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KALLAN
THE STREET’Squiet by the time I lock up. Andrew left hours ago—rushing out as if his ass was on fire—to get ready for some or other movie he and Olivia had made plans to go and see. I teased him about his date, but he insisted it wasn’t. It was just two friends who bonded over their love for superheroes. I’m not buying it.
I could have gone home and come back instead of waiting for Elizabeth to collect her order, but I’m behind on my bookkeeping. It’s a shit job, and one that I hate with a passion, but it needed to be done.
She ordered a set of ten photo frames, each one engraved with a grandchild’s name and a personalized message, and her eyes lit up when she saw them. She kept thanking me, and usually, that would fill me with satisfaction, but tonight it didn’t.
I’m at my wit’s end.
Something is seriously wrong with Bailey. She’s a shell of her former self. Her shoulders are perpetually slumped in defeat. Her genuine smile that was always at the ready is missing. But it’s her eyes that slay me. They’re one of the first things that attracted me to her. They’re so damn expressive, she can’t hide anything for shit. If she’s happy, you can see it in them. Angry, sad, frustrated—the same thing.
This past week they’ve been hollow and so damn empty that it feels like you can fall and never reach the bottom.
I can see she’s hurting, and I can’t do anything about it because she’s avoiding me. The helplessness that it brings is a special kind of hell. And then there’s Addie’s words. They’ve taken up permanent residence in my head, and every time I see Bailey, guilt hits me like a sledgehammer. I’ve been debating on telling her. On the one hand, it’s none of my business. I didn’t see anything, so it’s hearsay, and there’s a possibility that it’s not true. Why hurt her with something that could potentially be nothing?
On the other hand, what if it’s true? If it was me, I would want to know. I would appreciate a heads-up instead of being blindsided. It’s only the thought that it might be my jealousy talking that gives me pause.
I’ve put way more thought into this than is healthy. I’ve pondered the possibility that they might be in an open relationship, but I don’t think that’s the case. Call it gut feeling or instinct, but I don’t think she would be on board with that kind of relationship.
But then, the way she’s been acting this week? Maybe she does know. Maybe her behavior is connected to Addie’s words, and seeing how she’s hurting is enough to quench the words burning in my throat. There’s no way I could add to her hurt.
Footsteps catch my attention, and I glance over, seeing someone hurrying down the sidewalk. It’s dark, but I instantly know it’s Bailey. I’ve spent enough watching her over the last few months to recognize her. A part of me realizes how creepy that sounds, but hell, if I can’t touch, at least I can look. I watch in silence as she reaches her shop and unlocks the door. At least she tries. She drops the keys and swoops down, picking them up. I’m about to call out a greeting when she drops it again, and her shoulders slump, her head bending forward, resting against the door. With a couple of strides, I’m across the road, bending down and picking them up. She startles, her body stiffening but relaxes when she sees it’s me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so clumsy.”
Her hands are shaking when she tries to take the keys from me, but I gently move her over and unlock the door.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and I step back before following her inside. “I won’t be long. I’ve just got to grab some keys.”
I shake my head and grab her shoulders, gently guiding her to one of the tables.
“Sit.” My voice is firm, and I wait for her to comply before rounding the counter. I’m comfortable enough by now with the workings of her store to know where everything is. I bypass her commercial coffee maker, which takes at least fifteen minutes to warm up, keeping an eye on her while I make us each a cup of coffee. She’s slumped forward in a chair, her head in her hands, and I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that something’s happened. Something that’s completely devastated her. My hands clench around the cups as I make my way back to her. I need to know what hurt her. I need to know ifhehurt her. And if he did? Then I need to find him and completely destroy him.
“If I think back on my childhood, there are two things that stand out,” she says when I’m seated. “The first one is spending summers on Grandpa Joe’s blueberry farm.” Her voice hitches, and she looks down, swallowing heavily. “The second is being here. It was in that chair,” she says, motioning to the brown leather sofa standing in a corner. You can see it’s old, the seat cracked in some places, the seams on the armrest fraying. It doesn’t fit the aesthetic of the store, but it certainly takes pride of place. “where I first met Finn. Finn the Irish Wolfhound,” she muses. “I was there when he was born, I cried when he was stolen from his owner, and then I cried again when they were eventually reunited. That’s also where I met Alec and the Black Stallion. I so desperately wished I could be stranded on an island, surviving on seaweed with a wild black stallion as my only companion. Also, White Fang. He was one of my favorites. I don’t know why, but I was always drawn to books with animals. Maybe it was because I wanted a dog so badly, but Mom would never let us have one.”
She shrugs, taking a sip of the coffee I made. “Those days, I believed that nothing in this world was stronger than the bond between an animal and its owner. Then, I got older and started reading romance novels, and that belief changed. I started believing in soul connections between men and women. That no matter how rocky the start of relationships might be or no matter how many obstacles get thrown in the way, true love would overcome anything.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they’re glassy with the tears swimming in them. Two of them spill over, and she swats them away. “I should have just gotten a dog.”
Seeing them is killing me. I reach across the table and grip her hand, offering my support.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.
“It’s good you had this place and all these worlds you could get lost in. I didn’t read much growing up.”
“Were you more of a movie guy?”
“I sneaked into a movie theater a time or two, but not really. Didn’t have the time, and if it wasn’t something I could eat or sell, it wasn’t a priority. You can’t eat books,” I joke, but it falls flat at the look of sympathy on her face. “I enjoy a good book now, but back then, I was hustling whenever I had a spare moment.”
I run my free hand down the back of my neck. Fuck. It’s not a time in my life I’m proud of. Or really want to think about.
“Had to if I wanted to eat,” I mutter, keeping my eyes focused on her hand still resting in mine. It’s the longest I’ve gotten to touch her, and you’d have to use a crowbar to get me to let go.
“You did what you had to, to survive.”
“Yeah.”
