Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,35

Hannah Do?

As she passed the sofa, Evan reached out for her. Ruth stopped dead, feeling as if he’d punched her in the stomach, stolen her air and shocked the shit out of her, when all he’d done was wrap an arm around her waist.

She looked down. His head was bowed, resting against her hip. He took breaths so deep that she could see his shoulders rise. Then, his voice slightly muffled, he asked, “What are you doing?”

Really, she should be the one asking him that. Instead, she said lightly, “I’m looking after you.”

He swallowed. “I don’t need looking after.”

“Why? Because you’re the world’s saviour?” Ruth smiled as he looked up sharply, surprise all over his face. “Everyone needs looking after, Evan. And you have stolen my apology, so you can let me do this instead.”

He gave a weak imitation of his usual laugh. But it still counted. Ruth allowed her hand to settle on his head, just for a second. Her fingers sank into his soft, sandy hair, and she watched as his eyes widened.

Then she pulled away and walked briskly to the kitchen. Her hand tingled.

She wasn’t surprised to find his cupboards fully stocked. Ruth chose some bread and three tins of chicken soup. Then she figured out the microwave, because setting his kitchen on fire wouldn’t make him feel any better.

Ignoring her still-tingling palm, she heated up the meal.

It was what Hannah would do.

17

The sight of Ruth approaching with food should’ve shocked Evan half to death. But he wasn’t exactly himself, so he only felt a muffled sort of surprise as she pushed the tray into his hands. A tray containing buttered bread and a steaming bowl of chicken soup.

He looked up at her, slightly worried. “Did you slice the bread yourself?”

She held up her hands. “I still have all my fingers. See?”

That was true. He stared at her outstretched hands for a moment, at the fine, brown lines etching her palms. Probably for too long. Only, he’d like to trace the lines.

She dropped her hands and said, “Eat.”

“Are you going to loom over me until I do?” Huh. Ten minutes with Ruth and he was able to make bad jokes.

She didn’t laugh, of course. After a shrug and a wary look at the space beside him, she sat on the far end of the sofa. She crossed her legs, her fluffy, spotted socks peeking out from beneath her knees, her hands folded in her lap. Then she said again, “Eat.”

He ate. The hot soup seemed to fill the icy chasm in his chest with something warm and soothing.

Or maybe that was Ruth’s glowering presence.

When he was nearly done with the enormous bowl of soup, and feeling halfway human, she spoke again.

“Are you sick?

“No,” he said.

“But you’re not okay.”

Evan felt himself smile. “I’m flattered that you noticed.”

“I was just hungry,” she shrugged. “Usually, when I’m hungry, you arrive. So I decided to investigate.”

“Bollocks. You were worried about me and you wanted to see me.”

“Your head is the size of a hot air balloon. What’s wrong?”

Those last words were forceful enough to make Evan look up from the dregs of his soup. He frowned over at Ruth, guilt breaking through his foul mood as he realised that she was actually worried.

Did he really look that terrible?

“I had some… bad news,” he began.

She nodded, her hands twisting in her lap. It was a movement she made a lot, apparently absent-mindedly; slowly rolling her hands around each other, wringing them gently.

He had no idea how to explain what had happened to him today. He barely understood it himself. But he had the oddest feeling that if he told Ruth everything, she’d see it from a perspective he hadn’t considered and say something that would make it all better. So he told her. Everything.

“When I was 15, my dad died in active duty.”

Ruth didn’t make any exclamations of shock or horror. She didn’t apologise. She just nodded, which was good, because if anything interrupted the story he might never finish telling it.

“We got some money. My mum hadn’t worked for a while, but she’d been a librarian. So we moved to some town in the south, and she started working at a library again. After a year or so, I started to feel better. You know; happy. Like there wasn’t a gaping hole in the family. We were doing okay. But then she got cancer.”

He heard Ruth swallow. He watched her bite her lip.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “You haven’t