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I climbed in my SUV and handed my partner, Sam Whitlock, one of the Red Bulls. “Was that Ruby Rhodes?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn. She looks goooood,” he drew out the adjective.
Sam had a reputation, one that, unfortunately, he lived up to. He loved women, and they loved him back. He went through relationships faster than I went through a stick of deodorant. The problem was that this was a small town, and he’d already dated every eligible female and some not-so-eligible females.
I could see the look of fresh meat in his eyes. She was chum, and he was a shark. As much as I wanted to tell him to back the fuck off and not even think about it, I knew if I did, it would only encourage him to pursue her more, if only to give me a hard time about it.
“She’s a kid.” I wasn’t sure if I was pointing that out for his benefit, or my own.
“Not anymore,” he commented as I pulled away and headed out toward the lake.
Today started off with my phone falling in the toilet, and it wasn’t getting any better. I’d just lusted over one of my best friend’s little sisters, who was barely legal. I’d be thirty-six in a few months, which meant she was twenty-six. Okay, so she’s not barely legal, but still.
I had no business having the thoughts that I had. She was Remi’s little sister, and she was off-limits. No matter how good she looked in those jeans.
3
RUBY
“That was about as much fun as drinking water from a fire hose.” ~ Miss Dottie
As I drove away from the gas station, I glanced in the rearview mirror and watched as Kane Kingston climbed into an SUV that had the Wishing Well Police Department logo on the side of it. I still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
When I turned around and saw it was Kane behind me, I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. Or a nightmare. It wasn’t bad enough that the one person I did not want to run into in town was the first person I’d seen. Well, besides Mrs. Ferguson or Velma. So, I guess he was the second person I’d seen, but still.
I tried to shake off the embarrassment I felt from not only the financial faux pas he’d witnessed but also the state he’d just seen me in. If you googled Hot Mess, I wouldn’t be surprised if my photo was one of the first ten results.
Life must really be having fun kicking me while I was down because, unlike me, Kane had aged like a fine wine and looked even more delicious than I’d remembered. He’d always had an athletic frame, but he had filled out and was a man now. He’d lost all the baby fat on his face, and his jaw was even more chiseled and covered with sexy stubble.
Why did he have to be so sexy in his uniform?
Why did he have to look even better than I remembered him?
Why couldn’t he have a dad bod or be balding?
Speaking of dad bod, he had a daughter. I had no clue if he was still with the mother of his child, but I would assume he was. Any woman would be an idiot not to be with him.
I sighed as I made the turn to the trailer park. Growing up, the grounds had been rundown, but this place looked like it had been refurbished. The dusty, dirt road was paved now. A brand new Tumbleweed Trailer Park sign sat proudly in front of the offices. The weeds and gravel that lined the entrance had been replaced with grass and shrubbery. The main office had flower boxes with tulips and hydrangeas in them. The playground had been completely renovated. When I lived here, the swing set only had three broken and one functioning swing, and there were three bars missing from the monkey bars. In its place now stood a large wooden structure complete with a fort on one side, a climbing wall, and four functioning swings.
This place looked cheery and vibrant. It was closer to Taylor Swift’s music video for “You Need to Calm Down” than Sunnyside in The Trailer Park Boys.
Unfortunately, the upgrades hadn’t made it to my mom’s trailer. My heart sank as I pulled up in front of it. The screen door still had a hole in the bottom. The once bright blue siding was faded by the sun and now looked closer to a dingy gray. And the bottom step that led to the front door was hanging off the hinges. I grabbed my bag from the trunk and walked up the two metal steps that remained. They squeaked in protest beneath my feet. I sighed as I opened the screen door, then turned the knob to the front door. Out of muscle memory, I leaned my shoulder into it and pushed. It stuck. I’d forgotten that until that moment.
As soon as it opened, I was assaulted with the stench of stale cigarettes. I glanced around and saw not one, not two, but three ashtrays full of buds: one on the TV tray next to the recliner, one on the dining table, and one on the floor beside the couch.
“Mama!?” I called out, wondering when she’d taken up smoking.
When I didn’t get an answer, I figured she was still working her afternoon shift at the diner.
On autopilot, I dropped my bags on the floor, walked over to the kitchen sink, opened the cabinet below it, and grabbed a pair of gloves and a trash bag. Just like pushing the front door open was muscle memory, so was cleaning.
No one had ever told me to do the dishes, vacuum, or straighten up. It’s not like my mom was really the type to have a chore calendar or anything like that. But very early on, I realized that if I wanted to live in anything but filth, it was up to me to clean.
My plan had been to crash when I got to my mom’s after being awake for the past two days. But seeing Kane had given me an energy boost. I was buzzing with energy and knew if I laid down, I’d just stare up at the ceiling thinking about Kane.
After opening the window above the stove to let in some fresh air, I got down to work. I filled two large plastic bags with leftover pizza boxes, beer bottles, tall cans, Chinese food containers, and empty pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Once that was cleared, I started on the dishes that were piled up in the small sink. They were mostly coffee mugs and bowls with dried milk and cereal in them. My mom had never been much of a cook.
