That day, Petunia was covering the cashier for Grandma Susan when a tall, good-looking figure walked into the shop and caught her eye.
That was exactly when Ruth Gibson showed up.
Ruth, a former colleague Petunia had never liked, pushed through the door with an amused curl at the corner of her mouth.
The two had never actually clashed.
Ruth had even made a point of trying to get close to Petunia.
Petunia just couldn’t stand Ruth’s way of doing things, always hanging around men, zero restraint.
The irony was that the one with zero restraint today had been Petunia.
The thought made her want to sink through the floor.
She could only manage an awkward smile.
She buried her head back in her work and prayed this would be over soon.
Ruth settled into a corner of the bakery with that sly, mischievous smile still on her face, looking perfectly comfortable and in absolutely no hurry to leave.
Petunia endured until the end of her shift.
She quietly exhaled, saw her opening, and started for the door.
Ruth’s hand shot out and locked around her wrist.
Petunia flinched, a small tremor running through her.
She looked at Ruth with barely-concealed panic.
“Miss Evans.” Ruth smiled.
“Where are you running off to?” Petunia’s mind went blank.
She had no idea what to say.
And she knew, knew, there was no getting out of this.
She steeled herself and stayed put.
“Miss Gibson, what — what do you want?” The words came out stumbling, a faint shake in her voice.
“I just want to talk.” Ruth’s voice was gentle, a little low.
Petunia had nothing to say to that.
She let Ruth pull her along.
This was not going to be a quiet evening.
Night had settled over the city, and the bar on the corner held its own against the noise around it, a small, unlikely pocket of stillness.
Petunia followed Ruth through the heavy wooden door into a world that didn’t match anything she’d expected.
She’d braced herself for pounding music and shrieking laughter.
Instead, soft light spread through every corner, warm and faintly mysterious.
Patrons sat or leaned against the bar, talking in low voices, as if time ran a little slower in here.
Petunia was in no mood to appreciate any of it.
Anxiety sat heavy in her chest, and every small sound made her nerves jump.
She bit down on her lower lip, brow tight, eyes giving away everything she was trying to hide.
Ruth had something on her.
That was the feeling, like being stripped bare in front of everyone.
Awful didn’t cover it.
Ruth grabbed two cocktails and dropped into the seat right next to Petunia.
Petunia gave her a look, taking in the skirt that barely covered Ruth’s hips, and shifted pointedly to the right.
Ruth closed the gap immediately, settling in snug beside her.
Ruth swirled her glass, the liquid catching the light.
“I always figured you only went for heavyset men,” Ruth said, eyes fixed on Petunia.
Petunia’s brow snapped together.
“Vernon was very good to me.
Appearances have nothing to do with it.” “What’s wrong with being interested in a good-looking man?
Why are you so insistent that appearances don’t matter?” Ruth looked genuinely puzzled, like Petunia’s logic was something she simply couldn’t follow.
“It’s not about appearances!” Petunia’s eyes went wide.
“The most important thing about a man is what’s inside him.
You can’t just throw yourself at someone because he happens to be handsome.
That’s not right.” Maybe it was the atmosphere of the place.
Maybe it was everything she’d been sitting on for too long finally needing somewhere to go.
Whatever it was, Petunia found herself, for once, actually settling down, actually willing to be honest with Ruth.
“I’m not saying a good-looking man can’t have good qualities.
I’m saying we should take feelings more seriously.
Love isn’t a game.
It’s not something you play around with.
We should listen to what’s actually in our hearts and choose someone who truly suits us, not just get swept away by how someone looks.” Petunia’s lips moved slightly as she felt around for the right words, trying to land the point without cutting too deep.
“Don’t you think,” she finally said, the words slow and careful, “that when you see a man whose looks stir something in you — even just a little — the way you act, the way you carry yourself…” She finished quietly: “Isn’t it a bit too loose?” Then she dropped her gaze, waiting.
“Loose?” Ruth’s eyes went wide.
She looked like a small animal wrongly accused of something terrible, affronted to the core.
“How exactly am I loose?” She sat up straighter.
“I’m very faithful,” Ruth said, with complete and utter conviction.
“I only like good-looking men.” ➤ Next: Three Women (2)