Page 31 of Stuck With the Best Man

A laugh bursts out of me. “I’d let you, honestly.”

We both know that, to a ballerina, a broken ankle is no laughing matter, but the tiny joke seems to lighten something between us.

Suddenly, I remember that I’m still holding on to her and let go as if I’ve touched a hot stove. I take a step back. The weight of the awkward smile on my face is uncomfortable.

Ruby clears her throat quietly and looks down at her shoes. “I’m, uh, going to grab something to eat. Would you like anything?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just coffee, I think.” I step away toward the tiny café, and Ruby walks into the little convenience store area without another word.

What just happened?

Did that stumbling collision just knock something out of balance? Or did it knock something back into balance?

Was she also thinking about that kiss we shared?

The teenage girl behind the counter at the café raises her eyebrows at me. I realize I’ve been standing there, stupidly silent and unmoving, for several long seconds.

“Medium coffee. Cream and sugar. Please.”

“That’ll be three forty-one,” she replies in a bored voice.

Three bucks for bad highway coffee? I might have so-calledendlessflows of money, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to the cost of things. I’m not out of touch. I wish Ruby knew that.

I wish I could stop caring so desperately about what Ruby thinks of me.

I swipe my card, accept my coffee, and then head back out to the car to wait for Ruby. She emerges from the building a few minutes later, her long hair swishing from side to side as she floats gracefully across the parking lot. My lips curve into a smile of their own accord as I watch her approach, and it’s an effort to return my expression to neutral when she opens the door and slides smoothly onto the seat.

She’s holding a green juice and one of those protein bars that usually tastes more like sawdust than anything else. I wrinkle my nose.

“What?” she snaps.

“Nothing.”

“You’re judging my snack choice.”

“I would not call that a snack.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Torture.”

To my utter surprise, Ruby snorts. “I know. But I need to make sure I’m getting enough protein.”

I nod in understanding. It’s not just about vanity or obsession with flawless macronutrient balance. The fact of the matter is that every single inch of Ruby’s muscle mass is carefully crafted to help her body do something that it technically shouldn’t be able to do. Those muscles need to be fed properly or they’ll fail her. Meaning, if she tries to dance on tired or weakened muscles, she could risk a career-ending injury. Just one single misstep could destroy everything.

So, I don’t say anything else about the sawdust snack.

“How is your coffee?” Ruby asks as I merge back onto the highway.

I’m so shocked by the simple, polite question that I almost find myself laughing.

“Disgusting,” I answer honestly.

“You didn’t drown it in cream and sugar?”

“I tried. How do you know I…?” The rest of my sentence dies on my tongue.

We went to a café that day. After we left the Strand.

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