Page 32 of Stuck With the Best Man

And she remembers my coffee order.

“In my defense,” Ruby murmurs, sounding oddly nervous, “my memory is a little too good. I blame it on the fact that I’ve been memorizing ballet combinations since I was five.”

“No, I remember,” I tell her, switching lanes if only to give myself something to do other than openly stare at her. “You ordered a matcha latte. With almond milk.”

“Oat milk.”

“Oh.”

“I’m kidding. It was almond milk. More protein in almonds.”

I sneak a glance at her. She’s not quite smiling, but her eyes are dancing with amusement. It’s the same look I saw her give to other wedding guests all weekend. I never thought I’d actually get to witness it being directed at myself.

The conversation dies after that. Apparently, that’s the best we can do after the dramatic explosion of truth that cleared up everything that happened eleven months ago. We’re reduced to brief discussions of protein and caffeine sources.

I drum my fingers on the dashboard, eyes on the road.

I should say something.Sheshould say something.

This is oddly reminiscent of the days following the time we spent together last year. Clearly, neither one of us is willing to stick our neck out and take the risk of breaking the ice.

“So,” I blurt. “You started dancing when you were five?”

“Yep.”

“Did you know you wanted to be a dancer even back then?”

Ruby pauses, as if trying to figure out why I’m suddenly asking these questions. Then, to my relief, she actually answers.

“Not really. My mom put Amy and me into a ballet class at a local school. Amy wasn’t really into it, so she quit after a few months.”

“And you were obsessed from the very first day?” I guess.

“Not really. I liked it plenty, but for a couple of years it was nothing more than a fun activity I did after school sometimes.”

“What changed?”

“My parents took me into Boston to seeSwan Lake.”

“Ah.”

“After that, my mom had to bribe me to take off my ballet slippers and tutus. I was always twirling and leaping around the house. I think my parents must have assumed it was a phase at first, but they agreed to let me graduate up to the more advanced class. And then the teacher recommended that I start attending a more formal ballet school in the city. I guess I was showing a lot of potential, or something like that.”

“That must have been really exciting.”

Please keep talking,I want to beg her.The sound of your voice is like music to my ears.

“My parents were amazing about it. I mean, they drove me an hour and a half into Boston twice a week so that I could go to the fancy school. They didn’t even care that there was a very real chance that I might get a little bit older and suddenly lose interest in it.”

“Except you didn’t lose interest.”

“Nope. And then when I was twelve, I started trainingen pointeand that sealed the deal. I can’t remember there ever being a moment after that when I didn’t want to be a dancer. I never considered anything else.”

I open my mouth to respond—to tell her that she’s incredible and inspiring and a man like me could never deserve a woman like her, so it’s probably a good thing that we messed it all up all those months ago—but then a musicaldingechoes from the dashboard.

Ruby cranes her neck to see. “What’s that?”

I frown at the little orange symbol. “Low tire pressure.”

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