Chapter 9 Atlee #2
“Thank you,” I say, wishing I had better words to express what I’m feeling. But he seems to understand, nodding once before stepping back.
As I turn to enter the store, I catch sight of Deputy Noah Sanchez across the street.
He’s not looking at me, though. His gaze is fixed on Devlin, watching intently as he gets back in his truck.
There’s something in his expression that makes me uneasy.
I make a mental note to tell Devlin about it later.
The bell above the door chimes as we enter, and I flinch at the sound, memories of that day threatening to overwhelm me.
But Lennon’s hand is steady on my back, Payton is chattering about the new inventory that came in, and Joseph is leading the way toward the pharmacy counter.
I take a deep breath and follow them, my feet remembering the path even as my mind races with anxiety.
The pharmacy section has been rearranged, just as Payton said.
The counter where I was standing when the robbery happened has been moved, and the display that was knocked over has been replaced with something entirely different.
It’s still the same place, but different enough that I don’t immediately flash back to that moment.
“We thought it might help,” Joseph says quietly, noticing my reaction. “Give you a fresh start.”
“It does help,” I assure him, running my hand along the new counter. “Thank you.”
Lennon stays for another ten minutes, fussing over me until I finally convince her that I’m okay to work my shift. “I’ll call you on my break,” I promise her. “And Devlin is picking me up afterward.”
She eyes me knowingly. “Things are getting serious there, huh?”
“I don’t know what they are,” I admit. “But they’re something.”
“Just be careful with your heart,” she says, squeezing my hand. “And call me if you need anything.”
After she leaves, Payton shows me the changes they’ve made to the workflow while I was gone, and Joseph goes over the reduced schedule he’s created for me this week. By the time the store opens for customers, I’m feeling almost normal, focused on the familiar routine of my job.
The first customer through the door is Mrs. Henderson, an elderly woman who comes in every first Monday of the month for her blood pressure medication. She takes one look at me, and her eyes widen.
“Oh, Atlee, honey,” she says, reaching across the counter to pat my hand. “I heard what happened. Are you all right?”
I paste on my best professional smile, the one I’ve perfected over years of lying about my family life. “I’m doing much better. Thank you for asking.”
“Well, we’ve all been praying for you,” she tells me earnestly. “The whole town was just sick about it. That man’s not from around here, you know. Some drifter passing through.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The thought that everyone in town knows what happened to me, and has been discussing it, makes my skin crawl. But I shouldn’t be surprised. News travels fast in Grizzly River.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Henderson continues. “It’s good to see you back at work. Shows real character.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning to retrieve her prescription. “How have you been feeling? Any dizziness with the new medication?”
And just like that, we slip into the familiar rhythm of pharmacist and patient, the conversation steering away from my trauma and back to her health. I can do this, I realize. I can pretend everything is normal, even when it isn’t.
As the morning progresses, more customers come in.
Some are awkward, avoiding eye contact or the subject altogether.
Others are like Mrs. Henderson, full of concern and questions.
A few pretend nothing happened at all, which I find I prefer.
Each interaction gets a little easier, my shoulders gradually relaxing as I fall back into the routine of my job.
During a quiet moment, Payton brings me a cup of coffee from the café section of the store. “You’re doing great,” she tells me, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Seriously. I don’t know if I could have come back so soon.”
I wrap my hands around the warm cup. “I almost didn’t,” I admit. “If it weren’t for Devlin…” I trail off, not sure how to explain what he’s done for me, how he’s made me feel safe enough to face this.
“He seems intense,” Payton says, watching me carefully. “In a good way, I mean. Like, he’d move mountains for you if he had to.”
I smile, thinking about how accurately that describes him. “Yeah, I think he would.”
“So that’s a thing now?” she asks, eyes dancing with curiosity. “You and the big, scary rancher?”
“It’s…something,” I say, echoing what I told Lennon. “I’m not sure what yet.”
“Well, whatever it is, it looks good on you,” she says with a wink. “Even with the bruises.”
The rest of the morning passes without incident.
I help customers, fill prescriptions, check inventory—all the normal tasks that used to fill my days before everything changed.
There are moments when the anxiety spikes, like when a man in a dark hoodie walks in—it turns out he just has a cold and needs a decongestant.
Or when I hear a loud crash from the grocery section—just a display of canned soup knocked over by a child.
Each time, I breathe through it, reminding myself that I’m safe, that what happened was an isolated incident.
By the time my shortened shift is ending, I’m exhausted but proud. I made it through. I didn’t run. I didn’t break down. I just did my job, one minute at a time, until the hours had passed.
As I’m gathering my things to leave, I glance out the front windows and see Devlin’s truck pulling up. Right on time, just like he promised. Something warm unfurls in my chest at the sight of him, this man who’s become my safe harbor in such a short time.
“Your ride’s here,” Payton says with a knowing grin. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time tomorrow,” I confirm, surprising myself with how much I mean it. Today was hard, but I did it. Tomorrow will be a little easier, and the day after that, even more so.
As I walk toward the exit, Joseph calls my name. “Atlee, wait.” He comes over, awkward in the way he always is when dealing with anything personal. “You did good today. Real good.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched by the rare praise.
“And, uh…take care getting home, all right?” he adds, his eyes darting to where Devlin waits in his truck. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read.
“I will,” I assure him, before pushing through the door into the late afternoon sunlight.
As I walk toward Devlin’s truck, I feel lighter than I have in days. I didn’t let fear win today. I faced it head-on and came out on the other side. Now I’m going home, not to my empty apartment, but to a cabin in the mountains with a man who makes me feel safe and seen.
Not a bad way to end the day, all things considered.