This time, he didn’t stop her. But he did say, steady as always, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Was she grateful or terrified?
19
The next day was painfully boring. Evan ploughed through his workload with the dull determination of a farm animal, only pausing to thank God that Daniel Burne was mysteriously absent.
As soon as the clock struck five, he was gone. Evan didn’t drive to work, because he never used a car when his legs would do—but today, he wished he had. It would be so much faster to drive home.
When he finally reached his little block of flats, he was sweaty from work, dog-tired, and all he wanted to do was see Ruth.
He should’ve gone to his own door, let himself in, and calmed down. Showered.
Instead, he went straight to 1A and knocked. Twice slow, three times fast. He couldn’t remember when he’d developed his own weird knock especially for Ruth. He just knew that she felt better about answering when she knew exactly who was there.
As evidenced by the speed with which her front door opened.
He smiled automatically—but then he faltered. Because the girl standing in the doorway wasn’t Ruth.
She had Ruth’s dark skin and diminutive height, but her curves were clad in denim jeans and a perfectly respectable, form-fitting blouse. She had Ruth’s dense, crinkled hair, but it was held back with cute golden barrettes.
Ruth would rather die than use barrettes.
He looked down at the stranger with Ruth’s face and scowled when he noticed her front teeth. Even they were the same; too big for her mouth, slightly too prominent.
His mind thought, almost feverishly, that no-one else should look like Ruth.
“Who are you?” he demanded, as if it wasn’t obvious.
The girl looked him up and down, slowly. Her dark eyes lingered critically over his sweaty brow and worn-out clothes, the tattoos on his arms. Then she met his gaze and said, “I’m Hannah Kabbah. And you’re Evan Miller. Elm block, 1B. Blacksmith at Burne & Co. Making my little sister act weird as fuck. We need to talk.”
When she spoke, her resemblance to Ruth disappeared. Her voice, the subtle expression in her every movement, the sharp focus in her eyes—it was all wrong. She didn’t smell like Ruth either; no chocolate and coconut here. She turned on that dead-eyed look like Ruth, but she wasn’t quite as good at it. Beneath her glower he could see concern, apprehension, things he hadn’t seen in Ruth until he’d gotten to know her.
Evan tried his best to sound patient and friendly. It was difficult, since he’d been waiting all day to set eyes on one woman, and this near-imitation felt like some kind of cosmic joke. “I’m happy to talk to you. But I came to see your sister.”
“I’m sure you did,” said Hannah Kabbah. “But she’s unavailable at present.”
Worry spiked. “Is she okay? Did she hurt herself?” Truthfully, it was only a matter of time before an enormous stack of comics collapsed on top of her.
Hannah’s flinty gaze softened slightly. “She’s—”
Then Ruth’s voice interrupted, grumpy as fuck and almost angelic to Evan’s ears. “Hannah! Is it the plumber?”
Hannah’s jaw set. He knew why. If she said no, Ruth would want to know who it was. If she said yes, Ruth would expect said plumber to appear.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged. It was such a Ruth sort of gesture that he found himself feeling fond of a woman he didn’t know.
“I can take a look,” he said. “If you let me in.”
“What do you know about plumbing?”
“A fair bit.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, because it wasn’t a very specific answer.
Before Hannah could respond, Ruth appeared. As soon as she saw him, her face lit up.
She hid it, of course, almost instantly—but not fast enough. He saw the beginnings of a smile, saw her eyes dance, for the split-second before she locked her emotions away.
“Evan,” she said, her voice carefully neutral.
Even though he’d planned to play it cool, even though Hannah’s eyes were boring into him like twin drills, he grinned. “What the hell are you wearing?”
She smiled back reluctantly, shrugging beneath the enormous, green thing she was swathed in. “A towel. More effectively than you do, I might add.”
Between them, Hannah made a strangled sort of choking noise.
Ruth’s smile faded. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice suddenly formal, “but whatever you need—”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Whatever you need,” she repeated firmly, “will have to wait a while. I’m