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“I . . .”
“You’re the one buying the shop?” he asks, his jaw clenching and unclenching while he waits for my answer.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“What the fuck?” he barks, making me jump.
“I was going to tell you,” I say quickly while I take a step toward him.
He takes a step back, holding up his hand between us.
“I tried to tell you,” I say softly, holding my hands together. Tears start to sting my eyes. “You always shut me down.”
“It’s been weeks since my parents told me they got an offer on the shop. Weeks, Libby. In that time, I’ve spent almost every day with you.”
“I know. I tried to tell you,” I repeat softly as my chest starts to get tight. “I’m sorry . . . I tried.”
“Sorry? What are you sorry for, exactly?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have told you sooner.”
“You didn’t fucking tell me at all,” he growls, his eyes shooting behind me to where I know Walter is standing.
“I know. I was going to—” I cut off my own words when his eyes harden. “Can we talk about this in private?” I ask, feeling everyone’s eyes on us.
“I think your time for talking is up.”
“Antonio . . .” I try to stop him, but he storms past me.
I follow after him. When he goes inside the office, I shut the door behind me. “Just please hear me out,” I beg as I watch him put on his coat and hat.
“Why should I listen to you now?” He turns on me, and the anger I see in his gaze makes my breath freeze in my lungs.
“I’m sorry. I knew I should have told you sooner. I knew I should have, but at first I didn’t think you’d understand why I wanted this place. I thought you’d try to talk me out of buying it. Then you wouldn’t listen to me whenever I tried to bring it up.”
“I guess now you’ll never know what I would have said or done.”
He moves for the door, but I step in front of it.
“Get out of my way, Libby.”
“Antonio, please. Just . . . let’s just calm down and talk about this.”
“It’s too late. We have not one fucking thing to talk about. Not anymore,” he growls.
My heart doesn’t just sink; it shatters in my chest, cutting me wide open.
“Good luck, Libby. And good fucking riddance.”
He opens the door and then leaves, slamming it closed. I start to breathe heavily, and tears blur my vision. I know I can’t let him leave without talking to me. I open the door and run out after him.
“Chiquita, give him time to cool down.” Hector stops me at the front door of the shop, and I finally let the sob out. I turn toward him and bury my face against his wide chest.
“Give her here, babe. Get her coat for me. I’ll take her home,” Peggy says, taking me from Hector and wrapping her arms around me. “Calm down, Libby. It will be okay.”
“I messed up,” I whimper. Her arms tighten. “I ruined it.”
“It will be okay,” she repeats gently. She lets me go and holds out my coat so I can put it on. “Come on. Let’s get you home. You’ll see. Everything will be okay.”
“It won’t be okay,” I deny, looking at her.
Her eyes fill with sympathy. “It will. Just give him time,” she says gently. I shake my head. “I’ll walk you home.”
“No, I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” Worry fills her features as I wipe away the wet from my cheeks. “Really, I’m okay.” I pull in a deep breath, willing myself to stop crying.
“Libby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Walter says.
My eyes go to where he’s standing—still with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his trousers.
“It’s okay. It was going to come out one way or another.”
“I—”
“It’s okay,” I repeat, cutting him off.
I turn for the door and run out. I head straight home. As soon as I make it inside the entryway, a sob rips from my chest. I stop, lift my hair away from my face, and try to breathe.
“Libby?” Spinning around, I find Miss Ina standing in her open apartment door. “What on earth happened, child?” she whispers with wide, worry-filled eyes.
I cover my face with both my hands and cry harder.
“Come on.” She grabs my arm and leads me slowly into her apartment, where she forces me to sit on her couch before taking a seat next to me. “Now tell me what happened,” she urges, wrapping her arm awkwardly around my shoulder.
“Antonio found out that I’m buying the shop.”
“Was he mad that you’re buying it?” she asks, sounding slightly confused.
I shake my head.
“No . . . he”—my head jerks from side to side—“he was mad that I didn’t tell him about it . . . that I didn’t tell him that I was going to buy it.”
