Page 9 of Small Town, Big Storm

I freeze.

Then watch as he starts dragging the mop back and forth, remembering the time that’s passed, the years I’ve spent trying to survive, the…reality of what happened between us.“I get it,” I reply just as quietly.“You didn’t have anything to stay for.”

His gaze locks on mine.“No, I didn’t.”

And with those brutal words, he wrings the mop out, continues swabbing the floor.

And why do they wound me so deeply?

It was seven years ago.

An eternity ago.

Alifetimeago.

Why should I care?

“Does your husband mind you working this late?”

I frown at the non sequitur.“What makes you think I have a husband?”

The mop stills, our eyes clashing again.Then he looks away and resumes mopping, asking, “Boyfriend then?”

I scowl.“I’m not exactly interested in dating right now.”I finish sweeping and put the broom back, ignoring the weight of his gaze on me as I head to the bar to finish up my tasks there.

“How about your uncle?”he asks as I start refilling napkin holders.“I thought he didn’t like it when you worked the closing shift.”

“He didn’t.”I grit my teeth together.“But considering he’s dead, there isn’t much he can do about it.”

That mop freezes again, taut silence descending once more.Then, “How long ago?”

“Three years,” I whisper, the pain so acute I can barely breathe.“Left me this place.”I close the register.“So now I work closing.”And opening.And ordering and advertising and balancing the books and paying taxes and…

Allof it is on me.

Though, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The thought of losing Sully’s too…

Impossible.

“Poppy,” Storm murmurs.

I go stiff at the softness in his tone, in those familiar gray eyes, and snap my shields back in place.“So, you made it, huh?”I plunk the napkin holders back in their proper places, check that the dishwasher is running, that the fridges are loaded and closed.“That’s big.”

His eyebrows draw together, so I answer the unspoken question.

“You playing in the big leagues,” I say.“You made it.”

Understanding dawns on his face…and is trailed by an emotion I can’t read.“Yeah, I did,” he mutters.“Yeah, I am.”

Then he goes back to mopping.

And I find myself in the odd predicament of not having anything to do.

Except watch him work.

And wonder why he’s still here.