"It was nice to meet you, Tonya,” I say with a small wave.
"Back at you, cutie," she says, tossing me a playful wink.
Callum leads her to the front, and I walk to the table, straightening all of the crooked chairs. Glancing at the cat tree, I smile when I see Plot—position changed—but still sleeping peacefully.
Oh, to be a cat...
"Sophie, you don't have to do that," Callum says as he returns, just as I push the last chair neatly into place.
"I'm a Virgo," I explain with a shrug, and then cringe. Paul had called astrological signs nonsense. I never really took it too seriously, but I just thought it was fun, the same way I thought Maeve reading my tarot was fun. A littlespookyfrom how accurate she was, but fun.
Callum probably thinks I'm silly, and I grin a little sheepishly. "I need order, or it'll bother me."
"I get that. I'm a Libra," he grins, wide and unbothered, waving his hand in a lazy side-to-side motion. "I'm verygo-with-the-flow."
I blink at him, surprised—but also... not.
"What?" he asks, reading the look on my face, and I shake my head to clear it.
"N-Nothing. I'm just kinda surprised you actually know your sign."
He shrugs like it's obvious, "You've met my mom."
"Oh!" I glance around as if Maeve might suddenly pop out from behind a bookcase, asking if I want another tarot reading—which I wouldn't say no to, honestly."Where is she, by the way?"
He points upward with a fond grin, "Every night she goes up to the roof to watch the sunset, and then she meditates for an hour or so after. It's a... very peaceful time for her. She's always done it with my dad."
My smile softens at the warmth in his voice. "Oh, your dad's here too?"
"No, uh..." Callum scratches the back of his neck. His expression drops, and my heart drops along with it. "My dad passed away about ten years ago."
"Oh, Callum, I'm so sorry." I instinctively step toward him and gently lay my hand on his arm. His eyes snap to mine at thecontact, and I feel my arm muscles tense like I was shocked by an electric current. "You guys were close, huh?"
"Yeah," he says, nodding with a genuine smile. "We were... real close. We did pretty much everything together. All three of us."
The expression on his face isn't so much sad as wistful, as if he's been pulled into a memory. I can't help but ask, "What was he like?"
"Quiet, but really kind. Strong. Caring.Good. He loved my mom so much. She waseverythingto him," Callum says softly, eyes meeting mine. A look of longing briefly crosses his face before he blinks it away. "We worked in contracting together, but he was a really talented carpenter. He made all the tables and chairs, and all the bookshelves in the store."
I glance around and there's a whole new value behind these beautiful woodworks. Made with love for his son, for his wife, for hisworld.
I realize my hand is moving on its own, in a soothing motion on Callum's arm, and it breaks the little spell over me. Reluctantly, I drop my hand, "Do you look like him?"
Callum smiles. "Spitting image. Well, besides my eyes. He said he was always happy that the two people he loved most shared the same color eyes."
“Oh…” I melt at that, "That's really sweet."
"He, uh... was never really good with words, but my mom could pull it out of him," his smile cracks a little at the sides, pulling down slightly. "He loved her so much. She really misses him."
"She... feels closer to him up there?" I nod toward the roof, and he nods.
"Yeah, she still talks to him, tells him about her day, about me. It... comforts her."
I nod because I don't really know what to say. I picture Maeve—that kind woman who comforted me on Thursday—alone up there speaking to the late love of her life, and it breaks my heart.
There's just something so devastating about loving someone that much. And then they die, leaving you alone with that love still surviving.
At this moment, I can almost understand Paul’s actions, his fear and seeking comfort.
