Page 8 of Freeing Ruby

I return to my studio, and as I eat my banana, I listen for sounds coming from the other room. I wonder if Miguel’s bored. I wonder what he’s reading. Fiction? Nonfiction? Either way, a guy who likes to read is, well, sexy.

After a couple of hours, I get up to use the bathroom, taking the opportunity to peek down the hall to see what he’s up to now. I spot him sitting at my table with a laptop open in front of him.

So, what do I know about my new security guard? Not much, really. He’s Hispanic, and he reads. He’s also really nice to look at. He’s definitely got the tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat. Physically, he’s very fit. Those are lean muscles underneath his tight T-shirt. But what I like best about him is that he seems like a genuinely nice, compassionate person.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been around someone, besides Edward, who didn’t make me feel defensive or, even worse, like I was a nutjob.

* * *

At five-thirty, I stop work for the day and head for the kitchen. The banana didn’t last me long, and I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Miguel is standing outside on my balcony, checking out the view.

“I think I’ll make a pizza for dinner,” I say. “Do you want some?” It would be rude of me not to offer.

He steps back inside the apartment. “Yeah, that’d be great. Can I help?”

My pulse kicks up a notch. “Thanks, but no. I’ve got it.” I turn on the kitchen faucet to wash my hands.

Pizza is one of my comfort foods, but it’s too expensive to order in, so I’ve gotten pretty good at making my own. “Is Margherita okay?”

“Sure,” he says. “I never met a pizza I didn’t like.”

I turn on the oven to preheat before I get out a big glass mixing bowl, some flour, yeast, and warm water to make the dough. I’m finding it impossible not to feel self-conscious when Miguel joins me in the kitchen. He leans against the counter with his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he watches me work.

After mixing the dough, I cover the bowl and set it on top of the warm oven. I set a timer. “Now we wait for the dough to rise.”

“I’m impressed,” he says. “You make your own dough from scratch.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention, right? I’m sure you’ve seen the prices of pizzas in Chicago these days. I can’t afford to order in, so I make my own. But before you get too impressed, I will confess that I use pizza sauce from a jar.”

“That’s the best kind.” The corners of his dark eyes crinkle as he grins at me. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

As he watches me oil the pizza pan, I try not to let it bother me that he’s standing so close. It’s a bit unnerving.

“You must like plants,” he observes as he nods toward the balcony.

I smile. “I do. They make a nice privacy screen. And I like to think I inherited a green thumb.”

“Do you ever sit outside on your balcony?” he asks.

“No, never. I only go out there long enough to water my plants.”

“Do you miss being outside? Miss the fresh air and sunshine?”

I shake my head. “Sure, but it’s not safe.”

He looks pensive. “Ruby, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

I swallow hard. I’ve been dreading this. “I figured you would.”

He smiles apologetically. “I don’t mean to pry, but I need to know some things, to better understand the situation. Edward told me you haven’t left your apartment in a long time. Is that right?”

I nod. “Not in the two years I’ve been living here.”

“How do you manage everything without ever leaving your apartment?”

“It’s not hard. Everything can be delivered these days—groceries, pet food, art supplies, packaging and mailing supplies.”

“How do you mail your paintings?”

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