Ruth, then at Hannah, and said roughly, “Sorry about that, girls. One too many.” And then he left.
The sisters stared after him in shock.
“Did he—did he just apologise to us?” Ruth asked, her voice dreamlike.
“He did,” Hannah said slowly. “Holy shit. What the fuck?”
“I don’t even know. Jesus, that was weird. Wow.” And then, after a moment of dazed contemplation: “Poor Laura.”
Hannah snorted. “Poor Laura?! Laura, who tells everyone who’ll listen what a man-eating slut you are? Laura, who campaigned to have me banned from the town centre as an unsuitable person?”
“You know, I’m sure that was just a rumour,” Ruth soothed.
“Was it fuck. She’s bonkers.”
Right. She was also with Daniel. And Ruth had never convinced herself that he’d treat a wife better than he’d treated her. It wouldn't matter who he was with, how he was with them, what ‘kind’ of woman she was. Daniel was Daniel. Daniel hurt people.
She imagined being his wife, carrying his child, and felt slightly sick.
“At the end of the day,” Hannah said decisively, “she treated us like crap.”
“Yeah,” Ruth murmured. “And I bet it didn’t improve her life one bit.”
Hannah stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Then she opened her mouth, probably to say as much—but was interrupted by Evan’s arrival.
“You okay?” He loomed over the table, reaching out to run a knuckle over Ruth’s cheek. Another casual touch that felt anything but casual. There were so many. She’d never expected to love them or need them like this.
“I’m fine,” she said, and realised that it was true.
“Do you want to leave?”
She looked past him, her eyes circling the room, meeting the gaze of anyone still staring. And, one by one, they all looked away.
“No,” she said finally. “I think I’m having fun.”
A smile spread over Evan’s face, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Good.”
As the evening went on, that word turned out to be fitting. Good.
33
Ruth watched the sun rise through the gap in Evan’s curtains.
She’d woken up at first light, her head resting on his chest, her heart full. Mornings like this had become a habit over the last weeks.
Well, except for the part where she watched the dawn. What a God-awful hour to wake up at.
But sleep had been difficult last night, even after Evan loved her to the point of physical exhaustion. Her mind hadn’t been able to shut off. She was somewhere between excited and nervous, and that had always interfered with her ability to sleep.
Ruth didn’t want to check the time, didn’t want to move at all in case she disturbed the gentle rise and fall of Evan’s chest. But the sun was up now, so it would soon be time for the Easter service. Which she’d promised Mum she would attend—and which she’d invited Evan to, along with Sunday dinner afterward.
She’d never introduced a man to her mother before. Actually, she’d never really had the chance. Never really had the choice. Now she did, and she’d chosen, and if it all went horribly wrong somehow, she’d only have herself to blame.
How, exactly, would it go horribly wrong? She had no idea. Her mother was the most laid-back person on earth. Hannah, the real test, already knew and reluctantly liked Evan. Evan liked Hannah, and he could probably charm Mum more thoroughly in a day than Ruth had managed in a lifetime. Logically, absolutely nothing could go wrong.
But she worried anyway, because all three of those people were more important to her than anything in the world and bringing them together seemed like a risk. If there were such a thing as heart insurance, putting her mother, sister and boyfriend in the same room would double her premium.
Beneath the nerves, though, she felt an unexpected sort of joy. Evan was hers. He was proudly, publicly hers, and she was his, and everything was simpler than she’d ever dreamed it could be. Ruth trailed a finger over the warm, soft skin of his shoulder, tracing out the same three words again and again.
I love you.
He woke up slowly. He always did. First his breathing changed, went from deep and unconscious to something less steady. Then his heart would speed up slightly beneath her ear. And his hands, which would invariably be resting on some part of her—her waist, her hips, her shoulders—would tighten.
This morning, he grasped her thigh gently with one hand, her forearm with the other. Then he slid both hands over her skin, and they met at her waist. He said, his voice