I don’t have time to figure out how to meet our overdue loan payments.
I don’t even have time to go to the damn bathroom.
Mrs. Horne beams until the sides of her eyes sport more lines than a map. “Did I ever tell you why I love grandfather clocks so much, Jade?”
Just say yes. I suck in a bracing breath of air. “I don’t think you did.”
“Well, of course, they are remarkable machines. Not only mesmerizing in design, but they are exceedingly accurate timepieces. My mother had a clock in every room of the house. She had a terrible sense of time, and she needed them to avoid being late for things.” A tinge of sorrow enters her cloudy-blue eyes. “They remind me of her, you see. The clocks. Every tick is like her heartbeat; every chime, the sweet tinkle of her laugh.”
I blink back at Mrs. Horne, stunned into silence. I knew she was lonely, but I hadn’t realized any of that might have to do with her missing her own mother. Especially someone of her age.
What, Jade? You thought that one day you’d get old enough that you’d forget your mom existed? That you’d stop waiting for her to be the one to walk into the store whenever the bell jingles, ready to wrap you in a ticklish hug that smells like peppermint tea?
A burning feeling builds behind my eyes. “Mrs. Horne, that’s…that’s really beautiful.”
Her wrinkled lips curl up. “Thank you. It’s rather silly once I hear myself say it. My mother was certainly no clock—quite the opposite.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Do you think Minnie would like some water?” I dart a glance at the little dog who’s stretched out on the floor, panting.
“Oh yes, please.”
I push off the counter and fetch a bowl of water. Minnie laps up a few gulps before Mrs. Horne leads her out the front door without—you guessed it—buying a thing.
After I return the bowl to the kitchenette, I sit on my stool and gaze up at the framed photo of Mom and Dad until their faces turn blurry.
A minute later, I’m wiping my eyes when Mrs. Perandez calls again about her order. I apologize before hanging a “Closed” sign in the window and dashing down the street to my car. I drive it up to the front of the store and nearly throw my back out while hefting delivery boxes into the trunk. They don’t all fit, so I end up making two trips from the store to make the four deliveries.
When I get back, the store’s been shut for more than an hour, and I curse the possibility of having missed customers. I’ll have to come up with a better system for fulfilling orders outside of opening hours because, right now, we can’t afford to pay a delivery driver.
I still need to put out the new stock that was delivered this morning, but I’m exhausted and starving, so I snatch a bread roll out of the bakery bin and scarf it down before slumping over the counter with my face in my arms.Just a teeny-tiny sleep. Two minutes, tops.
I sink into the bliss of silence before the front door blasts open, the bell clanging loudly.
I jerk up on my stool to find a chubby, four-year-old face blinking up at me. My eyes flash wide and dart to Dylan, who’s hovering a few feet behind his niece in a black T-shirt and gray jeans. My stomach fizzes wildly. He looks too good.
“Sorry, hi,” I blurt awkwardly, rubbing my eyes. “I think I fell asleep.”
Dylan’s lips tilt up, but the usual brightness in his eyes has vanished. “Ella said she saw you carrying boxes through the window. We thought we could come and help after lunch.”
“I can make a BIG castle with the boxes,” Ella says with her arms stretched wide, glittery pink bangles jangling from her tiny wrists.
“Well, that would beveryhelpful,” I reply, getting off my stool and rounding the counter so I can crouch to her eye level. “But don’t you have something more fun you want to do?”
She shakes her head, her pigtails bouncing. “I want to work at a shop.”
“You do? Well, thatisa very important job.” I can feel Dylan’s eyes on me, so I stifle my awkwardness over last night by standing up and blurting an icebreaker.
“And what can I get you?” I ask him. “Sorry, we’re fresh out of walking sticks and incontinence pads.”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Bad jokes are still in stock, though, I see.”
“Oh yeah, you can always get those in here.”
A low laugh hums in his throat, but there’s still no mirth in his eyes. “Delivery day?” He upnods at the giant stack of cardboard sitting beside the counter.
“Just some new stock that arrived this morning.”
His gaze returns to mine. “Do you normally just put it out on the shelves?”
