Suddenly, she wasn’t sure. Because Evan… Evan simply wasn’t cruel. She didn’t think he was physically capable; like an AI with morality parameters, his mouth wouldn’t open to emit unkind words. She couldn’t see it.
Okay. So she’d be an adult and go over there and apologise. And then she’d see what happened next.
She had a feeling that he’d surprise her.
Ruth had never felt self-conscious about her pyjamas until she found herself standing on Evan’s doorstep, expecting him to open it and tell her to go away.
It was one thing giving herself pep talks from the safety of her flat, but it was another hearing his footsteps come down the hall. Knowing they were about to come face to face. Realising she was about to admit… that she missed him after a day apart? Desperately needed him not to hate her? Something along those lines.
Before she could psych herself out further, he opened the door.
He looked like shit. There were dark circles under his eyes. His handsome face seemed tight around razor-sharp bones. His thick, blonde hair stuck out at all angles, and when he looked at her, his expression betrayed nothing. Not even a hint of recognition. She might as well have been made of smoke.
“Evan?” She raised a hand to touch him, hesitated, and the moment—the few seconds when it would have been a reflex, and thus justifiable—passed. Her hand fell. “Are you okay?”
He blinked, then rubbed a hand over his face. Just like that, he became more human than hollowed out husk—but his eyes were still dull, his face still hopeless.
“Ruth,” he said. “Fuck. I forgot to make you dinner.” His head fell back, and he sighed like a teenager who’d forgotten his homework.
She stared at the column of his throat for a second, the bob of his Adam’s apple just beneath his beard, then gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. This really was not the time to ogle his neck.
“You don’t need to apologise,” she said. “Actually, I should—”
“Quiet,” he instructed firmly.
“Um… what?”
“You’re going to say sorry. I’m going to say sorry. Everyone will be sorry. I can’t take it.” This odd little speech was delivered with enough bone-deep weariness to spark Ruth’s concern. He looked down at her and said, “Can we just be okay?”
Well. This was a pleasant, if worrying, surprise.
“Ooo-kay,” she said slowly. “Um. Are you alright?”
He shrugged. That was the final straw. Evan never shrugged.
Ignoring the rampaging butterflies in her chest, Ruth manoeuvred her way into the flat—which was difficult, considering Evan’s size and the narrow doorway. But she managed it, easing into his hallway and saying, “Come on.”
He stared at her for a second, blinking slowly. Then his lips tilted in a ghost of his usual smile. “You’re voluntarily seeking out my company? I don’t have to force it on you?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She rolled her eyes and stalked off to the living room. After a long, heavy moment, she heard him shut the front door and follow.
She’d only been in his flat once, but she remembered it well. She’d replayed that evening in her mind countless times, going over every word and look and almost-touch between them, trying to decipher their meaning. And the moment he’d actually touched her, the moment he’d reached out to stop her leaving…
Ruth came to stand by his living room window, staring out at the Elm block’s car park with unseeing eyes. Piecing together the snatches of memory, the rasp of his rough palm against her skin.
She heard him enter the room, and turned to find him watching her, quiet and intent as always.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she blurted out.
His lips tipped into a sharp, unfamiliar smile. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
Ruth raised her chin. “If we’re okay,” she said, with ice in her voice, “let’s be okay. If we’re not, say so and I will leave.”
With a sigh, Evan sagged. His broad shoulders slumped, his face darkened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really fucking sorry. Sit down. Let me get you something.”
Ruth shook her head. “You sit down. You look terrible.”
For a minute, she was certain he’d argue. But then, with a shrug, he came to sit on the sofa, just a few feet away from her.
“Stay there,” she said, walking past him. She had a plan. It was heavily based on the sort of thing her sister might do in this situation. In fact, as she walked, her mind asked on a loop: What Would