I looked up at him, ready to argue the difference, already halfway into whatever point I was about to make. Then I paused, because the space between us felt different in a way I couldn’t argue with.
Not far or awkward, just not automatic anymore.
“Next time,” I said instead, settling on something that sounded like a conclusion.
“Next time,” he echoed, like it still meant what it used to, but it didn’t land that way.
I shifted the box into his cart, letting the movement close the moment before it could stretch any further.
“Come on,” I said, brushing my hands together lightly like we were still moving through this the same way we always had. “You’ve got a whole store to figure out.”
He followed, easy as ever. And just far enough back to notice.
We eventually walked to the registers together because leaving separately would have required a decision neither of us made. Outside, the air had shifted, the afternoon settling into something quieter that made everything feel a little more final than it had inside. He loaded everything into his car with the same efficiency he applied to everything else, like it had already been planned. I stood there a step back, hands in my jacket pockets, like I had somewhere else to be.
“Guess I’ll see you Sunday,” he said, closing the trunk.
“Yeah,” I said. “Auntie Rhonda said she’ll be back Saturday.”
He looked at me then, not searching, not asking, just looking. I didn’t try to interpret it. Instead, I lifted two fingers in a small wave. He nodded once in return. And that was it.
I sat in the parking lot longer than I needed to after he left, my hands resting on the steering wheel without actually gripping it, like I was waiting for something to settle that had already made up its mind. The car a few spaces down pulled out, tires crunching lightly over the pavement, and the row went quiet again in a way that made it harder to pretend I wasn’t avoiding leaving.
After spending two hours inside of a Swedish furniture store, I was still sitting there holding a throw I had not needed until about ten minutes ago when my phone lit up in my hand before I could decide what I was going to do next. Simone, calling on FaceTime like she had already decided this required visuals.
I let it ring once, then answered.
She didn’t speak right away. She just looked at me, her head tilting slightly as she took everything in at once, from my face to the surroundings visible outside of my car windows.
“Nova,” she said finally, slow and deliberate, like she was placing the name carefully. “I’ve been checking your location all afternoon, so pray tell, why you are sitting in a parking lot in Cherry Hill like you don’t have a home address.”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “I needed to get out of the house.”
“So you drove to another state.”
“Cherry Hill is not another state,” I said, shifting the phone in my hand.
She let that go, which meant she was saving it for later. Her eyes narrowed instead, focusing. “You talked to him or you still haven’t heard from him.”
Not a question.
I dropped my gaze to the steering wheel, tracing the seam with my thumb like it required attention.
“Actually, he was here. He’s working on the space and just happened to be inside shopping at the same time. I bumped into him while he was looking at chairs.”
Simone leaned back, exhaled, then leaned forward again like she had decided to stay in this conversation whether I cooperated or not.
“This is what I mean,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “You two stop talking and then somehow end up in the same place at the same time like your lives synced up without asking you first.”
I looked at her.
She held my gaze, completely unbothered. “Like a damn menstrual cycle,” she added.
“Simone.”
“I said what I said.”
“If that’s the case, it’s giving the cramps from hell that are making me think long and hard about calling off tomorrow.”
