CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ruby
My mouth is blistered from the fiery Cajun spice. I chug a bottle of cold water and soothe my cotton mouth from trying to find the bottom to that cooler from last night. It was hours of good food, ice cold beer, and jelly legs from an endless supply of dance partners.
But nothing could have been more perfect than the last dance of the night.
When Fournette and Wyatt had me doubled over in a fit of stitches and Kingston slipped up behind me, nuzzling his furry beard in my neck asking me to dance, it was the most perfect moment of my life.
I keep replaying it over in my head, like the Ghostbusters VHS tape I had when I was twelve. Bill Murray got me through a lot of hard times. I sat in a corner of the juvenile center and played that movie on the tiny VCR/TV combo at least twice a day. I owned the tape. It was mine. Not the TV, or the bed I slept in, or the two drawers on the bottom of the dresser I was allowed to borrow. Hell, not even most of the clothes I wore belonged to me. Nope, just that tape. My name was scrawled across the white label in black Sharpie. It’s written in my momma’s handwriting and that old tape became my prized possession.
I don’t know why I keep that stupid tape, but there’s not much I can call mine. It’s sitting in a small box out in Ellie Mae. I lived many nights playing that movie on a loop in my head. Now, I have a new memory. One that is seared on my heart forever. The two of us dancing under the bright Gulf moon lighting up the bayou. It was good. It was right.
“Hey, sunshine. You’re up way too early. I was trying to be quiet.”
I watch this mesmerizing man smooth his palms over the sides of his unruly beard.
“It’s ok. I don’t wanna sleep the day away. Unless you think I need the beauty rest.” I pop my lips and wink.
“Baby, you could never get another second of sleep in your whole life and still be the most stunning beauty on the planet. And that’s coming from the human and the animal.”
He whisks me up in his arms and I instantly forget my hangover. He certainly makes me feel like the single most important person on the planet.
“I have no idea how you’re so chipper this morning after the hurtin’ you put on that beer.”
“Girl, it ain’t my first rodeo.” He grins and teases me with his dimples.
“Yeah, kinda figured.”
He trails soft kisses along my neck and I giggle from the way his mustache tickles my skin.
“I don’t know what time we’ll be back. It’ll be well after dark. I don’t have to tell you to lay low and be careful. I really wish you’d just stay over at the main house.”
I crinkle my nose. “But it’s not mine.”
“Baby, anything that’s mine is yours.”
I ruffle his beard with my fingertips and give him a firm scratch. “Yeah, I think the clan might have something to say about that.”
Kingston gives a playful growl and pretends to bite and nip at the air. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen. I’ll take everyone one of ‘em out.”
“Never! Besides, I love my little fishing cabin. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“Good. I like that answer. Now, you sure I can’t talk you into going out on the water?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I got things to do, but, I’ll see you some time after dark.”
I slip up on my knees and wrap my arms around his thick, muscular neck. I gasp when his open palm lands a solid swat on one of my ass cheeks.
“I better get outta here before I never leave.” He winks and disappears out the door. He leaves me behind to spend a lonely, quiet day hidden in the deep Louisiana swamp.
Let’s see what trouble I can get into all by my lonesome.
After a quick shower, I start on my mental list. However, it takes less than two hours for me to run out of shit to do. I’ve straightened up Ellie Mae and organized what I could by taking a few things inside the cabin. It’s a small space, but more furniture is a must. A dresser. My dresser.
Mine.
I don’t have much of a functioning kitchen, but the clan set me up with a hot plate, microwave, and toaster oven. It’s all good just as long as you I don’t run any of them at the same time or it’ll blow the breaker. The new digs make a fancy supper a little difficult, but once I get the crazy idea in my head, nothing can shake it loose.
I slide my feet into my shoes and sweep my hair up in a knot to get it off my hot, sticky neck. I contemplate taking Ellie Mae and finding a shopping mall or Wal-Mart but decide against it. I don’t know my way around and with the Laissard pack lurking, Kingston would have my ass if I go off exploring on my own.
I guess that leaves the marina.
“Hey, how you doin’ this morning, Cher?” The old man is perched on a stool behind the counter. He has dark, leathery skin and thick, bushy eyebrows. His smile is warm and sincere. His cute little suspenders are parted like the Red Sea, allowing his round, jolly belly to breathe.
“Morning. I’m doing well. How about you, Sir?”
He nods and opens his mouth into a wide grin, revealing his few remaining teeth. He doesn’t have a care in the world. He looks happy just to be in his element. “Good, good. Somethin’ I can help ya find?”
“Well,” I stop when I realize I don’t have a single clue what I’m doing. “I want to make dinner for my boyfriend, but I’m pretty limited in the cooking department. Any ideas?”
“Oh, what a lucky duck that boy of yours is, girl. Now, let’s see what we can come up with.”
My insides knot. Not exactly a duck.
He makes his way out from behind the counter and he’s much taller than I initially guessed, but his hunched back makes him appear shorter. He holds onto a cane that’s been carved into a snake with his hand gripping the realistic, diamond shaped head.
We spend far too long talking about the various types of rice. Way more than I ever thought I’d learn today… or any other day about the dang food.
“How you set for fresh vegetables, sweetheart?” Just as the store owner asks, the front door opens and sets off the little bell that’s hanging from the top of the wooden frame.
“Be right with ya,” he hollers over his shoulder.
“No hurry. I’ll just look around.” The female voice trails off.
He continues. “Alright. Let’s get you a head of that there purple cabbage.” He guides me to the fresh produce bins where local farmers bring in their hauls on consignment.
“They’re gorgeous.” I pick up a large, plump tomato and promptly eye the onions and jalapenos. The meal plan falls into place and I go to town filling up my basket.
“Aw, miss, how can old Gus be of service?”
“Well, these watermelons look like all a woman could ask for.”
I turn to find myself face to face with a tall, statuesque red head with long legs and green eyes. She’s not wrong. Cold melon would make the perfect dessert after such a humid day on the boat. The woman runs her red nails along the stripes of the green rind. Her shimmering locks and rose stained lips leave me feeling sorely inadequate.
“Yeah, you can’t go wrong with Gus’s fruit and veggies.” I offer a weak smile and pick up a medium sized watermelon.
“Is that right?”
I didn’t expect her to respond, but instead, I stand awkwardly for a few seconds. I hate to ‘people’, but I hate to be rude even more. “Yeah, all local and fresh. Better than any waxy shit they sell in the chain stores. You should give it a try.”
She tilts her head. “I might just do that. So, you’re from around here?”
“Oh, no. I’m from a small town a couple of hours away.”
“Ah, you’re just passing through? Picking up some of Gus’s goodies here?”
“No, well, not anymore. It looks like I’m here for the long haul. I hope so, anyway.” My heart beats quicker just thinking about him and the perfect night we spent dancing under the stars and making love until the sun came up.
“Ohhh, sounds like there’s someone special. Come on, spill.” She folds her skinny arms across her chest. A smirk settles in the corners of her mouth. I want to ask her questions of my own but decide against it.
“Yeah, something like that. Speaking of which, I better go. I got a special meal to prep. Enjoy your watermelon.” I hold my basket up in the air while cradling the fruit in the other.
“You too,” the red head says. “Maybe I’ll see ya another time.”
“Yeah, maybe. Have a good one.” I throw cash on the counter and promise to come back tomorrow and tell the old man how Kingston enjoyed the meal. It’s obvious that he’s lonely and I make a mental note to try to keep him company when I can.
Once I’m back home, home, I plug my phone up to charge and click on Spotify while I busy myself chopping and slicing. It’s going in and out from crappy service, but at least it’s not so lonely.
I finish shelling and deveining the pound of fresh, Gulf shrimp before throwing them into a Ziploc bag with spices to marinate. I double check the spread waiting on the round dinette and I’m pretty pleased with myself. Robbie would have kicked my ass for not serving something deep fried and greasy.
Oh, but, now, when I think about what Kingston’s gonna do to my ass, my insides quiver with delight.