Page 8 of Almost Ours

Ruby smiles wide. “Inside's fine.”

Ewan gestures dramatically toward the café door. "Lead the way, folks."

Oscar hitches a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go. Got to meet my girlfriend for lunch."

"No worries, mate," Ewan says. "It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah. Cheers. You too." Oscar turns to his sister; his brown eyes fixed intensely on her. "Rubes. You'll text me later?"

Ruby rolls her eyes. "Yeah."

He leans down and kisses her forehead lightly. "Don't forget."

"I won't."

"You swear?"

Ruby groans, "Oh my God, Oscar. Get lost."

He grins, like her irritation is exactly what he was hoping for. They share a look, something subtle but clearly familiar, before Oscar squeezes her arm and heads off across the courtyard. I watch him go, noting he moves with a confidence I could only hope to have.

The ache in my chest pushes harder, blooming in that horrible, predictable way grief always does, and I press a hand there like that might actually help. When I turn back, Ruby is watching me, a small crease between her brows as if she's noticed and she isn't sure she's meant to.

Christ.

Something dormant wakes inside me. A buzz I haven’t felt in years. Somewhere, my head registers that we're standing here staring at each other, neither of us saying anything, and for a second, I genuinely cannot look away.

But it seems neither can she.

I'm the one who finally blinks, painfully aware I'm staring like the biggest freak, and the moment snaps as Ewan clears his throat, saying something I pay no attention to. To my surprise, Ruby startles slightly, like she'd forgotten the rest of them were standing here too.

Chapter Three

Wednesday

October 7th 2015

Ruby:

Despite everything I've been through, and the fact I'm naturally more introverted than Oscar, I think it's important to note: I'm not shy.

It's hard to be shy when you've got a twin who everyone has doted on since birth. For the first fourteen years of our lives, we very rarely spent time apart. Even when Oscar was at football, I was on the sidelines cheering him on. Which means everyone knew me because everyone knows him.

We've never been the kind of siblings who squabble and we enjoy each other's company. We only really started spending time apart when we turned fifteen, and it was when I was sixteen that I withdrew from him completely.

It has never been hard for me to make friends though. I've always been good at reading people, and usually, the ones I choose to like, friend or otherwise, like me back.

Sitting directly opposite me at the small table, in the world’s most crammed café, is a boy I can't get a gauge on at all. He's tall, with thick dark hair that badly needs cutting. Green eyes beneath heavy brows. A mouth that doesn't seem particularly interested in smiling. And the unsettling feeling that I should know him already.

He isn't saying much. Scratch that—he isn't saying anything. Josh is as tight-lipped as a nun's asshole, which is only making me want to get to know him more.

In total contrast, Ewan hasn't stopped talking. I don't mind. He's funny. Easy to listen to. But I'm finding it increasingly difficult to focus on what he's saying because he's sat here in a T-shirt.

It's October. In Lincoln.

The question erupts from me, stopping him mid-story: "Aren't you cold?"

"Nah,” He glances down to his white top before looking back at me. “I'm a warrior." Pinching the fabric and tugging at it, he gives me a small smirk. "It's the Scot in me."