Ignited (25 page)

“Tomorrow,” Ruth said, nodding.

“Wonderful! Ivan and I will stop by around ten o’clock, and ….” June glanced at her watch and swore under her breath. “I am late! Edith is going to kill me. Just be ready tomorrow, okay? Briar, are you coming?”

Briar gave an affirmative, stopping only to give Ruth a quick hug. “You and Henry will sort it out,” she murmured, her voice low. “I just know it.”

As Ruth saw them out and waved good-bye, she couldn’t stop the hope from taking root in her heart. More than anything, she wanted Briar to be right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Henry

Henry threw himself into his work. The morning and afternoon blended together between Mrs. Williams with her baby’s rash and tending to Ms. Stewart, who had tripped while gardening and sprained her wrist. There were a few summer colds, all of which his grandfather had shuffled onto Henry’s plate since he wasn’t feeling too well. Danny Egan had also come in for one of his monthly powers-related check-ups, but of course, Henry hadn’t been allowed to take
that
appointment.

Henry didn’t know Danny well. To say they ran in different circles was an understatement. Danny was a well-known troublemaker throughout town, always trying to make it with girls—and, if his reputation was anything to go by, often pursuing them very successfully. He was always covered in grease from his time spent at the auto body shop on the west side of the river. He hung around with Butch Murphy, as well, which made him an unsavory character in Henry’s eyes. 

Mrs. McClure felt very differently. Danny had been very polite every time he’d come in for his appointments, asking after her own health, jokingly inquiring why she’d never let him take her to get a soda. She found him to be quite charming.

She was usually a good judge of character, but in this instance, Henry wasn’t so sure.

None of it was as good of a distraction as he needed. He felt wrong in his own skin. On one hand, last night had been the best of his life. He was head over heels for Ruth, and he didn’t want to spend another day without waking up to her sweet face.

On the other, he was sure she was angry with him. Either for the way things had happened last night, or for the way he had handled it this morning, or both—it was difficult to tell, but he knew
something
was off between them. He wanted to fix it. Was giving her space, respecting her enough to tear himself away from the delightful temptation of her body … was that enough to fix it? What more could he do?

He was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t realize his grandfather was hovering by the open door to his office until Dr. Pinkerton cleared his throat pointedly. The fact that he still looked gray-faced and tired did not escape Henry’s notice.

“Sorry,” Henry said, scrambling to make it look like he’d been working hard on paperwork, not lost in thought.

“You didn’t come to dinner last night.”

Henry froze. The urge to apologize was automatic, but he fought it down. After a sigh, he said, “I had other things to take care of.”

Disappointment cut across his grandfather’s face, and despite everything, guilt hit Henry hard in the gut. When Dr. Pinkerton spoke, his voice was even. “Your mother and I missed you.”

That was the lie of the century. Henry said nothing, staring down at the paperwork as if it held all the secrets of the universe.

“I know you’re upset with me,” his grandfather began, the words coming slowly. “But I wish you had come. You know how much I want to spend time with both you and your mother.”

It was like Dr. Pinkerton was deliberately missing the point: This wasn’t just anger, this was
fear
. This was
suspicion
. Henry didn’t know what his grandfather had gotten into, but it was making the man who had never lied to him keep secrets. Henry was afraid for him.

He thought of Ruth’s face as he’d held her that morning, sleepy and peaceful, and resolve hit him. This was not the time to be proud. If he wanted to keep her safe, he needed to put her first.

“Can I ask a favor of your, Granddad?”

Dr. Pinkerton frowned in confusion. “Of course. What do you need?”

The trust implicit there—in not asking what the favor was for before agreeing to it—made Henry’s heart clench. Maybe he had been too hard on the old man recently. He had been sick and working very hard.

“I need some place to stay for a few days.” He didn’t have another lie prepared and blurted, “I’m … having my kitchen redone.”

It was a weak lie, but his grandfather didn’t even seem to notice. “That’s no problem. I’ll make up the couch in my apartment, and it’s yours for as long as you need it.”

He knew he should go over that night, but he was weak. He wanted one more evening under the same roof as Ruth, even if they didn’t share a bed.

“It’s not until tomorrow. And don’t make up the couch, I’ll do it.”

“I’m old, not useless.” The sentence was punctuated with a wet cough. “It’ll be fine.”

Henry nodded. The love was so clearly there in the hopeful gaze his grandfather gave him. He wanted to make amends as much as Henry did. He tried to smile, but he doubted it reached his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be over in a few days, when I hear back from the … handyman.”

“Okay.”

Dr. Pinkerton lingered in the doorway, unmoving. His face was drawn and conflicted. There was something he wanted to say that he couldn’t. Henry leaned forward in anticipation. Maybe they would
really
clear the air between them and fix this, maybe his granddad would finally tell him the truth ….

The old man’s face cleared. “I saw your face when I walked in here. You were a million miles away. Thinking about a new sweetheart, maybe?”

Henry gaped at his grandfather. Was this a hint? Had word gotten out already? Was Ruth’s reputation already in tatters? It was only when he looked up and saw that Dr. Pinkerton was almost laughing that Henry saw his own mistake. His grandfather had been
teasing
him. If he hadn’t known before, he was sure to have guessed something now.

“I
see
,” Dr. Pinkerton murmured, sounding sly. “And are you going to tell me about her?”

Even though he begged them not to, Henry could feel his cheeks going red.
You’re a grown man
, he admonished himself. It did little good.

He shrugged, staring down at the top of his desk and tracing the pattern of the wood with one finger. He felt like a kid. He was acting like one. What was it about his grandfather that made him revert to this state, like he had never grown out of the awkward child Dr. Pinkerton had raised?

“It’s … complicated,” said Henry.

“I see.”

The non-explanation did little to assuage his grandfather’s curiosity, he could tell, but the older man seemed willing to let it go. He settled himself against the wall, crossing his arms and giving Henry a steady look. “Well, tell me this, at least. Are you serious about her?”

It was the big question. Days ago, Henry had told himself he had to give Ruth up. Now, he couldn’t imagine making himself a martyr that way, even if it
was
for her own good. It was unfathomable. It was why he was putting himself through this temporary move. He
had
to show her that he was willing to put her needs first.

Henry met his grandfather’s eyes and held his gaze. “I am extremely serious about her.”

Dr. Pinkerton smiled, molasses slow. It stretched across his whole face and lit up his eyes. “Well, I’ll be. My Henry is growing up.”

Henry managed not to remind his grandfather that he’d started “growing up” years earlier—he could get thirty degrees and Dr. Pinkerton would always see him as a little boy. It was just the way things were.

“If you feel this way, you should consider asking your mother for the Porter family ring.” 

Henry felt his eyes go wide at the suggestion, but his grandfather failed to notice. 

“I think she still has it,” he continued, oblivious. “It’s been passed down on your late father’s side of the family for generations. Mothers to daughters, sons to their betrothed.”

Henry knew his mother had it. He could remember growing up and seeing it on a chain around her neck. It had always been a size too small for her fingers, and she’d sworn she’d never risk damaging it by having it resized. More than anything, he wanted to slide that ring onto Ruth’s finger and claim her as his, forever.

He was certain his mother would never let go of it. Not for him, the boy who had killed her beloved husband.

“I don’t think she’d be willing to part with it,” Henry said, going for diplomacy. “You know how she feels about things like that. Things my father owned.”

Dr. Pinkerton hummed out his reply. “You have just as much a right to it as she does. Bring it up with her. She might surprise you.” His grandfather looked lost in thought for a minute, but he quickly recovered, shooting Henry a smile and shooing him out of his seat.

“It’s too nice a day to be cooped up in here. Why don’t you leave a little early? It’s nearly five o’clock, anyway. Go see that sweetheart of yours before you start packing for tomorrow.”

Henry perked up at the thought. He’d missed Ruth all day and had worried so constantly about their awkward moment at breakfast—the sooner he spoke to her, the better he would feel. His grandfather started to laugh when he saw the noticeable change in Henry’s posture.

“You look like a prairie dog. Go on, get out of here.”

“Thanks, Granddad.” Henry stood up from his desk, whipping off his long white coat and gathering up his briefcase.

It felt good to patch things up with his grandfather, even if it was all a bit false. He knew the peace only remained so long as he didn’t push the issue about the mysterious tests his grandfather was conducting behind his back. This return to form between them felt delicate and fragile, and he didn’t want to ruin it any more than Dr. Pinkerton seemed to. They both steadfastly ignored the fact that the issues between them were still very real.

It was the only way they could function right now. It wasn’t ideal, but Henry would take it.

He bolted out the front door and had to hold himself back from sprinting the whole way home.

Henry unlocked his front door and stepped inside to find that the lights were dim. Ruth was not in the living room off to the right, which was nearly pitch black without any of the lamps lit and all the curtains shut tight. There was something glowing in the kitchen straight ahead, and he took a few confused steps forward.

“Ruth?” he said, loosening his tie as he walked.

“In here,” she called back. Her voice seemed strange in a way that Henry struggled to describe. It seemed lower than usual, raspier. She didn’t sound like herself.

“What’s going …?” He stepped into the kitchen and choked on the rest of his sentence.

Ruth was sitting on one of the chairs closest to him, but it was turned so that she was facing him, her back to the table. The dress she was wearing was one Henry had never seen; it was dusty pink and shorter than anything he’d ever seen on her before. The hem hit just above her knee, and she deliberately crossed one leg over the other so that it rode up a few inches on her thigh. He couldn’t see a slip, and she wasn’t wearing any stockings.

Her hair had been tamed to something sleek and shiny, and it reflected the glow of the candles sitting in the center of the table. She looked golden in the dim, flickering flames.

This was not the Ruth he had expected to be waiting for him. She smiled, the movement slow, deliberate. “How was your day?”

Henry was gaping like a fish. He knew he was. His mouth was falling open every time he tried to close it. Ruth was a picture. He had never seen her like this, with her back so straight and her chin so high. She looked—
delectable
. Henry felt his trousers getting uncomfortably tight just at the sight of her.

“What,” he said, trying to piece together a sentence. His tongue felt thick and dumb in his mouth. “I mean.”

Ruth tilted her head, striking a sort of pose. It didn’t exactly fit her; she was obviously putting on a show, rather than being herself. But still—it was a very attractive show. Henry would’ve had to be blind not to enjoy it.

He had thought she would want distance—but then what was going on? None of this was what he had expected when he’d walked through the door.

She was all smooth skin and glowing features. He took a shuddery breath. “How did you—this is
amazing.
You look—”

Ruth got to her feet, swaying her hips as she sashayed toward him. It took him out of the moment … it was so
unlike
her. This girl looked like Ruth and sounded like Ruth, but the way she moved—it was as if she were someone else entirely. She pressed herself to the front of his body, and his body decided it mostly didn’t care.

“I missed you,” she said, pushing up on tiptoe so she could press her lips against the skin exposed under his loosened tie and collar. “I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon.”

Her breath was hot against his throat, and he stifled a groan. Why was she doing this? She didn’t need to do anything special—he found her perfect just as she was. His body was going haywire. He wanted to lean down and capture her mouth with his, unwrap her from this dress, but his brain couldn’t just let it happen.

“What are you …?” His voice came out raspy, and he let out a strangled noise as she slid his tie apart and undid another button of his shirt so she could mouth at his collar bone. “Ruth, stop. Stop.”

She pulled back. The hurt in her eyes hit him in the chest, and he swept his arms around her. “I’m not—this is all wonderful. I mean—my
God
you could tempt a man. But I’m trying, Ruth, I’m trying really hard to … respect your feelings about sex. And I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”

Ruth scoffed and ducked out of his embrace. Her mouth was set in a grim, determined line. “Respect my feelings? How do you even know what my feelings
are
, since you haven’t asked me?”