“Sure.” Celeste spotted a sign indicating a station shortly ahead. “No problem.”
She pulled in, and Ruby hopped out with a quick “Be right back,” leaving Celeste alone with her spiraling thoughts.
The information wouldn't stop repeating itself.Ruby Langley is a lesbian who's known since she was thirteen and is apparently comfortable enough to just announce it casually in conversation.
Celeste pulled out her phone, fingers texting before she could think better of it.
Celeste:Did you know Ruby's a lesbian?
The response came almost immediately.
Braden:Yes.
Celeste:And you didn't think to mention this to me?
Braden:I didn't think her sexuality mattered to the road trip. Does it?
Celeste stared at her phone. Did it? It shouldn't. They were just two people traveling to a festival together. Ruby's sexuality was her own business.
Except.
Braden:Also she's single
“Oh my God,” Celeste muttered, quickly switching to her parents' text thread before Braden could send any more knowing emoji combinations.
Celeste:On the road. Everything going okay with the twins?
Mom:Perfect! Theo's helping your dad with the garden. Luna's reading to Nonna. Have fun, sweetheart. You deserve this.
Celeste:Thanks, Mom. Love you.
She set the phone down, pressing her palms against her eyes. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, a successful attorney, a mother of two. She did not get flustered by attractive women casually declaring their sexuality to her in moving vehicles.
Except apparently, she did.
The minutes ticked by. Five. Then ten. Celeste frowned, checking the time. How long did it take to use a gas station bathroom?
Fifteen minutes.
Celeste glanced toward the gas station building, but there was no sign of Ruby. No blonde hair, no leather jacket. Just an attendant visible through the window, the back of his head bopping with every movement. What was taking so long?
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, fighting the urge to go check. Ruby was an adult. She could handle a gas station bathroom without supervision.
But still.
We're never going to make it to New Orleans at this rate.
But she didn't honk the horn. As she sat there, waiting, her thoughts wandered to what Ruby had said. And why exactly that casual revelation had shifted something fundamental between them.
Chapter Six
Ruby
“That's a Patek Philippe,” Ruby said, leaning against the counter.
The gas station attendant—Larry, according to his name tag—looked up from restocking cigarettes. “A what now?”
“Your watch.” She nodded at his wrist. “Patek Philippe. 1940s, if I'm not mistaken. The rectangular case, the Arabic numerals, that's their signature style from that era.”
