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“I do take us seriously,” she vowed. “You’re my person. Even when Blair was my person, you were still my person.”
“I know, Iris.” Gabriel placed a kiss on her head. “I know.”
43
Iris stood immobile on the sidewalk as an icy rain slipped down the back of her neck, staring at the building in front of her. A makeshift cardboard sign painted with the words Irideae Apothecary in Blair’s neat handwriting was propped against one end of the large glass windows.
She rubbed a hand over her jacket, trying to smooth out its creases, and across her frizzing brown hair, which had grown out so that the curls tickled her chin. She tucked her scarf around her neck, playing anxiously with the tassels as she repeated what she wanted to say over and over in her mind.
Finally, when she could bear the anticipation no longer, Iris pulled open the door and stepped inside.
The small shop was warm and inviting. A taupe rope rug she’d helped Blair pick out at Goodwill weeks ago stretched out beneath her ankle-length galoshes. Rustic wood shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars and bottles of varying sizes and mixed in here and there with a few potted plants. Iris thought she recognized one of the trailing vines as the same variety that Gabriel had purchased for the bookshop. She wondered if Blair had perhaps stopped in when he knew Gabriel wouldn’t be working to ask for the name of the plant. Probably he had known it without having to inquire, but Iris liked the idea that Blair was still in their orbit, just one chance encounter away.
The front counter was deserted. Iris glanced around the shop. The only other customer was an elderly woman, whose lips moved soundlessly as she read the ingredient list on one of the jars, before placing it in her wicker shopping basket. Iris’ heart beat faster as she pretended to look at the items on display. She couldn’t stop herself from peering into the back room every few seconds—not that she could see much.
Her head felt weightless. If Blair didn’t show up soon, she might just float away. At least then she wouldn’t have to face him, to see anger or disappointment on the face she loved.
The old woman stepped up to the counter and set down her items, before ringing the little brass bell beside the cash register.
Iris held her breath as Blair emerged from the storage room. His eyes met hers from across the shop, almost as if he had known she was there. Of course he’d known she was there. He could hear her heartbeat, for crying out loud. He’d probably been able to sense the moment she stepped inside the store.
Blair turned his attention to his customer, making polite conversation as he rang up her items. Iris watched him with pride as she thought about how far he’d come in the past months, from someone who could barely converse with strangers, to a budding business owner. After everything he’d been through, his resilience was nothing short of inspiring.
After what felt like hours, the woman moved away, and Iris, her heart in her throat, stepped up to the counter. Her shaking hand curled around the paper in her coat pocket. Blair had turned away from her under the pretense of rearranging a display at the other end of the counter.
Iris cleared her throat. “Hi.”
She heard the tinkle of the doorbell as a second customer walked into the store. Blair’s eyes flicked over to them before finally meeting her gaze. “Hi,” he said, reluctantly walking over to her.
Iris didn’t know if he was merely trying to look polite in front of his customer, or if he was really willing to talk to her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. “Could I… Could I please have a glass of water, Blair?”
He blinked, then disappeared into the back room. Iris raised a hand to her aching throat, lowering it the moment he reappeared clutching a glass cloudy with condensation. His hand brushed hers as she reached for it, her eyes never leaving his face as she gratefully drank, the cold water slipping down her throat like medicine. Blair’s cheeks were much redder than normal, almost as raw and painful looking as they had been that day at the church. Iris lowered her glass, reaching up automatically to touch his cheek.
“Blair…” she whispered as tears gathered behind her lashes.
He dodged away from her, his eyes cast downward. “Stop, Iris.” His voice sounded more like a sigh. “I’ve had enough of your sympathy for a lifetime.”
His words hit her like a physical blow. Iris took another small sip of water, her hand still shaking as Blair’s attention shifted to his customer, a tall man with a scarf similar to one of Gabriel’s. At last, he turned back to her. “Is there something I can help you find?”
Iris bit her thumbnail. She was finding it hard to look away from him after so many weeks of his absence. Her stomach roiled with so much love and pain and regret, but her mind was empty, all her rehearsed lines forgotten as she stood facing the man she’d hurt so desperately.
“Yes,” she said at last, clearing her throat again. She leaned her elbows on the counter. “I’m experiencing pain.”
Blair ran a weary hand through his hair. “Where?” he asked, almost reluctantly, as though afraid he was about to fall headlong into a trap.
Iris placed a hand over her heart, her eyes never leaving his. She knew she was being melodramatic, but nothing she’d said was a lie. She watched Blair’s chest expand.
“I think you’d better see a doctor.”
She shook her head, her face utterly serious. “I can only find what I need here.”
For a while, the world stilled. Then Blair broke their eye contact. “Go home.”
“Come with me.” Her quiet voice came out like a plea. Once again, her hand brushed the paper in her pocket, and she pulled it out, smoothing it out on the counter between them. “I finished the song. The one I was writing around New Year’s. Well,” she amended, “it’s actually a different one. But it’s about you.”
Blair stared down at the page as though it might bite, and Iris knew exactly why: He was afraid to feel the emotions she’d experienced when she wrote it. She prayed that he would read the lyrics anyway.
Iris took a hurried sip of water, waiting, but Blair remained immobile.
