“Garrett had a gambling problem, a lying problem, and hair that took longer than yours.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Garrett is not relevant.”
“Garrett is relevant because he taught you a lesson, and I’d like to know you actually attended class.”
I wipe the already-clean counter in small, aggressive circles. “The lesson was not never trust anyone again.”
“No, but maybe the lesson was don’t confuse needing help with being worthy of your heart.”
That one lands exactly where she aims it.
I stop wiping. The room is noisy around us, but the counter between Darlene and me feels suddenly private. The rain taps softly at the windows. A spoon clinks in a cup near the corner booth. Somewhere in the kitchen, oven three gives another low metallic groan, like even it knows better than to interrupt.
“I know what Garrett did,” I say quietly.
Darlene’s mouth tightens. “Do you?”
“Yes. I was there.”
“You were in love.”
“I thought I was.”
“That’s worse.”
I draw a breath through my nose. It smells like sugar, coffee, onions, wet wool, and old hurt. “He was funny. He listened. Or he made it look like listening, which is apparently a skill set for men with flexible morals. He remembered stupid things I told him, brought me flowers from the market, helped fix the front hinge, told me this place mattered.” I swallow past the humiliating pinch in my throat. “Then he emptied the small safe, stole my grandmother’s earrings, my mother’s bracelet, and the ring Grandpa bought Grandma after their first profitable year. He left me a message saying he was sorry, but an opportunity came up off-world and he had debts he couldn’t handle.”
Darlene’s eyes go flat and murderous. “If I ever see that boy again, I’m going to beat him to death with a rolling pin.”
“You’d need a step stool.”
“I’ll stand on his corpse.”
The laugh that escapes me is wet around the edges. I hate that. I hate that even now, after all these months, Garrett can still make me feel foolish from another planet. He did not only steal jewelry. He stole the version of me that believed being generous meant being wise enough to know who deserved it.
“I’m not going to make that mistake twice,” I say.
Darlene studies me. “Good.”
“And Kauss is not Garrett.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You implied it.”
“No, I implied your heart has terrible security protocols.”
“That is probably fair.”
“It is definitely fair.” She reaches across the counter and pats my hand once, briskly, as if affection might bite if overfed. “Just be careful.”
“I am careful.”
“You waved at a seven-foot Vakutan in the street and invited him for breakfast after he scared burglars off your back door.”
“I am selectively careful.”
“You are a menace with lip gloss.”
