Even if it feels like it could be.
Even if it feels likehecould be.
But I say nothing, and we sit quietly on a bench on a Sunday afternoon, talking about Ben, and books, and dolls with potential cursing abilities.
Until we both feel a little less alone.
42
Emmy
Today is not a good day.
I fight the urge to cry as I stare at the ruined bouquet. Angelo glares at it too. “Again. Better, this time. You are better than this, Emmy.”
He’s right. My heart isn’t with my work today.
A prickling sensation spreads across my shoulders, and I turn to look out of the display window. Nothing on the street outside stands out.
The phone starts to ring, and Angelo huffs, striding over to answer it as I start pulling the bouquet apart to salvage what I can. Pinching his nose, he waves me over. “Yes, she’s here.”
He thrusts the phone into my chest. “No personal calls at work. You have a mobile.”
Both of us are out of sorts today. Although Angelo’s mood might have something to do with the marketing feature that dropped onto the mat a few days ago.
I did warn him. It’s not the best advertisement, with my dusty leggings, sports sweatshirt and ratty bun.
Andthey made it a double-page spread. Online, too.
“I told you to do it,” I mutter back, taking the phone. “Hello? This is Emmy.”
Only a buzzing sound meets my ear.
Frowning, I glance at Angelo. “The line is dead. Who was it?”
He lifts his hands. “How do I know? I cannot keep up with your boyfriends. In and out like a yo-yo.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense!”
He points at me. “No sass. My heart cannot take it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your heart. You ate three croissants this morning.”
He sniffs. “And an apple.”
The hint of amusement fritters away as I stare at the scattered flowers. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Angelo sighs. My brows bunch together as he steps up and physically nudges me away from the table. “What?”
“You cannot fix what is broken by staring at it,” he says pointedly. “Step away. Perspective, Emmy. Go and buy me a croissant and come back. Breathe the air. And coffee, too. Double shot. Cinnamon sprinkle stuff. And some cream on top.”
“Another—,”
He shoves money into my hands. “Shoo.”
And then he shoves me out of the shop. I stare at the closed door.
And then he locks it.
