Ruby
I stepacross the threshold into the Timberline Inn and hand my coat to the attendant. The reception area glows with warm lamplight that bounces off the polished timber beams and vintage brass fixtures. Heart garlands accent the Old West charm, turning the place into a Valentine’s postcard come to life.
I follow the music into the event room, where the cotillion is already underway. The connecting tent is filling up as well. The band is playing a classy country tune. Soft fiddle, warm guitar, completely romantic.
Several women carry single-stem roses, gifts from their valentines. Two of the older ladies sport corsages on their wrists.
The place is teeming with friends and neighbors dressed in their finest, most of them paired off. Ispot Nick deep in conversation, his arm wrapped protectively around Tessa in her sleek black sheath dress. Mrs. P. is making her rounds, greeting everyone like she personally built the inn. Ivy and Beau and Rue and Gary, the owners of the Silver Quill bookshop are on the dance floor. Desiree and the hardware-store guy are laughing by the punch table. Mae shuffles with her grandson, Dylan, both of them having fun.
And then I see him. Standing just inside the doorway, wearing a crisp white shirt and turquoise bolo tie. He’s looking directly at me. Like he’s been waiting.
Griffin.
My breath catches, my heartbeat stumbles, a single truth dislodges.
I missed him.
And now he’s here.
He didn’t leave.
I have no idea what that means, but I think I’m about to find out.
His expression appears forlorn. Something inside me breaks a little. I care about this man. A lot.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Griffin
My heartnearly stops when I see Ruby. She’s gorgeous in a flowy dress, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders. Colorful earrings dangle from her ears, a mesmerizing complement to her bright pink lipstick. If a flower bouquet could turn human, it would be Ruby.
I walk towards her on this, the 30thand final night.
The band slips into a slow, velvety country tune, the kind meant for swaying, not thinking, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m moving. Straight toward her.
Every nerve in my body pulls in her direction. When I reach her, something in my chest settles, like I’ve been holding my breath since I left that shop.
I extend my hand. “Dance with me?”
Her eyes widen, wary. “I don’t think it’s a good idea?—”
I’m not sure what comes over me, maybe Clara’s letter echoing in the back of my mind, maybe the fact that I’ve imagined this moment more times than I’ll admit—but I step closer and gently pull her into my arms.
“Ruby,” I whisper, “just let me hold you.”
She softens against me, and we sway beneath the paper hearts drifting from the rafters. Her hand finds my shoulder. My palm rests at the small of her back, and for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel steady. Grounded. Like this is the one place on the planet I’m meant to be.
Everything else blurs. The chatter, the clinking glasses, the boots scuffing the floor. It’s just us and the music, slow and close.
When the song eases toward its final bars, Ruby tilts her face up, eyes shining. I dip my head, hesitating for a single breath, long enough to give her room to pull back.
She doesn’t.
So I kiss her.
Soft at first, then certain.
Somewhere off to the side, someone gasps. Mrs. Periwinkle, if I had to bet my last dollar.
