offer one suggestion to get it back on track? Isn’t that what Clara’s last wish was for?”
“Resorting to guilt?” I chide.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven,” she says.
“Nine,” I retort, firmer than intended.
“Seven-thirty. And not a minute later. We are going to figure out how to save the flower shop.”
She disappears down the hallway to her room. A fleeting thought passes through.Is her room as quirky as the rest of the place?
“I guess I’ll see myself out!” I call.
“Ta-ta!” floats back.
So I do exactly that.
Chapter Fourteen
Ruby
