Oh damn, I forgot to turn the heating back on. Fighting off another wave of panic about Dad, I head over to the furnace keypad and tap the On/Off button, but nothing happens. No light, no sound, no sign of life. I push my thumb in harder, but the thing’s gone totally dead.
I groan and tip my face to the ceiling. “Anything else?!” I whine to the universe. While keeping an ear out for customers, I head into the office and dig through a filing cabinet of old documents, hunting for the furnace manual, but of course, the moment I actually need it, it’s nowhere to be seen. My next idea is to call the manufacturer. I find their number on Google, but apparently, they don’t have a single person at hand to answer the phone, so I leave a terse voicemail.This day.
It takes another twenty minutes of tidying up the shelves for me to work up the courage to open the other three boxes of mugs. Each one is a total wreck like the first. I honestly can’t bear the cost of this. Not with the overdue loan payments, the growing mountain of bills, and now Dad’s surgery… How on earth are we meant to cover all this?!
I’m hunched over the storeroom floor, gulping choked breaths, when the front door jingles open.
Get up, Jade.You have a customer.
Except I can’t move.
I can’t get my legs to work.
I can’t even find any air to breathe.
“Hellooo?” A deep, familiar voice grows closer in time with his footsteps. It sounds like Dylan is checking each aisle before he steps through the storeroom door. “Jade?”
He quickly paces closer and crouches in front of me. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
I lift my face and blink into his wide eyes, searching for words that won’t form in my dried throat.
“Jade,” Dylan repeats.
“I’m…” I press my palm to my chest. “I can’t…”
“You can’t what? You can’t breathe?” He collects my clammy hands in his, his strong fingers closing over mine.
When I nod, he shifts around to sit beside me, releasing one of my hands to lay his palm on my upper back. “Is it asthma? An allergy? Should I call—”
I shake my head. “I’m just…” I expel a shuddery breath through my lips. “I think I’m… I think I’m freaking out.”
Dylan’s hand scores lines up and down my back. “Okay, that I can work with. My therapist always tells me to inhale slowly, counting to three, then breathe out on the count of four.” He gives me an encouraging nod, and we perform the action together, breathing in deeply for three and out for four. After a minute or so of doing it, the world begins to sharpen again, and my lungs loosen in my chest.
“I think I’m okay,” I whisper, glancing at where Dylan’s fingers are still softly folded around mine. “I feel better. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Reluctantly, I let go of his hand and shakily climb to my feet. After a few more breaths to steady myself, I leave the storeroom with my face on fire. Dylan finally turned up,and I was keeled over like a hysteric, which is so not me. I reach the counter and turn around, finding him watching me with his fingers lightly brushing up and down the back of his neck. My eyes fall on the string of buttons tattooed down the muscled underside of one arm.
“You okay?” he asks in an uncertain tone.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I feel fine now.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “You just had a panic attack.”
“I’m not sure it was—”
“I get them too, Jade. So, if you act like there’s something wrong with having a big old freak-out when life is being a bitch, I might get offended.”
A long, heavy sigh streams out of me as I rest my hip against the counter. “I’m having a really stressful day,” I admit. “But I’m working through it.”
His eyes continue to search my face before he says, “It’s freezing in here. Did you turn the heat down?”
“The furnace stopped working today. I have no idea why.”
“That’s too bad.” His gaze clings to mine. “You want me to warm you up?”
Heat streaks up the back of my neck. “Dylan.”
