“Sorry,” Vivian manages, still laughing, which is not helping our case.
“Yeah,” I add, because that feels necessary. “Didn’t realize?—”
“No, no,” he cuts in, waving a hand. “You’re good. I mean. It’s a free country.”
He grabs the bin, gives us one last look that's a mix of half amused, half confused, and disappears back inside, the door shutting a little harder than it needs to.
Vivian’s still laughing, though it’s quieter, tapering off as she leans slightly into the wall, shaking her head.
“I cannot believe that just happened,” she says, breathless.
I watch her for a second. The way her eyes are still bright. The way she’s trying to pull herself together and not quite managing it. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.
She glances up at me, still smiling. “Your alley strategy could use some work.”
“I’ll take that on board for next time.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Next time?”
I hold her gaze. “Find a spot with less foot traffic.”
That gets a small laugh out of her. “Planning ahead already?”
“Seems smart.”
Her grin softens, just a little. The space between us shifts again and I take it as my sign to shuffle my feet and take a step back.
“We should probably—” she starts.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
There’s another beat. She drops her hand from her mouth, her fingers brushing briefly against mine as she does. I can tell that wasn’t accidental. Not entirely. And something about the way she’s looking at me now... It’s less surprised. More certain.
She studies me for a second, like she’s deciding something. Then she turns, opening the alleyway gate and stepping back onto the street.
I follow her, back into reality—sunlight, noise, people moving past like nothing happened. Except for us, something did.
Whatever this is now, there’s no pretending that it’s nothing.
Not when I feel like it could be everything.
CHAPTER 15
VIVIAN
Eva’s shop is starting to feel like home base. There’s something about it—the low hum of music spinning through the speakers, the soft crackle of vinyl, the scent of coffee and old paper—that makes the end of the day feel accomplished. Like whatever you walked in carrying doesn’t feel quite as heavy once you’re inside.
It also helps that it’s only a block from my shop, too, and that Lucy decided we should start making this a thing.
“Happy hour,” she’d called it, like we’re all wildly social and not just a group of women who desperately need somewhere to land at the end of the day. But none of us argued.
Which is how I’ve ended up here now, walking into a record shop turned bookstore with a bottle of wine under my arm and the faint, dangerous hope that maybe I can pretend to be normal for the next hour.
Juliette’s already here, her plant store closed for the day. She’s perched on one of the stools near the counter, flipping through a stack of records like she’s got all the time in the world. She looks up when I come in, her expression warm, easy. She’s been a friend for a few years now, also one of my bestest. She’s loyal,strong, and steady. The kind of steady that makes you forget how much you might need it.
I’m lucky her shop is only a few doors down from mine, so I get time with her during the week. Actually, I take that back. I used to, but these days between the store, her ten-year-old son Theo, and her relationship with her man Sawyer, I’m lucky I get to see her when I do.
