Standing in front of the cracked mirror of the bookstore’s cramped bathroom, I twisted my torso left and right, scrutinizing the reflection. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, throwing stark shadows across my pale features. I tugged at the hem of my light denim skirt and twirled once more, as if chasing away the thoughts that clung stubbornly to my mind.
The last two and a half weeks without hearing Grey’s name or seeing his face had offered me a space to breathe. Or at least, that was what I hoped. Instead, I found myself accusing—no, convincing—myself that everything between us had been a terrible mistake.
“Maybe I’m just not any fun,” I muttered to my reflection, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I’m annoying. Or worse, forgettable.”
A flicker of defiance warmed me slightly. At least, I thought, I still had myself to rely on for a bit of cheer.
Adjusting the skirt once more, I silently cursed Grey Kingston. Who was he to dictate what I wore? What I chose to be?
He could shove his rules anywhere, for all I cared.
But then, I caught myself. I did care. No, wait—I wished I didn’t. Though, honestly, I wasn’t sure if I didn’t.
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror and reached for the toilet paper roll on its holder, sliding it gently onto the floor. Sitting on the closed lid, I let my less-than-perfect leg do the work of flicking the roll away, imagining Grey’s infuriatingly handsome face plastered across it.
“Grasshole,” I muttered, kicking again. “Big, butthead. Freakin’ mood killer. Stupid gorgeous mother trucker.”
A low groan escaped me as I buried my face in my hands. Usually, after this long, the ache of someone fades, especially when you’ve vented your frustration on pillows, or in this case, discarded toilet paper.
Dragging myself upright, I grabbed the roll and tossed it into the trash. Sorry, Jesus, for the waste.
No one wants to wipe with dirty paper—unless you’re into that kind of thing, and yikes, no thanks.
I fetched a fresh roll from under the sink, carefully placing it back on the holder. Running my fingers through my long blonde hair, I smoothed my skirt one last time and stepped out of the bathroom.
My knee throbbed but felt a little better. I reassured myself it was just a sprain, not a torn ACL. My gait was a bit pirate-like, yet improving.
The new shipment of books arrived only yesterday, and I’d been absorbed the last two days, pushing a heavy cart through the aisles to restock shelves. Now, I was back where I’d left off, pulling a book from its place to examine its cover art and blurb.
Suddenly, the cart began to roll away from my grasp. A chill ran down my spine.
“No way,” I whispered, steadying my hand on the handle and looking up toward the empty aisle.
There, as clear as day in my mind’s eye, was Aaron. His mischievous blue eyes sparkled with that familiar teasing glint I’d come to miss. He was more than a ghost; he was a friend who’d quietly stayed by my side all this time.
He circled the cart, and I moved to follow, our dance winding us to opposite ends. A smirk crept over his lips, revealing a dimple that made my chest ache with warmth.
“Someone’s feeling playful today,” his melodic voice teased, coaxing a reluctant smile from my lips.
He darted again, and my slower movements—thanks to my wobbly leg—allowed him to catch my arm, tugging me close.
Wrapped in his sudden, bear-hug embrace, I chuckled softly at his unexpected cuddliness. “I missed you, A-a-ron,” I stammered, biting my lip to hold back a laugh.
“You missed me?” he rumbled, voice low and warm against me. “Well, I guess I’ll have to show up more often. I missed you too, Azzy.”
We parted, and his gaze dropped to my knee. “What happened, Azalea?” he asked, crouching beside me and resting his hand gently just below the brace.
“I tripped over a chair,” I sighed, the frustration spilling from my voice. “I’m a mess. Everything feels like it’s falling apart.”
His eyes met mine, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. Those dimples—so irresistible—I wanted to pinch his cheeks.
He noticed my hands clenching at my sides, the silent sign of my growing anxiety.
“Go on,” he urged playfully, rolling his eyes.
I reached out, squeezing his cheeks in a tender, grandmotherly way. “It still stings that you’re the only one who thinks I’m adorable instead of just… plain.”
He puckered his lips, mimicking the way I gripped my fists, and I shoved him lightly, laughing.
“Why are you having such a hard time?” he tilted his head, curiosity softening his tone. I bit my lip, holding back the torrent of emotions.
“How’s college been for you? Good, I hope?” I quickly changed the subject, grabbing a few books to distract myself.
“Jake used to do that,” he said quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Don’t start it too, okay?”
Jake—the big brother I lost—had mastered the art of switching topics. One moment we’d be deep in conversation about his latest game; the next, we’d be debating what I’d wear the next day. He hated talking about himself, and I’d had to shake some sense into him more than once.
“We should grab lunch,” I said suddenly, clapping my hands in an attempt to lighten the mood. I needed something to eat—a distraction from the heaviness in my chest.
“Fine,” Aaron sighed, his smile reluctant but genuine.
But then, the decision quickly soured.
Not good.
Terrible idea.
I should’ve known better than to let Aaron pick the spot.
My stomach churned ominously.
“You look pale,” Aaron said, steadying me as I stumbled out of his car.
Where had he taken me? The place was all too familiar.
Grey’s bar by night, a restaurant by day.
The scent of stale beer mixed with the faint aroma of fried food assaulted my senses. The daylight revealed every scratch and scuff on the worn wooden tables, the peeling paint on the walls. It was a far cry from the shadowy refuge I sometimes imagined it to be.
My stomach rolled again, and I clenched my teeth, gripping Aaron’s arm for support.
“Easy,” he muttered, concern etched in his brow. “You okay?”
I forced a shaky nod, though the queasiness clung stubbornly to my insides.
Aaron’s presence was a balm, but even his warmth couldn’t chase away the sour taste of my unease.
Lunch was supposed to be simple—a way to reconnect, to breathe—but as I stared around the bright, unforgiving space, I realized some places held too many ghosts, too many memories.
And maybe, just maybe, some battles weren’t ready to be faced yet.