Page 108 of Spark

“I haven’t been much of a Doberman lately,” I admit. I look at my big brother, nonverbally seeking his direction. My whole life, I’ve come to Kai, more than anyone else, to get all the most important life advice. Certainly not Mr. Mercurial-and-Emotionally-Stunted Adrian Savage, though I’ve always loved him dearly. On the contrary, it’s Savage who’s always come to mefor support and advice, not the other way around. So, this current state of affairs is pretty fucking bizarre and backwards.

“You need more time,” Kai declares confidently. “Close the deal, KC. Get the girl.”

Savage nods enthusiastically. “The plan is working, man.Stay the course for one more week, and you’ll have a future wife at the end of it. I guarantee it.”

Wife.He’s said the magic word. The one that flips a switch inside me and cuts off all uncertainty and equivocation.

I want to make Ruby my wife.

That much I know.

And now, suddenly, like a switch getting flipped inside me, mostly thanks to Kai’s confidence about the matter, I’m now bound and determined to forge ahead and get what I want, through any means necessary.

31

RUBY

“I’m so excited you’re doing this,” Laila gushes into my earbuds.

I’m on the phone with her, while I frantically move around Kendrick’s kitchen, trying to follow Martha Stewart’s insane recipe for chicken fettuccine with pesto cream sauce. To put it mildly, I’m way, way out of my depth here.

I thought the recipe looked simple when I first read it, even for a woefully inept chef like me. That’s what the top reviewer said, after all: “Simple and good.” So, I figured the recipe would be right up my alley. But no. Now that I’m in the thick of it, it’s clear Martha Stewart is a maniac. The woman wants me totoastthe pine nuts for the pesto cream sauce before mixing up the ingredients?What?At this point, this supposedly “simple” recipe feels like I’m trying to perform Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier Sonata” at my fourth-grade piano recital.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” I say as I spread my measured pine nuts onto a sheet pan. “It remains to be seen if this will even be remotely edible.”

“The meal itself isn’t the point of this grand gesture,” Lailasays. “The point is that you tried. That you wanted to cook him something wonderful and homemade, because you love him. Also, that you specifically picked something you knew he’d love to eat, and you went shopping for all the ingredients yourself. That’s a lot of time and effort, Ruby. That’s the point.” Laila makes an excited squeal. “He’s going to be so surprised—and so touched.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure if this romantic grand gesture will have quite the effect I’m going for if the chicken is rubbery, the pasta is over- or under-cooked, and the basil cream sauce tastes funny because I screwed up toasting the freaking pine nuts.”

Laila snorts with laughter. “Honey, he’ll love it, no matter what. I promise, he’s going to swoon and spill his guts to you after one bite. No. Even before then. When he sees the candlelit table and smells the food cooking.”

“If you’re right about that, then let’s hope his guts are filled with nothing but ‘I love you, Ruby,’ and not ‘Sorry, Ruby, I meant it when I said I can only offer you a fling.’ Or else, I’m fucked.”

Laila scoffs. “Oh, Ruby. Of course he loves you.”

“Tracy fell in love with him, too. Remember? And she was stupid enough to tell him so when they got back home and look what happened to her.”

“You’re not Tracy, Ruby. And more importantly, Tracy isn’tyou.Not even close.”

I open the oven to slide the sheet pan in. “He doesn’t even need to say he loves me, honestly. I’d be happy if he says he wants to continue the relationship, as it is, after I leave his place.” That’s the point of this grand gesture, after all: setting the stage for Kendrick to realize I’ve caught feelings for him, without me needing to say that out loud. Hopefully, this romantic, candlelit, homemade dinner, two nights before my scheduled departure from his place, will inspire him to at leastadmit he wants that—to continue our fling. Even better, if he says he’s fallen in love with me.

Unfortunately, I can’t say what I’m feeling first. Not when I promised Kendrick I wouldn’t turn into Tracy on him. So now, I’m determined to coerce him into saying whatever he might be feeling, without him realizing I’ve cleverly lured him, the horse, to water and, hopefully, dunked his head into the trough and forcefully made him drink.

I press a button for the oven timer and report to Laila, “Okay, the timer’s set for the pine nuts. Now what?”

“Set water to boil for the pasta.”

“It’s already going.”

“Perfect.”

“I guess it’s time to cook the chicken breasts, huh?”

“Did you pound them already?”

“Almost as hard as Kendrick pounds me.”

We both snicker.

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