Love, All (Camp Firefly Falls Book 19) Page 5

  She went up on her toes, her hand to his face, and when she leaned forward, she kissed him on the mouth. “Congratulations to your sister and her wife. I’m sure they’ll be really happy together.”

  And then she got in her orange car and was gone, leaving a trail of white exhaust in the dark while he stood there in his half-falling-off tux.

  What a woman.

  Chapter Six

  It was a good thing the store was quiet today, because if it were busy, Ruby would probably cry. She was dragging more than usual. Not just because of another late night pulling cater-waiter duty either. And unfortunately not from getting busy in the back of her car with Nate. That particular indulgence had been two weeks ago, and she was still waking up from dreams of fucking that man. Which might partially explain the melancholy that was making her feel so tired and rundown, because dammit. Dammit, Nate Carter.

  If she were going to date, she’d want it to be someone like him, but he was a fantasy and nothing more. He was gone, maybe off to another wedding where his mom would try to set him up with some other appropriate women. Or maybe just sleeping in at his cushy apartment. Maybe he was getting ready to meet up with his sister and her new wife for a welcome back brunch or some other made-up occasion people came up with around weddings. What the hell happened to a night at the VFW hall? Or maybe he was out for a leisurely jog before taking a shower and then going to brunch. Probably the run first, given his body. Don’t get a body like that by lazing in bed until noon and then stuffing yourself full of quiche lorraine and belgian waffles.

  But it didn’t really fucking matter what Nate was doing, because she had this inventory to finish checking into the system before packing it back up and storing it under the eaves for months until it was time to break out the winter gear.

  It was funny in some ways, knowing what all the wealthy people would be wearing on the ski slopes that winter before they even did. It was that upstairs-downstairs thing, having the privilege of information. But hell, would she rather have the cash. She was really close to being able to afford that riding camp and was crossing mental fingers that it wouldn’t fill up before she could get together the rest of the cash. They were supposed to be saving a spot for Chloe based on the deposit she’d scraped together a few months earlier, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten fucked by someone being able to just hand over the cash as if it was nothing.

  Three thousand dollars. Three. Thousand. Dollars. That’s how much this frigging riding camp cost. And no scholarships. Even if there had been, there was no guarantee Chloe would get one.

  Ruby punched another seam with the gun that attached the price tag to the coat. Always in the seam, because goodness knows a pin-sized hole would “ruin” the coat and some jerkwad would use that as a way to weasel a discount out of them. And for what?

  The tears stung the backs of her eyes, and Ruby had to take a few deep breaths to clear the tightness in her throat. She wasn’t this bitter usually. It was just the stress of having to get this money together, the worry about what would happen if something went wrong before she could pay for it. Clementine was a really reliable ride, but she wasn’t infallible. And shit happened. For some people it would be inconvenient, but it wasn’t the end of the world. For her and Chloe, though?

  Nope, she wasn’t going to think that way. She had a job to do, and she’d do it well. Perfectly, if she could. Her eighth anniversary working here was coming up, and she was invaluable. She knew how everything ran. Hell, she could run the place single-handedly if push came to shove, except for the damn bikes and skis. But if she had a couple of techs like Brian and Mike? She could run this show. And she’d be a damn sight better at it than Tess, too.

  But Tess was a Landry, as in Landry’s Ski and Sports Shop. That shouldn’t matter, though, because she was just as good at her job as Tess, if not better, and the least they could do was pay her like it and give her a damn title. She’d ask before the summer was out. She would.

  A pounding on the storeroom door roused her from her daydreams about having that etched on her nametag: Ruby Hudson, Manager.

  “Yeah?”

  The door opened, and Tommy stuck his head through. Kid needed a haircut; he was starting to look as though he could host a family of birds on his head. “Can you string a racquet?”

  Ugh. Sometimes it was a plus knowing how to do everything in the shop—like when she’d make her pitch to Jim Landry in a couple of months—but sometimes it meant putting down duties to pick up something else.

  “Where’s Tess?”

  Tess was the one who’d told her to hole up in here and get the inventorying done in the first place. If she wanted Ruby on the floor to take care of stuff like this, then she should’ve said. No doubt she’d be the one who wanted Ruby to stay late to finish this up before she left, too. Tess wasn’t technically her boss, but she didn’t need to make trouble with the owner’s niece, so they usually worked out a split of duties between them and Ruby didn’t care much what hers were.

  Tommy wrinkled his nose. “She’s with Anders. She told me to get you.”

  Ugh, Anders was the worst. He had just enough money to make him act as though he owned the place. And he enjoyed “flirting” with the female staff, aka, low-level sexually harassing them. Tess could keep Anders.

  Okay, then. She’d get this racquet strung, and then she’d come back to finish up the inventory. And she wouldn’t be getting distracted anymore by thoughts of Nate. What was the point? She was never going to see him or his nice abs or his perfect blond hair or hear his ridiculously cute snort-giggle ever again, so she should get over it. Be practical. That’s what she did. There wasn’t any room in her life for frivolity, and fantasizing about some ex-frat bro was definitely frivolous.

  Ruby pushed herself up from the floor, dusted her hands off on the ass of her jeans, and straightened the half-apron around her waist. Time to get down to business.

  ***

  Stupid racquet.

  No, as much as he wanted to blame the racquet, it was totally his fault. He should’ve gotten it restrung before he came down to camp, but had he? No. He’d been busy with getting his team at work prepped for being mostly on their own for the summer and making sure all his shit was ready for Willa’s wedding, and he hadn’t made time for this. Or he could’ve brought a few other racquets, but this was his favorite and he rarely played with the others anymore. The cost of his stupidity was missing Ginger’s lunch of sloppy joes to get it fixed. And he fucking loved sloppy joes.

  Nate bounced the racquet against the side of his shoe. He’d convinced himself that, even though it was definitely time to get this baby restrung, he’d be fine for the summer. It wasn’t as though he was playing hardcore games. Most of his time was spent teaching basics, and demonstrating forehand and backhand grips didn’t take a toll on equipment.

  But Willa had done a better job than she’d owned up to instructing Heather Tully. They’d played yesterday, and Nate had been pleasantly surprised at the amount of running he’d had to do. Heather still had a long way to go, but she was pretty good. And he could make her better. Between him and Willa, they’d make Heather Tully a force to be reckoned with on the court yet. And Birk, the camp’s yoga instructor/couple’s counselor, had made some noise about wanting lessons, too.

  For now, Nate was standing on the well-tread carpet in Landry’s. Michael had said this place was the best, and Nate could see why he liked it. Like most preppy kids, Nate had spent his fair share of time on the ski slopes, and one of his favorite parts was actually right before the start of the season when they’d go to the family ski and sports store the next town over and get outfitted for the winter. Sure, there was something to be said for the big box stores that had any kind of glove you could ask for, but that was the rub, wasn’t it? You needed to go in already knowing what you were looking for because most of the employees were glorified stock boys and didn’t know jack about the equipment.

  Places like Landry’s, thou
gh? They were experts. They’d been doing this for years and were usually athletes in their own right who liked working in small, family-run shops because they were closer to the mountains. He felt a certain kinship with the gearheads in the back who put together and tuned up skis and boards and bikes, but they probably didn’t think about him at all, aside from noticing he had some nice gear. Maybe nicer than he actually needed, given how rarely he got out, especially compared to them. They lived for this stuff.

  He perused the plaques and framed photos that hung on the walls by the couple of cashiers the place had. It looked as though Landry’s sponsored a lot of local little league and pop warner teams and local road races and stuff. Sports had been a big part of his childhood, and until he’d gotten serious about tennis, he’d been an all-seasons athlete. He definitely hadn’t always been the best, but he’d prided himself on never missing a game, even when he was injured and couldn’t play. It was one of those things his parents had—successfully—hammered into him and Willa. You show up. Even if you’re not the star, even if you can’t play. You show up and you contribute.

  The memories of playing ball had probably put a goofy smile on his face, but it was wiped off pretty quickly by a voice. A teasingly familiar voice.

  “So I hear you need your racquet restrung. What have we—”

  Spinning around—because if his mind was playing tricks on him, he’d want know sooner rather than later—there she was.

  “Ruby? What are you doing here?”

  She looked different in her jeans and open flannel with the sleeves rolled up that she’d tugged on over a yellow Landry’s tee, but he recognized her. Recognized her voice, her shape, and his mind was flooded with all the delicious, delightful noises and movements of the night he’d come to think of as the Best Night Ever. Not because Will and Van got married—which was obviously awesome for lots of reasons—but because goddamn, Ruby had been great. Pretty and sharp and really great in bed…the bed of her station wagon.

  Those brown eyes he’d found so mesmerizing were now looking at him as though he was a deer that had jumped in front of her car in the middle of the night, like he was potentially dangerous. “I work here. What are you doing here?”

  He held up his racquet, the busted string evidence in the trial he was starting to feel like he was on. Was showing up at a ski and sports shop a crime? Ruby seemed to think so. “I’m an idiot. My racquet’s busted and I’m a tennis instructor, so…”

  Ruby still seemed damn suspicious as she looked from his face to his racquet to his face again. “You’re a tennis instructor?”

  “For the summer, anyway. I was at Camp Firefly Falls for part of the season last year, but like I said, not very bright, and I broke my leg waterskiing, and then my sister had to take my place and that’s how she and my bestie fell for each other and that’s the wedding you were working a couple of weeks ago. But yeah, part-time tennis instructor. When I’m not playing with robots. I’m an engineer the rest of the time.”

  It would be nice if he could go back in time and edit that word vomit for brevity. And sense-making. No such luck. Meanwhile, Ruby was still glaring at him from under her eyebrows. After what was probably a literal minute, she reached out, and while he was tempted to take her hand in his, he handed her the racquet she was no doubt actually beckoning for.

  She hefted the racquet in her hand before turning her back on him and heading up a set of stairs, tossing, “Well, are you coming or not?” over her shoulder.

  Chapter Seven

  So much for never seeing Nate Carter again.

  Ruby stomped up the stairs to where they kept the racquet stringer and tried to keep her head on straight. It still didn’t matter. If anything, it made things worse. Nate was here, but only for the summer. Three months was about as long as it would take to fall good and in love with him—unless he was secretly an asshole—and then he’d leave. Go back to his job, which apparently had something to do with robots. He’d leave and forget all about her, and she’d be here, still trying to make ends meet. Still working at Landry’s and moonlighting as a cater-waiter, and mucking out the stalls at the barn in her spare time, only she’d be doing it with a broken heart. No, thank you.

  They reached the second floor, and she marched them over to the wall where the packages of racquet strings were hung on a pegboard. If she had her shit together, she wouldn’t have to ask, but as things were, she turned around to face Nate. “What do you want on this? I’m guessing you’re a natural gut guy, though maybe polyester. Just don’t tell me you’re one of those Kevlar douchebros.”

  Nate looked at her, his head cocked like a confused puppy’s. “Is that how you usually talk to customers?”

  Oh, no, he didn’t. Too many of the people who came in here liked to act buddy-buddy with the staff until they stepped over some imaginary line, and then it was, “How dare you speak to me that way, I’m a paying customer,” or the dreaded, “I’d prefer to deal with someone else. Where’s your manager?” No way was Nate, the guy she’d screwed in the back of Clementine, going to pull that. He hadn’t thought he was better than her when he was in the throes of orgasm, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to start now.

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  His face crumpled into horror and remorse as she bit off the words. “Hey, Ruby, I didn’t mean it like that. I was joking. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t talk to other customers that way because we’re…I dunno, friends sounds wrong because we don’t know each other all that well. Except for the whole…”

  Nate fumbled, and she took the chance to hiss at him, “Shut up, you do not need to say anything else out loud. We’re adults, we both know what happened, but you don’t need to talk about it in my workplace.”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  “Great. Now can you tell me what kind of strings you want so we can get this show on the road?”

  Ugh, he was even cute when he looked bewildered. And no, she was absolutely not registering the cut of his forearms or the muscular curve of his calves. She wasn’t, at all. After a few beats, Nate shook off his bewilderment, though he still looked uncertain.

  “Do you have Diadem Solstice Pro in a 16L?”

  Well, he wasn’t uncertain about what kind of string he wanted, and he wasn’t going to treat her as though she didn’t know anything. She grabbed the turquoise box off the pegboard and waved it in his general direction, not daring to look him in the face again. “Sure do. What tension do you like?”

  “In my racquet?”

  That earned Nate a glare. It was easier to look at him when she was annoyed. Barely.

  “Yes, in your racquet. Where else would there be tension?”

  She marched over to the stringing machine and uncovered it, making sure everything was in working order. Only she, Tess, and Jim were supposed to touch it, but sometimes the kids would get it into their heads that they should learn how. Mostly they just goofed off and broke shit. Luckily, no damage had been done since the last time she used it.

  Nate hustled around to the other side of the stringer as she got it set up and looked at her with that goofy grin on his face. “Between us, obviously. I’m not sure why it’s grumpy tension, though. I thought we had a good time, and I’m happy to see you. I didn’t think I would ever again.”

  ***

  The look on Ruby’s face said she hadn’t anticipated seeing him again either, and she wasn’t happy about him being here. But it wasn’t as though he’d hunted her down. Ruby wasn’t a common name, and he probably could’ve asked around, especially since Ginger knew everyone who set foot in her kitchen, but he hadn’t.

  Along with irritation, though, there was a note of…okay, he wished Willa were here to help decipher Ruby’s tone, but his sister was in a cave for the summer so he couldn’t even get a hold of her regularly. Lacking her input, was it too narcissistic to say longing? Probably. But there was definitely something else mixed up with the annoyance.

  Ruby’s lips pursed, and she looked at th
e machine. “Tell me what you want this strung at, or I’m going to make it look like a hammock.”

  Gah. That would be painful to watch. And Ruby didn’t seem like the kind of woman who fucked around. This was not an idle threat. “Fifty-eight.”

  She set to her work, not looking at him, not talking to him, and definitely not flirting with him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept with a woman who didn’t want anything to do with him afterward, but truthfully that didn’t happen often. And for whatever reason, it bugged him that it might happen with Ruby. She’d said she thought he was a good egg. She’d seemed to enjoy the sex. Why was she being so standoffish now?

  Engineers tended to be logical creatures, and he couldn’t figure this puzzle out. And dollars to donuts—god, he could use a donut, his stomach was rumbling with the lack of lunch—if he facetimed Van, she’d shrug and then ask when their next game of Fire and Featherstone could be. Maybe Wednesday?

  But the real issue here was that he wanted Ruby to like him and she didn’t. Not that everyone had to, and she sure as hell didn’t owe him anything, but his brain cried out for logic. If she’d given him her phone number and he hadn’t called, he could understand it. If the sex had been lousy, he’d get it. If he’d been some kind of buffoon and bragged to the whole camp about the hot-as-hell event staff he’d fucked, he’d totally be on the same page. None of those things applied.

  While he was trying to puzzle this out, Ruby had set up his racquet in the machine, adjusting the mounting brackets and locking the lock bar. It was pleasant to watch her do this. Sometimes he’d get antsy watching people fumble with the equipment, wanting to do it himself, but Ruby didn’t make him feel that way. She obviously knew what she was doing and was practiced so that it looked as though she was dancing with a partner she knew well. Something so pedestrian shouldn’t have any effect on him, but he liked it. Nothing like watching someone capable do something they were good at.