He paused. “You doing okay?”
I nodded. “It’s good here. Quiet. Productive.”
“And Ruby?”
I decided to take the question at face value. “Holding up. Storm damage. Contractor issues. I’m helping with the redesign.”
“That’s more than running numbers.”
“Just keeping things from falling down.”
He smiled. “You always do.”
I almost said thanks, but the silence between us felt easier. He didn’t poke further, and I appreciated that. We never really talked about Ruby beyond the basics—that we’d known each other forever and hooked up every now and then. And when he did poke, I was honest. There wasn’t anything else going on.
“I’ll keep your plants alive,” he said finally. “I’ll even try not to let them die of loneliness.”
That got a smile out of me. “You’re a hero.”
“I’ve been told.” He gave me a small salute. “Check in when you can.”
“Will do.”
The system pinged just as we hung up. I reviewed the results and made a few notations for the next test cycle.
I didn’t mind working here. The inn was always charming, even now, with saws buzzing and dust hanging in the air. Ruby’s staff gave me nods and food like I belonged. And somehow, I liked ending the day here better than I ever did back in my sleek Houston apartment.
I kept working until the sun disappeared into the water, painting Coral Bay in dark pinks, oranges, and purples. Theair smelled salty and sweet. A mix of the sea and the honeyed fragrance of honeysuckle, drifting on the breeze in the early evening, when the air was still warm. That mix had always reminded me of summer. Of home.
If longing or missing had a scent—this would be it.
I didn’t hear her approach, just the crunch of gravel and then her voice.
“You hiding or just enjoying the fact that no one’s using power tools for the first time today?”
I looked up. Ruby stood a few feet away, still in the clothes from the morning, minus the heels. She was in sneakers, her makeup a little smudged. Looking tired. And so damn beautiful.
“A bit of both, I said, nodding to the empty chair beside me.
She didn’t sit. “Wanna have dinner at mine?”
I stood. “Sure. You cooking?”
“Ordering. The restaurant is closed, and I’m not that ambitious.”
I chuckled, returned the laptop inside, locked the cabin, and followed her down the path to her place.
“Thai okay?” she asked. “From that place you liked last time.”
“Sounds great.”
The sky had deepened to indigo. The fairy lights in the trees and the lamp posts across the garden were lit, casting a golden glow over the paths and flowerbeds. Light spilled from the empty main house windows and glowed along the sidelines all the way down to the beach, where the waves whispered out of sight. Ruby kept the lights on, so the inn “would still feel like itself.” Despite being mostly deserted, the whole place felt alive—with warmth, with calm, with her.
In her kitchen, Ruby poured two glasses of cold white wine and handed me one. A local Thai place delivered curry dishes, rice, crispy fried chicken, and a few extras Ruby ordered, “Just in case.”
We ate on the carpet, backs to the sofa, arms and knees touching. For all the undercurrents between us, being with her still felt easy, natural.
“How’s NASA doing without you?” she asked.
