I might be okay, but this time of year is hard. I keep picturing Noah at his parents’ house next to a Christmas tree, or vacationing on a tropical island for the holiday. Each time he has a girl next to him. She’s beautiful, and her head is tipped back in laughter while Noah grips her around the waist with one arm. The image knifes my heart every time, yet I can’t seem to make it go away.
Even now, talking to Dorothy, I see them together.Stab, stab, stab.
“I better go,” I say in a high-pitched voice, jumping up.
Dorothy looks at me as if I’m transparent. She has the knowing gaze of a mother who doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.
I leave, my hands stuffed in my jacket pocket, but when I reach my bike, I don’t feel like getting on it. So I don’t. The windy day makes the cool air feel colder, and it’s a good match for my heart.
I wander along the main streets in town, past the storefronts and offices. Turns out, walking without a purpose sucks. Without something to focus on, my mind wanders. Straight to Noah. The very place I don’t want it to go.
Without looking, I duck into a store. The warm air envelops my face. I pull off my jacket, drape it over my forearm, and peer around, curious at what I’ve gotten myself into.
Round racks of clothing, shoes falling over one another haphazardly on shelves, and an odd smell. Not terrible but slightly musty. A multitude of smells mixing together to make a blasé scent, like too many colors added together make brown.
“Welcome to Zee’s.” The voice reaches me before the person. It has a soft, Southern lilt. He comes from an open door at the back of the small place, his purple velvet blazer shiny under the overhead lights. From his forehead to his neck, his brown hair is spiked in intricate rows.
“Hello,” I say, unable to take my eyes off his hair.
“I’m getting ready to shave it all off,” he says, continuing behind the counter. There’s a stool there, but he doesn’t sit.
“Okay,” I respond, not sure what I’m supposed to say.
Turning his head, he glances out the window and then back at me. “Did you come from Friendly Little Place?”
I look down at my uniform and laugh. “What gave it away?”
The guy steps back out from behind the counter. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Oh…umm.” I look around. “Probably not. I was just… I don’t really know.” I laugh, embarrassed. “I wound up here.”
The guy walks closer, and I gaze at his blazer. It looks soft. He extends a hand.
“Dayton Mann,” he says, grinning. One of his front teeth turns in slightly, and it makes me feel like I can trust him.
“Ember Dane.” I return the smile, my first in weeks that wasn’t immediately followed byWhat can I get you, and my face stretches with the effort.
“What do you think about me putting the ‘closed’ sign up and taking you for a drink?”
“Are bars open in the middle of the day?” Never mind that I’m not twenty-one.
He sends me a derisive look, but it’s playful. “Honey, bars would stay open during an apocalypse.” Dayton laughs at his own joke and wanders to the front door. He flips the open sign and reaches over the counter, coming away with a set of keys.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I don’t quite know what just happened, but I’m not going to question it. We walk out and I wait for him to lock up. He leads the way and I fall into step beside him. He tells me about his teacup Chihuahua until we reach the door of a little bar on the corner.
* * *
My new friendslips into the booth across from me. Very different from the booth at Friendly Little Place. This one has a high wooden back, creating the notion of privacy.
He sets down the amber colored beers we ordered from the bartender before claiming our spot. I wasn’t carded, thank god. Maybe it was the uniform.
“Are you going to get in trouble for closing the shop like that? It’s the middle of the day.” I reach for the beer and take a small sip.
Dayton shakes his head. “I own Zee’s.”
I raise my eyebrows. He looks too young to own a store.
