I toss my cleaning supplies in the cupboard behind the front desk before turning toward the hallway that leads to the back. The group of girls are beet red as I pass them, offering a smile. They definitely didn’t intend for me to hear that conversation.
I fall into my desk chair, shutting the door with my foot. I won’t leave until Maggie does—I don’t want to leave her alone this late at night, so I pass the time with an audiobook while I budget for the upcoming year.
January is the worst month for me. Winter is always hard, but people at least vacation during the holidays, and we maintain some business while schools are on break and people are off work. When the new year comes along, seasonal depression hits, everyone goes back to work, and nobody wants to spend a dime following the holidays. It’s well known that many small businesses struggle at the start of a new year, but as I compare numbers, I realize just how much my fucking mortgage is taking a toll on my finances.
I don’t need four bedrooms, a den, or a wraparound porch. I don’t need all this space I can’t afford, but after considering selling last year, I couldn’t go through with it. I can’t let go of one of the only happy memories of my brother I have left.
I’ve thought about getting a roommate, but the idea of living with a stranger wigs me out, and living with someone I do know wigs me out even more. I considered asking Leo to move in last year when he was still staying in the studio above Heathen’s. Though, it doesn’t matter now that he’s a married homeowner with a baby girl on the way.
I smile at the thought. That pure, unfiltered happiness on both their faces when they told us. Darby had a rough time getting pregnant, and I know she was close to giving up hope entirely, so I couldn’t be happier for the two of them.
It really goes to show how incredibly different lifestyles can look for those of us in our late-twenties. Some are married and have families. Fuck, even Everett has a kid at home, when only a year ago, he was the biggest bachelor I knew. Then, there are those like me: hardly able to pay our bills, emotionally unavailable, estranged from their parents, and likely to die alone.
The morbid thought is broken up by the sound of Maggie knocking on my door. “I’ve got my station all cleaned up. Register is closed too. You cool if I head out?”
I stretch, lifting out of my chair. “Yeah, go for it. I’m going to lock up, and then I’ll be out of here too.”
“We could just leave together, if you want?”
I know there are underlying connotations to that question, and like every time she’s propositioned me before, I maintain a professional boundary.
“Nah, you’re good. You can head out.”
She swallows hard, and I know that disappointed her, but I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in her that way. Maggie’s sweet. She’s cute too, with her pixie cut and her pin-up look, but I’m not about to fuck my only full-time employee.
“Have a good night,” she mumbles before shutting my door behind her.
I wait long enough to know she’s gone before I leave my office and head toward the front of the shop. I unplug the neon lights strung around the space, tie off the trash, and set the bags by the back door so I can toss them on my way out. Just as I’m finishing up, I hear the bells on the door chime.
Fuck. I should’ve realized Maggie didn’t lock up the front before she left.
“We’re actually closed!” I call out.
I need the business, but I’m not staying here all night for some random, drunk asshole.
The response I get back is a laugh, loud and raspy.
My blood runs cold at the sound of it, my flesh turning to ice as it rakes across my skin. That laugh is implanted in my bones and stamped upon my soul; my entire body freezes as it echoes through my hollow chest.
I’m standing at the back door, staring at my feet because I’m fucking petrified to turn around. There is zero explanation for her being in my shop at eleven on a Saturday night, laughing. I’m not prepared to address this, so much as look at her.
I don’t fucking want to.
What’s worse is that the sound of her is accompanied by another. A lower, deeper, male voice. An intense sense of déjà vu washes over me because this isn’t the first time I’ve hidden behind a wall, listening to her laugh with another man, and allowing her to wreak havoc on me. In fact, I’ve been in this position so many goddamn times I lost count.
Sucking in a swift breath, I spin on my heel and head toward the front of my store. My business. What I built—alone, without her. She fucking left me. She does not get to show up whenever the fuck she feels like tormenting me.
“You cannot be here…” My words die on my tongue as I turn the corner and find her standing in front of me. It’s beenmonths since I last saw her face, and even then she rendered me speechless all the same.
She wore a black dress to her brother’s wedding. The kind that clung to every curve like it was painted on. Her face was sad and withdrawn, she was thin and frail, but like every other time I’d looked at her throughout the duration of my life, what stood before me was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
This moment is no different.
Except, rather than a black dress that molds to her body like it was made for her, she’s wearing cut-off shorts, a black Glass Animals tee, and a worn pair of Vans. Her hair is thrown into a knot atop her head, with wild, dark strands framing her like a lion’s mane. The tail of the serpent I tattooed around her thigh on her twenty-third birthday peeks from beneath the hem of her shorts. The septum piercing I gave her when she was nineteen catches the overhead lights, glinting. If she turned her head right now, I’d catch a glimpse of the constellation on her neck—my constellation.
She’s covered in me, and yet she’s spent years pretending I don’t exist.
I want to fucking hate her for it.
