I laugh. “And I’m your entertainment?”
“Yes!” she confirms, rearranging a stack of silk camisoles with way too much force.
“I was dangerously close to having to talk to Mrs. Boudreaux about her dog’s gluten intolerance again. That woman’s Yorkie eats better than I do.”
“That Yorkie eats better than any of us.” I laugh and she nods, shoving a pile of scarves into my arms. “Fold these before Mrs. Leclerc comes back in here pretending she’s not about to drop four grand on a purse her husband is absolutely going to notice.”
Her gaze softens. “By the way, are you okay? I know it’s been hard for you with Joe…”
“I… I miss Joe so much and… Liam has been acting…”
She cuts me off. “He’s scary as hell, has he talked to you at all?”
“Not really, can’t call it talking,” I scoff. “He’s … grieving. People need someone to blame, right? He wants me to feel like Joe’s death is my fault, that Joe got on that bike because of me.”
Mimi leans forward, eyes sharp. “No, babe. Just no. That’s heavy and not true. At all. You know that, right? Don’t let him do that to you.”
“I don’t know, Mimi, the guilt is eating me alive. If I hadn’t let Joe walk away, he’d still be here. Liam is right.” I breathe heavily, feeling a panic attack on the verge of happening.
“Sara, look at me. None of us have that much power in changing someone’s fate,” she says it in an imploring way, so I'd let go of this burden. “He has no right to put this on you. Fight him back! You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
I nod, though my throat burns. Deep inside, I know I can’t blame myself for Joe’s death, but I wish it were that simple. It’s difficult to be plagued by so much death and heartache around me.
It makes others uncomfortable when they look into my eyes and see a pit of darkness they want to remedy, as if grief is a disease. Something to be fixed. But this is different, and Mimi is right; I can’t just let him treat me like this. Overcoming my pain is hard enough.
She watches me with understanding and hands me boxes to fill, mercifully ending the conversation.
After two hours of serving the village elite, I push open the door for my break to head outside. Empty nesters trying on the latest fashion made my head spin. I rarely work, but it’s nice to keep my mind occupied. I need it, especially after this morning’s fiasco with Liam’s puppy.
The memory of his chest crushing down on mine is vivid, and my heart races at the thought of his wicked eyes. They haunt me in places torn between undeniable fear and something else I can't quite grasp. Is it a fascination with danger? Or is it he's the only remnant I have of Joe, a reminder that Joe was once real? He's anything but safe. He’s a concussion waiting to happen in every way.
Eyes on the ground, losing my compass to the uneven cobblestones rooting me to maintain balance in my village, my home, I walk smack into a wall. No — harder. A chest. Solid and unyielding.
The concussion I was just thinking about — Liam.
No fucking way.
He was in the middle of saying hi to someone, low voice curling around his welcoming voice that would never be directed at me, when I look up.
“Well, well… what do we have here?” His mouth curves, knowing the answer.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to run into you. Definitelynotyou.”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’re not happy to see me? You can at least pretend. That’s the least you owe me.”
“I never would have pegged you for one to tolerate pretense. I’ll spare you.”I shift around him to leave, but his arm halts me.
“I definitely can’t tolerate you very much, so I guess you’re onto something.” He smiles almost genuinely, and I realize I’ve never seen him smile. It’s a smile that screams, “I’d taste your blood if I could.”
Shit.
“Don’t worry,” I say dryly, “lucky for you, my toaster and I have a date in the bath later.”
“Can I plug it in for you?” He laughs morbidly.
“Or maybe you should join me. Take us both out of this misery.”
“Is that an invitation, Sara?” He questions with venom, moving closer.
