“Maybe you should ask her if she wants help,” I mutter to Bridget, but she only rolls her eyes.
“And have her bite my head off again? No, thanks.” Her voice is just as quiet, neither of us wanting to draw the elderly woman’s attention. “What’s her deal, anyway? Doesshe have a toad as a pet? Pick the meat off small children’s bones? Or was she just put on this earth to torture people with her complaints?”
I bite back a smile, but before I can answer, Mrs. Chamberlain pauses, her wrinkled face creasing in displeasure before she whips around to face the counter.
Three…two…one…
“Is this really all you have? These arrangements are all subpar at best, and I’m certainly not paying that much for days-old flowers.”
Bridget’s smile is pleasant, but she can’t hide the muscle fluttering under her left eye. “All our flowers came in this morning, actually. They’re as fresh as a daisy.”
I bite back a smile, looking away when Mrs. Chamberlain turns a narrow-eyed glare on me. “And why is he here? Why areyouhere, Braxton Newport?” She sticks her nose in the air, mouth pursed and wrinkling like she’s sucked on a lemon. “That can’t be good for business, having a hoodlum loitering. He’s a degenerate, I’ll have you know.”
I clear my throat, desperately attempting to bottle my amusement down. If I laugh, it’ll be a red flag to a bull with this lady. “Now, Mrs. Chamberlain, you know I didn’t mean to hit your mailbox. And it was an awfully long time ago. I’ve paid my penance.”In the form of listening to her bitch about it for the last decade.
She points a gnarled finger at me accusingly. “Jim Peason said there were no brake marks, and Isawyou aim for my mailbox when you jumped the curb. I might be old, but my mind is a steel trap, so don’t you lie to me.”
“Well, I was only sixteen?—”
“Age is no excuse,” she snaps.
“Braxton has been helping us,” Bridget interrupts smoothly. “I’m sure you can understand why his presence here might make us feel a little safer.”
Mrs. Chamberlain pauses, blinking owlishly as adawning realization crosses over her face. “Yes, the burglary and attack. Poor Gracie.” Her eyes soften at my girl’s name. “Still, she’s not with him anymore, so I’m sure you could find someone more…appropriate.”
I pin a wide, obnoxious smile on her. “Well, if you come back tomorrow, my father is the one who’ll be here.”
Mrs. Chamberlain ignores me. “Where is Gracie? She knows flowers. She’ll know just what I need for my entry table.”
“I’ll go get her,” Bridget says quickly, marching for the workshop and leaving me on my own with Mrs. Chamberlain. Luckily, she gives me one last scathing look before turning away with a huff.
Gracie comes out less than a minute later, while Bridget stays out of sight, clearly seizing the opportunity to hide. It takes Gracie no time to find something that has Mrs. Chamberlain’s sour countenance softening, their idle chatter filling the quiet shop. By the time Gracie closes the door behind the older woman and flips the sign toClosed, her shoulders are sagging, and she lets out a wary sigh.
“You okay?” I murmur, eyeing her with concern.
“I’m fine.” Gracie gives me a tight smile, rubbing a hand over her arm. “Thank you for being here tonight. And all the other nights.”
I step toward her, pulling her into a hug. “He’s not here,” I remind her softly. “He’s not in Sterling Creek. The attack was random. The act of a man out of his mind on drugs. He’s not coming back.”
She nods against my shoulder, her arms wrapping loosely around my waist. “I know. I do.” Her voice is a broken whisper. “But every day closing time comes around, it’s like my mind just shuts down. I’m thrust right back into that night, him chasing after me with that knife—” She bites off the rest of her words with a shudder.
I squeeze her tighter, tamping down the rage heatingmy chest. It infuriates me that this asshole stole Gracie’s safety—something she’d only just won back.
“You ready to make that appointment?” I ask gently, and Gracie hesitates before bobbing her head again.
“I need to, don’t I?” she asks waveringly.
“I think so.” I skip a beat, and then add dryly, “And that’s me saying that.”
“You telling me not to act like you?” She pulls back, her stormy eyes meeting mine. “Should I not blow my entire life up before I get help?”
I narrow my eyes, reaching down to dig my fingers into her ribs. “Everyone’s a joker, huh?” I demand as she yelps, wriggling to get away from me.
“Well, if you wouldn’t make yourself the butt of the joke…” Bridget trails off teasingly as she comes out of the back room. Gracie pulls away, giving me a small smile. She and Bridget make quick work of closing up the shop for the day and preparing for tomorrow morning.
Gracie locks the store behind us as we leave and we walk together toward the parking lot round the back of the store where the employees park, her shoulders easing the further we get from the door.
“One week back,” Bridget says. “How’re you feeling?”
