Page 35 of The Runaway

“What’s not real?” Ruby blinks in surprise.

“That a smart accomplished woman like yourself is going to fall for that kind of mumbo-jumbo. ‘Age gap,’ my arse.”

Marigold cackles loudly. “Preach, sister!”

“I’m serious,” Molly goes on, brow furrowed and face set in disbelief. “You’re both grown adults with a wealth of life experience between you. Who cares about a few years this way or that? It’s nonsense. It’s an excuse. If the two of you don’t care about it, then it’s nobody else’s business. They’re certainly allowed to speculate, but if they do, it’s most likely because they’re jealous.”

“I can speak to that,” Heather says, raising a hand and looking a little shy. “I have some experience with age gap romances.”

Ruby turns to her, ready to hear Heather out. “And what’s the biggest age gap you’ve had in a relationship?”

Heather screws up her face as she does the math. “Husband number two: forty-one years.”

Marigold hoots. “That’s not just a tiny little valley of an age gap, that’s the Grand Canyon!”

Heather lifts her eyebrows like she doesn’t care. “It was. But I loved him.”

Molly gives her a stern look—not disapproving, just serious. “What did you love most about him?”

“I was twenty-five and he was sixty-six when we fell in love. He’d seen things I couldn’t even dream of—“

“Like the Great Depression?” Marigold teases.

The corner of Heather’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “More like life stuff. He already knew how to navigate the world, and I learned from him. And he’d been in love—more than once—so I knew that he was capable of it. He was a father, and I got to see how much he loved his children. He was old enough that he wasn’t always in a hurry, so he was patient. And he listened a lot because he’d already figured out that the person who talks the most is the one who has the most to learn, not the most to teach. I liked everything about him, and his age was probably the last thing that worried me.”

Everyone turns to Ruby to see her reaction. “Okay, so we’re talking more like thirteen years and not forty-one, and this discussion is actually making me feel a little ridiculous, because it’s not like I’m old enough to be his mother or anything.”

“Good,” Molly says, nodding. “Youshouldfeel ridiculous, because you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Now, when are you seeing him again?”

“I told him I needed to get back here to handle a few things, and we agreed to Zoom in a week or so. I don’t think he was offended that I left early, but he might have been a little puzzled. I don’t know. I’m just not sure how to proceed without—“ She turns to Athena, “Wait, what was I doing?”

“Catching feelings,” Athena, Harlow, and Tilly all say in unison.

“Right.”

“So what if you do catch these feelings?” Molly folds her arms over her chest and drops her chin as she observes Ruby. “Life is about feelings and relationships and emotions. That’s showbiz, baby.”

There’s something hilarious about the way that Molly, with her short, unruly, graying hair, thick sweatshirt, worn-in 501s, and filed down, unpolished nails is doling out relationship advice that makes far more sense than anything that’s going on in Ruby’s head. Without warning, Ruby breaks out in a laugh.

“Molly,” she says, shaking her head, “you are so right. I need to be less afraid of stuff like this, because I’ve still got a lot of life ahead of me.” Ruby grows serious again. “But I do need to make sure I don’t get carried away and undo all of our hard work so far on the book.”

“Sure, kiddo. Tell yourself whatever you gotta tell yourself to get through the night,” Molly says, settling back in her chair with a knowing smile. “And can someone pass the wine? I’m gonna need a refill if we’re still going to talk about the book.”

But they don’t ever get around to the book, because Marigold wants to know more about Heather’s husbands, and Molly starts telling them funny stories about how her late husband, Rodney, used to fart like a foghorn in his sleep and how much she misses it, and Sunday worries with them about what Peter will do next now that she’s told her daughters about the baby she put up for adoption. Ruby starts to realize that between the secrets, the stories, and the group hugs, what she really has there in her shop on that dark October evening is not just a book club, but a group of friends—real, supportive, loving friends.

Marooned With a Book has truly come to life for her, and this place, these women—they’ve become her home. Ruby smiles at them all with shining eyes.

Dexter

Theo Harris walks into Dwell at eight o’clock on the dot. Dexter has chosen the popular bar in the basement of an old garment factory, and as Theo pauses in the doorway, looks around, then lifts his goateed chin in recognition at his old friend, Dexter smiles. He knows that Theo will appreciate the Englishness of this particular bar, with its dark leather banquettes, wooden beams running the length of the low ceiling, intimate wall sconces at each booth, and the selection of imported whiskeys.

“Mate,” Theo says, throwing his arms around Dexter and pounding his back as Dexter stands to greet his London-based buddy. “So glad we could meet up while I’m in town.”

“Same,” Dexter says, sliding back into the booth. Theo tosses his jacket and a leather bag onto the bench on the opposite side of the table and slides in across from Dexter. “Should we get a couple of steaks and catch up?”

“Can we start with a drink?”

Dexter lifts his nearly empty glass. “I started without you.”

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