“He’s a friend.”
“Who’s this friend?”I ask, assuming she’s talking about me.Well, more like DeadStrings.
“You don’t know him,” she says quickly, too quickly.And the way her mouth twitches makes me suspicious.Like she’s hiding something behind her teeth.Like maybe she does know him.Like maybe she’s talking about her online friend.
Me.
“Do you know him?”I ask, dragging the question out like a dare.
“Obviously.”
“Well enough to call him now and ask him to take some of these albums?”I press, enjoying the shift in her eyes.
“I—”
“You don’t know his number.”
“No, but I can message him,” she replies, all defensive now.
“How?”I nudge.
“The ...my computer.”
“You have an online friend?”I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s ...yeah.”She crosses her arms like armor.“Are you judging me?”
I lift both hands like I’m surrendering.“I wouldn’t dare.I just ...you’ve heard of stranger danger, right?”
“He’s not dangerous,” she says, and it’s too quick again.
“Sure, and I’m not famous.”I smirk, then glance at the records.“Tell you what.I’ll grab a box and return for another one later this week.”
“I can drive you if you want,” she offers, just like that.
“You have a car?”I ask, even though I remember her saying—during our online chat—that she didn’t.
“Yeah.After Dad died, I just ...I don’t know.”Her voice changes like a breeze cutting through still air.“I realized that maybe I could use a car.”
Her eyes stay glued to the floor like they’re trying to say more than her mouth can handle.Like getting behind the wheel was more than just about convenience.It was freedom.Control.Maybe even the first time she felt like she could run without asking for permission.
And while her having a car would be wildly convenient—she could drive me back to my place—I can’t let that happen.She’d see Otis.Put two and two together.Realize that the guy she’s been messaging online for months is standing right here in her goddamn record shop, wearing this dumb fucking smirk like it’s nothing.
I’m not ready for that.Not today.We have to work through a lot before we get to that point.
I grab a box and hold it in front of me like a buffer.
“Listen, I appreciate the offer,” I say, careful to keep my tone light, like this isn’t going to sit with me all damn day.“But you’ve got work, and I have an appointment in an hour.Couldn’t wait around for you to close the shop.”
She nods, lips parting as if she’s going to protest, but she stops herself.Instead, she gives me this soft, crushed smile.Like she expected more—more time, more of me.
“Okay.”
That one word?It lands right in my chest, making me feel like a disappointment.It takes me a few seconds to remind myself that this isn’t about me.Her expectations shouldn’t affect me.My therapist is right.Boundaries are exhausting but necessary.
I clear my throat, shifting the box like it suddenly matters.“Why don’t I come back ...”My eyes scan the shop for a distraction, anything to give me a beat to breathe.“Do you have a free day?I could swing by for another box.Maybe we could grab something to eat.”
Her brows lift.“To eat?”
