“Kind of hard to ignore when she just looked at me like I’m contaminating her air supply.”
“She’s not worth your energy,” Macy adds.
More customers trickle in throughout the afternoon. Most are supportive. They buy books, offer kind words, and tell Sadie they’re proud of her. A few are cold. Judgmental. One woman actually mutters “disgraceful” under her breath loud enough for everyone to hear.
I watch Sadie handle it all with grace. She smiles. She rings up sales. She recommends books. She doesn’t let them see her flinch.
But I see it. Every time someone walks out without buying anything. Every time someone gives her the same look Mrs. Patterson gave. Every judgmental comment lands like a knife to the spine.
And I want to punch every fucking one of them.
By late afternoon, Macy takes over the register so Sadie can take a break. I follow her to the back room, where she sinks into a chair and drops her head into her hands.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers.
I crouch in front of her. “You already are. And brilliantly, I should add.”
“They hate me.”
“Some of them do, but only in the sense that you’re just the next thing in a long line of things they want to hate. Most of them don’t.” I wait until she looks at me. “You’re still here, Sadie. You’re fighting. That’s what matters.”
She shakes her head. “What if it gets worse?”
“Then we deal with it. I promise I’m not letting you fight this alone.” I stand, offering her my hand. “Come on. You’ve got more people to prove wrong.”
She looks at my hand for a long moment. Then she takes it and lets me pull her to her feet and into a hug. Her arms wrap around my neck tightly. I pull her closer and don’t let go until she does.
We go back out to the shop floor together, and I don’t leave her side for the rest of the day. By the time we lock up at seven, Sadie looks exhausted, but she made it through the day.
“You did good,” I tell her as she finished counting the register. She places everything in a safe and locks it.
“I survived,” she corrects, turning off the lights as we move toward the door. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Surviving is good,tesoro.“ She locks the door behind us, and we climb the stairs to her apartment.
At her door, she pauses. “Mateo?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For staying. For calling Isabel and Dean and... just for everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” She meets my eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”
There was never a scenario where you’d have to.
But I just nod. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She disappears inside, and I head down the stairs to my truck.
I’ll be back tomorrow. And the day after that. And every damn day she lets me show up.
Each night, it gets harder to walk away from her.
And every time I’m around her, the wordfriendfits a little less.
CHAPTER 8
