I don’t care how many times he protests.
Grabbing the mop from the utility closet, I fill the bucket with soapy water in the break room. I ignore Emmanuel’s glowers, working on the floor coated with muddy footprints.
His son snickers behind the tower of boxes, and I throw Emmanuel a humoured smile before ducking my head down.
The bell rings, and I whip around as that sweet, fruity scent I adore so much smacks me in the face.
I blink in shock. Mae beams at me before turning to Emmanuel. “Hi, I’m looking for a few bottles of wine.”
I told her about Emmanuel’s store a little while ago. About how I’m concerned he’ll be forced to shut because of lack of customers, so here she is, purchasing from him even though I know for a fact she needs all the money she can get.
I don’t interrupt. Instead, I get lost in my thoughts, smiling to myself.
How does someone so effortlessly good exist in a world that doesn't deserve it?
Mae’s not doing this for my approval. My praise. She’s doing this because she knows what Emmanuel means to me. What his store means to me.
I marvel at how perfect she is. How perfect she is forme. But she doesn’t wear perfection like most people do. She’s perfectlyimperfect. Authentically herself. Her humility is quiet. But clear as day to me.
“These are perfect,” Mae says as Emmanuel suggests a few options. She clutches three bottles in her hands and waltzes up to the counter.
She works hard to make her money. She doesn't have it sprouting out of her ears like some, and I know this wine will put a dent in her bank account.
But she’s an independent woman who can make her own decisions. If this is what she wants to do, who am I to second-guess her?
Emmanuel doesn't seem to recognise Mae from months ago, or if he does, he decides not to say anything. I see joy spiralling in those grateful eyes of his, and after Mae pays and leaves—shooting me a wink—he turns to me and says, “Well, things are looking up.”
I watch as Mae drives away in her rental car, which looks like it’s going to fall apart any day now. My lips tilt into a smile. “Yeah, they are.”
Who would have thought that the cocky and impenetrable Nathan Slater would melt like butter for a girl?
Not me.
And yet, here I am.
28: Mae
Ireally thought the second I got accepted, I’d be booking my flights and packing my bags, but I haven't even responded to the vet practice.
I’m sitting on it.
Thinking.
Or, more like stalling.
I need to get my ducks in a row before making a decision I could regret later.
But I only have a certain amount of time before they move on to the next candidate and offer them the place instead.
“So, how long exactly have you been fucking my brother?” Poppy stares at her fingernails as she paints them in the bedroom of her apartment.
I flop down on her bed, covering my face with her pillow.
“The only reason I’m not pulling that off you so I can see if your face is blushing is because I’ve got wet nails, so consider yourself lucky,” Poppy says, followed by a giggle.
I owe her an explanation. I know she’s happy for us, but guilt still stabs me in the chest, knowing I was hanging out with her and sleeping with her brother without telling her.
“Not long.”
