And I won’t be the reason these book happy people get borked right out of a job.
The bell jingles. I look up to see an elderly gentleman walking into the store.
Sweet, a distraction.
“Hello, sir,” I say too brightly, swinging out from behind the front desk.
Sarah also looks up and approaches the guy, ready to help.
It’s an unintended pincer movement. The old man looks briefly intimidated before her smile softens him.
She’s the kind of girl who could charm a nail out of the wall.
Her smile has just the right amount of teeth and her green eyes sparkle.
She gets to him first, probably just as bored as I am, though probably not as desperate.
“Hi, I’m Sarah. What can I help you find today?”
Deflated, I go back to my mind-map.
Even to my eyes, it looks childish.
I have no clue what I’m doing running a business—and definitely not running Sneed’s Books.
Also, yes, it’s a terrible name. Ethan was right.
Oh, Ethan.
My stomach cramps when his stupid cocky face appears in my brain.
I should probably be used to him when this happens multiple times a day, but every time it hits me like a sickness sweeping in for the first time.
We weren’t together.
It wasn’t even a breakup.
It shouldn’t feel this awful.
I hate him with every itty-bitty fiber of my being.
But sometimes I dream about the way he touched me, gently and delicately, like I was something precious.
I smile in my dreams where he still cherishes me.
Then I wake up with hot tears scalding my face.
All because he showed me what it meant to matter.
What it was like to be touched and kissed and adored.
What it was like to be loved, even if he only showed me silently and never said it.
Then he dropped a sledgehammer on my head.
God.
I steady my hurt breathing and tear a few useless pages from my scribbles, crumpling them in my hand before I toss the paper in the trash.
