“What changed?” I asked. “That you could open this box now?”
He was quiet for a long moment. Set the snow globe down gently on the counter, where it caught the golden light.
“I don’t know. Something about the last week.” His voice was careful, like he was picking his way through uncertain ground. “Having someone here. Talking about her out loud instead of just… carrying it.”
“I’m glad I could help. Even accidentally.”
“It wasn’t accidental.” He looked at me, and there was something in his expression I hadn’t seen before—uncertainty, maybe, or hope. “You asked questions. You listened. You didn’t try to fix anything or tell me it was time to move on or any of the things people say when they’re uncomfortable with grief.”
“I’m uncomfortable with a lot of things. Grief isn’t one of them.”
“No.” He was closer now. When had he moved closer? “It isn’t.”
The air between us had changed. Thickened. The late afternoon light was turning everything gold and I was suddenly, acutely aware of how close we were standing. Close enough to see the grey in his hair, the lines around his eyes, the slight part of his lips.
The radio shifted to something slow. Deliberate. The kind of song that was clearly making a point.
“Your radio is being very obvious,” I said, and my voice came out barely above a whisper.
“It does that.”
“Should we tell it to stop?”
“Do you want it to stop?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Because the honest answer was no, and saying that felt like stepping off a cliff.
His hand came up. Slowly, carefully, like I might bolt. His fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and the touch was so gentle it almost hurt.
“Diane.”
“Marcus.”
I could kiss him. I wanted to kiss him. He was leaning closer and I was leaning closer and for once in my life I wasn’t looking for the flaw, the reason to run, the escape hatch?—
My phone SCREAMED.
Not buzzed. Not vibrated. Screamed—a sound like every notification in the world going off at once, a digital shriek that made both of us jerk apart like we’d been electrocuted.
“What the?—”
The screen was lit up, notifications cascading so fast I couldn’t read them. Matches. Messages. Alerts. And cutting through all of it, one message that made my stomach drop:
Todd Martinez:I’m in town. I need to see you. Please, Di. I’ve changed.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no?—”
A knock at the shop door. Loud. Insistent.
Through the glass, I could see him. Leisure suit. Sideburns. Disco energy radiating off him like cologne made of pure 1978.
Greg.
“GROOVY LADY!” His voice was muffled by the glass but unmistakably enthusiastic. “The universe told me you needed me! I brought a MIX TAPE!”
“Oh god.”
Marcus had stepped back. I watched it happen in real time—the walls going up, the warmth draining away, replaced by that careful blankness I’d seen the first day we met.
