Bargain hunters crowded stalls selling everything from rusty old junk to dinky jars of handcrafted strawberry jam. Who the hell bought those? Two scrapes on a bit of toast, and you’d need another trip to the village markets. No thanks.
Then again, no one else was stumbling around, tugging at their collar, pretending sweat wasn’t dribbling down their neck, and searching for the nearest exit. That honour was mine alone. The other shoppers milling around the stalls looked happy.Normal.
How had Ruth talked me into this?
Saturday morning stuck at the village markets was my worst nightmare. Too many people. Too much noise. My mind played tricks on me in crowds like that. Like every other week, the faces blurred, but I clenched my jaw and pushed on, shoving one footahead of the other. Thankfully, the cardboard box filled quickly with everything on Ruth’s list.
Harry shot from nowhere, weaving through the horde like a pro rugby player, a box of jam drop biscuits tucked under his arm. He dodged. Sidestepped. He only missed the woman shuffling behind a walking frame by the skin of his teeth, but he was all smiles when he pulled up to a stop in front of me.
“Got ’em!” he panted. “Miss Ruthie’s favourite.” Triumphantly, he held the box of biscuits over his head and chanted, “Harry! Harry! Harry!”
I’d done a damn good job shielding him from my problems over the years. He had no idea about the mess going on inside my head in situations like this, and I wasn’t about to start freaking him out now. The thumping in my chest—yeah, I ignored it. The spiralling thoughts warning me that one noise might set me off got pushed away, too.
I forced a smile and mumbled, “Thanks.”
“That’s all I get?” Harry scoffed. “That sorry excuse for a smile andthanks?” His lip curled. “I had to sweet-talk Yolanda for these. A group of tourists cleaned out their whole stall. This was the last box, you know!”
“Thank youvery much.”
Harry waved at me to keep going with better praise for his effort. If he hadn’t saved me from an interrogation by the old crows from the church, I would’ve told him to shove it.
“Thank you very much,Your Majesty.” I hooked the box of groceries under my arm, and with a flourish of my free hand, I bowed.
Harry tipped his head back and laughed. “That’s more like it.” He dropped the biscuits onto the bunch of celery sticking out of the box but tapped the top, giving me a hard look. “I want credit for these. You tell Miss Ruthie I got ’em for her.”
“You’re not coming to lunch today?”
“Nah, better not. Mum…” He shrugged.
Suddenly, his sneakers needed a thorough inspection, and he was done talking. I didn’t push him. Harry’s mum had good days and bad. Depression was like that. She plummeted quickly, and when she hit rock bottom, she stayed down in the dark for days. He shouldered a lot of weight that shouldn’t have been his at only twenty-two.
“If you need a break, come up to my place,” I said, making the offer sound like no big deal. It was easier for him that way. “You can crash in my spare room if you want.”
“Thanks. I might drive up later.” He still refused to meet my eyes. “I should probably”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder—“head off.”
“Drive safe, kid.” I slapped a friendly hand on his back before he disappeared in the crowd.
Digging Ruth’s shopping list out of my pocket, I scanned the items and tallied everything in the box. All the fruit, most of the vegetables… I squinted. The words shook. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the noise. My hand tugged at my collar, but I still struggled to force down a breath.
Soft fingers touched my arm. “Aiden?” Her voice was soft too.
My eyes snapped open.
The nightmare had somehow become my favourite dream.
Lola’s hair was pinned back, a hint of makeup warming her cheeks and lips. I would’ve thought she was the most beautiful creature in the world—except for the frown she aimed straight at me.
“You doing okay?” she asked. “You look…” Her hand squeezed my arm as she scanned my face with slightly narrowed eyes—doctor’s eyes. “Can I help?”
“Uh, n-no—” I cleared my throat. “It’s just a bit crowded here.”
Lola’s nod was firm, as if she knew exactly how I felt about being squashed half to death in the cramped hall.
“Doing some shopping?” I asked her, desperate to get my thoughts on anything but the ricochet of dread shooting up my spine.
I snuck another look at her. A pile of books was stuck under her arm, and her slender fingers wrapped around a jar.
My brows shot up. “You bought the jam?”
