Page 73 of Let It Be Me

Her gaze suddenly livens, flicking over to me for the first time. “The murder mystery train?”

I resist the urge to grit my teeth. “Yes.”

With deepening concern, she takes in my cheap white suspenders and tie and then, behind me, Ruby’s ridiculous getup. “Oh, sir, you weren’t notified? Tonight’s train was canceled.”

“Canceled? Why the fuck—” I catch myself. “Sorry. When would I have been notified? I just bought the tickets a couple hours ago.”

“It was a bit last minute, yeah, but you should have gotten an email. You’ll get a full refund, I’m sure.”

Canceled. Fuck. “Okay. Thanks.” I turn around, bracing for Ruby’s disappointment. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

“No!” she insists. “How were you supposed to know?”

“Maybe by reading the email that apparently every other ticket holder read?”

“Well,” she says, and I can tell she’s searching for some way to make me feel better. “I’m glad you didn’t, because there’s actually nothing I love more than not being the one to fuck things up for once. So this is a great night!”

I give her a grateful smile, but I’m still sinking in disappointment and irritation with myself. “You want to go home? Let’s change and find somewhere to eat dinner.” I put my arm around her and move us toward the exit.

Ruby snuggles in against me, but she’s looking out toward the platform. “I have another idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s catch the next train.”

“They only do one show a night.”

“Not the mystery train, the regular commuter train.”

I stop. “To where?”

“Anywhere. Or nowhere.” She nods, the idea gathering steam in her mind. “Let’s just ride the stupid train together in our stupid outfits and have a good time.”

“Sounds stupid.”

She grins like that was a compliment and takes my hand, pulling me back to the ticket counter. “We’ll get on the next one.”

“You really think sitting on a train being stared at by strangers sounds like a fun time?” I say.

“Yes.” She turns to me. “Everything we do together is a fun time.”

Minutes later and armed with two old-fashioned punch tickets that’ll take us an hour and a half north and back again, we stand in front of three neon-lit vending machines along the station wall.

“This is dinner?” I ask.

“Don’t cry, but I don’t see any salad. Or chicken. Or protein, period.” Ruby slides her credit card into the slot. “Unless you count the peanut butter cups.”

“You actually want to eat this for dinner, or are you trying to make me feel better?” I watch the machine push a bag of Doritos off the ledge.

“When has eating chips and candy for dinner ever made you feel better?” she scoffs. “I’m doing this for me.” But as she starts punching in her next junk food selection, her free hand grabs mine and squeezes.

It’s a brief, snapshot moment: feeling her fingers tight around mine, watching her study the row of candy bars, and thinking,I can’t live without this girl.

Stares encircle us as we climb onto the train and make our way down the aisle with armloads of snacks. I can’t bring myself to bask in it like Ruby does, but her smile chips away at my embarrassment. Itisfunny.

We find a half-empty car near the front of the train and slide into a bench seat, the aged vinyl crackling under our weight. Ruby’s energy has fully bounced back from its brief crash at the ticket counter. She settles into the seat like we’re on a plane bound for some exotic destination she’s waited her whole life for, and I know it’s not an act. She can squeeze pleasure out of any situation.

“Okay, dinner or dessert first?” She holds a bag of potato chips in one hand and a bag of gummy bears in the other.

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