Resolutely she turned around and opened the door of the shop. The warmth and comfort of the place hit her first: the neat shelves, the old-fashioned sweet jars that had proved to be a big hit with the schoolchildren, even the smell of the leftover meat pies drying out under the heat lamps—all of it filled her with an ache of familiarity. She loved it here.
“What are you doing here?” Dan asked. He didn’t sound unfriendly, but his voice was far from welcoming.
“Can’t I come say hello?” He looked nonplussed. And he didn’t say hello back. “Dan...” This was far more awkward than she’d hoped it would be. She didn’t even know what she was going to say, what she wanted. “I thought we were friends,” she finally blurted, and Dan stared at her.
“Friends?”
“Yes. Friends. But lately you’ve been so...” She searched for a word. “Surly.” Dan didn’t answer, and she continued, each word an agony, “is it something I’ve done? To make you change—”
“You didn’t do anything, Claire.” Dan sighed and came out from behind the till. Claire thought he was coming towards her—to push her out of the shop, maybe—but he went outside and pulled the iron shutters down over the windows, leaving her feeling entombed in the shadowy interior. He came back in and started flicking off lights, and Claire realized he wasn’t going to say anything else.
“So what’s going on?” she asked.
“Why does something have to be going on?”
“Because you acted one way and now you’re acting another. And usually that means something has changed.”
He stood by the door, one hand on the main light switch, about to plunge them into darkness. Claire dared to take a step towards him, even to put a hand on his arm.
“I like you, Dan. I thought you liked me.” Inwardly she cringed at how needy she sounded, but another part of her was registering the solid warmth of Dan’s arm under her hand, the heat of his body. He was so strong he could crush her in one massive fist, and yet she didn’t feel threatened or even intimidated. She felt... safe. And tingly.
She glanced up at him, realizing with a jolt at how close his face was. He was looking down at her, frowning slightly, his eyes narrowed.
“Dan...” she began, and she imagined standing on her tiptoes, brushing her lips across his. She imagined him taking her in those massive arms, cradling her. Kissing her back. She almost did it. She came so close, her feet tensing as she went on her tiptoes, took a breath—
Then Dan flicked off the lights and moved away. Claire rocked on her feet, throwing out a hand to brace herself against the wall. With the shutters down and the lights off, she couldn’t see a thing.
“Go home, Claire,” Dan said, and stinging with rejection, she went.
The next morning Dan didn’t mention that moment, if it had even been a moment, and Claire went about her work without engaging him in conversation. So Dan didn’t want to be her friend or anything else. She’d get over it. He was a mean-tempered ass, anyway.
At lunchtime he took Bunny for a walk, and the sight of the springer mix—that’s what Dan thought she was, anyway—leaning lovingly against his side practically put a lump in Claire’s throat. He wasn’t that much of an ass. But never mind.
She tended the shop alone, managing the cigarettes and Lottery cards, the cash register no longer the frightening and intricate machine it had been just a little over a month ago. She’d changed, she’d grown, even if it was just in small ways. Even if she wanted to change a little more.
Dan returned with Bunny and resumed his place behind the till; Claire went back to checking inventory. She opened a just-delivered box of groceries, surprised to see upmarket pasta sauces inside rather than the tins of Spam and Fray Bentos “Boozy” pies.
She glanced up at Dan. “This is new.”
He shrugged, not looking at her. “I’m diversifying.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, but Claire felt a little better. A little hopeful. She even dared to ask Dan if he’d go to the pub quiz on Thursday. “Eleanor Carwell is counting on you, you know.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re a wimp, you know that?” The words rang out before Claire could think better of them. Suddenly she was angry. It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel angry, since she hadn’t assumed it was all her fault and tripped over herself to apologize.
“A wimp?”
“A coward. An emotional coward. It’s cowardly to keep yourself from having friends. I get that you were hurt by your wife—”
“Ex-wife,” Dan interjected, biting off the two words. He’d folded his arms in that menacing way he had, making Claire swallow hard before she continued resolutely.
“Ex-wife, then, and your brother. I’ve been hurt too. It sucks.” She took a deep breath; her whole body was shaking. “But youcan move on, Dan. You can. Otherwise you’ll just atrophy here in this shop. You’ll die in your bed upstairs choking on a rubbery piece of Spam, and no one will discover your body for months.”
“They would,” Dan answered tonelessly. “Because they’d notice when I didn’t open the shop.”
“I was the one who realized something was wrong when you didn’t open the shop,” Claire exclaimed. “I was the one who cared enough to make sure you hadn’t drowned in the bathtub!” Furious now, she crossed the shop to poke him in the chest. Ouch. “I’m the one who is trying to be your friend, you stubborn old...” She trailed off, at a loss for words, and Dan wrapped his hand around her finger still poking into his iron-hard chest.
