Page 66 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
Ruby held out her foot and gently tapped on the ice. She increased the pressure, tapping harder and harder.
Maximillian grabbed her hand to steady her. “Break it open, Ruby.”
The ice cracked and splintered below her boot, like a soft-boiled eggshell. “That is ever so satisfying.”
“It’s like a dream, living there. Not touching anything with my own hands.” He didn’t let go of her hand, and Ruby made no move to pull it from him. “Can I ask an impertinent favor?”
“Might as well.” Her heart leapt to her throat. Would he ask to kiss her here in the street?
“May I hold your hand? Without our gloves? Just so I know I’m not dreaming, because this would be the best dream I’ve ever had.” Maximillian gazed at her, his brown eyes earnest and needy.
Ruby tried to pull her hand away. “These aren’t lady’s hands, Maximillian. They won’t be soft and white and fine. Let’s just not.”
He didn’t let her go. “I know who you are, Ruby, and I know what boxers do to their hands. Does Ms. Abbott let you wear mufflers to protect your knuckles?”
Ruby snorted. “Only in practice with younger girls. It’s supposed to remind me to pull my punches, so I don’t hurt any of ’em.”
“Then would you take off your mittens? Would you touch me with your ungloved hand? My hands aren’t fine and soft either. They’re calloused and hard from polishing and hauling and fixing and whatever else they have me do.”
Ruby stared at her shoes, a lump forming in her throat. The afternoon had been so perfect.
Maximillian pulled off his glove with his teeth, still capturing hers with his other hand. He took his glove from his mouth and shoved it in his pocket. “I see you, Ruby. I want to make sure you see me.”
His words felt like a bell, clanging about inside her, rattling her, changing her, not just knocking down her guard, but annihilating it completely. Something about them made her understand how he felt, that need to connect, that desire to reach out, hoping the other person would be there. She acquiesced, and he released her hand. She took off both coverings and shoved them in her pockets, afraid all the while that her hands were shaking.
Maximillian reached out, his hands bare, and she laid hers in his. His thumbs wrapped around her palms and ran along her callouses. “You’re real.”
Ruby’s heart pounded, and she was no longer cold. “So are you.”
They stood there like that, staring at their intertwined hands, letting skin touch skin. The hour chimed from a nearby church bell, startling them both.
He laughed and let go. “I suppose that’s God reminding us not to dilly-dally.”
Ruby blushed and pulled her mittens back on. They didn’t say another word all the way back to Marylebone, where Maximillian walked her to the front door of Mr. Worley and Ms. Abbott’s home.
“May I call on you again next Sunday?” he asked, his eyes on his shoes.
“I’d like that.”
When she said it, Maximillian peered back up at her and smiled. “I’ll take you back for more chocolate. Don’t tell Ms. Abbott.”
The door opened, and the tall prizefighter stood there in the flesh, bare-headed, and wearing a pinafore as if she’d just been cleaning. “Don’t tell me wot?”
Ruby shooed Maximillian off the doorstep, laughing. He walked backward down the street, waiting for her to shut the door.
CHAPTER 4
“Again,” Bess commanded.
Ruby could barely see through the salty sweat that dripped into her eyes. But she obeyed and hit the straw dummy in the same combination. Left uppercut, right cross, left uppercut, right uppercut.
The rematch with Bruising Peg was in three days, and Ruby preferred to think about Bruising Peg instead of her bruised heart. Maximillian Vaughn had not shown up at the Pig and Thistle on Sunday. And he’d sent no word. She’d imagined the worst—him sick or hurt—but Bess Abbott’s thin-lipped grimace and Mr. Worley’s inability to meet her gaze at the breakfast table told her what they thought. Maximillian Vaughn hadn’t appeared because he didn’t want to see her.
Ruby’s handwraps were fraying at the edges. She needed to make some new strips; they smelled of sweat and something foul. Something foul, indeed—hope and laughter and roasted chestnuts. She threw random jabs at the straw dummy, unleashing herself with no particular plan.
The world fell away, and all Ruby could feel was the burning of her upper back muscles, sweat, and the tight wound deep inside that Maximillian’s absence inflicted.
When Ruby finally exhausted herself, Bess put her hand on her shoulder. “Get some water, girl.” Bess’s words might have offered advice, but Ruby heard what she meant:I’m sorry he didn’t come.
