Page 103 of Show Me

The phone sat on the nightstand most of the night, screen dark. I checked it once. Maybe twice. Didn’t open her message. Didn’t delete it either.

I drag a hand down the back of my neck and walk to the coffee pot. Grounds. Water. Flip the switch—something to do with my hands. The machine hums to life as I lean against the counter, staring at nothing in particular while it brews.

The worksite when our fingers touched as she passed me the paperwork to sign. The tightness in her shoulders as she walked away.

I push off the counter before the thought finishes and grab a mug. Coffee’s hot. Bitter. Strong. I drink it anyway.

The front door opens a few minutes later.

Dad walks in, ledger tucked under his arm, coat half-zipped. He pauses when he sees me. “Early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He nods once like that’s enough explanation and moves past me, already settling into his usual spot. The routine starts up around us–papers, pens, the scrape of a chair. I finish the coffee, rinse the mug, pour another.

When I step out of the back room after sending the guys out to different sites for the day, I stop in the middle of the office. It’s vacant. I expected Dad’s desk to be unoccupied as he took off with Travis to check on a completed project. But Ruby’s chair is also tucked in. Computer off. Desk empty.

I frown as I check the clock. 9:21. She’s usually here before that. I take another drink. Set the mug down. Pick it up again. I rotate my shoulders and head, neck cracking with the movement as I rub my chest.

9:30. The door opens. I look up. Not her. Brent. Of course.

He leans on the counter like he’s got every right to be there. “Morning.”

I don’t bother with the greeting. “What do you need?”

“Your dad said you were too busy to work on my repairs, but I spoke to Lindsey at the gym, and she said you were fitting her in.”

“We’re busy.” My hands ball into fists. The man has a lot of balls showing up here. “If you need it done soon, you’ll have to go with someone else.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” His gaze drifts past me again, landing exactly where I knew it would. Her desk. “Not in yet?”

I don’t answer right away as I inhale and exhale. “She’ll be here.”

He smiles as that tells him something. “Good. She’s… efficient.” The word sits wrong. Too familiar.

“You done?”

He pushes off the counter. “Just making sure I’m on the schedule.”

He lingers. Waiting. For her. For something. Then he leaves. The door shuts behind him. About fucking time. I check the clock again. 9:37. Still empty.

I rub the back of my neck, pacing once toward the window, then back again. No car pulling in. No movement. I grab the mug. It’s empty again. Refill it.

The bell above the door jingles as Dad strides inside, glances at Ruby’s desk, says nothing, and returns to his seat.

Son of a bitch. What if she’s quitting because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants?

I rake my hand through my hair. She quit the gym because Greg got into her space. I fucked her when she thought she could trust me. I took advantage of her. For my own selfish needs. Fucking prick that I am.

9:44. Her pen sits on the desk where she left it yesterday. A sticky note tucked under the keyboard.

I tap it once. Let my hand fall away. Grab another mug. Coffee again. Dad doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. It’s clear that if she quits, he’s holding it above my head, for the rest of my life. And I deserve nothing less.

10:07. The door opens.

She steps inside, jacket zipped high, shoulders tight, movements quick and contained like she’s trying not to draw attention. Relief hits hard. Sharp. Gone just as fast.

“You’re late.”