2. Halle
CHAPTER 2
HALLE
“ S top shoving each other,” I hiss.
Ignoring me, Quinn and Casen continue arguing over what color to paint their room.
I pinch my brow and will the annoyance building inside me to abate. I have to keep my head on straight. For them. For me. I can’t afford to fall apart.
And definitely not in the middle of a hardware store.
I’m not just their older sister anymore. I’m their guardian, and that means I have to act with a higher level of maturity than I have previously.
“I want yellow.” Casen pulls out a swatch and thrusts it at Quinn.
Quinn slams it back into his chest. “And I want green.”
“If you two can’t figure this out civilly, then I’m picking the color, and I promise you won’t like my choice.”
There. That sounds more guardian-like. I’m providing them a solution while also being firm in my delivery.
That shuts them up quickly. They exchange a look, then Quinn says, “Can we do the room half yellow and half green?”
It’s going to cost me more in paint, but at this point I don’t care. “Sure.”
“Sweet.” They fist bump and bow their heads together, conspiring as if they weren’t just arguing.
I leave them to it and go in search of an employee.
A man in a Thorne Hardware apron steps out from an aisle, kind smile already in place and a pair of reading glasses perched on his balding head. “Can I help you with something?”
“Do you have any clearance paint? Maybe colors people changed their minds about and returned?”
I mentally cross my fingers. It may not save me much, but right now, every dollar counts, and I’m hoping that a fresh layer of paint will help with the lingering stale smell inside the house.
He cocks his head and presses his lips together, thoughtful. “Sometimes we do. Follow me.” With a wave, he turns and heads down the aisle. “If we’ve got any, they’ll be over here.” He takes a left and points to a shelf of miscellaneous items. “It may take a bit to sort through it all.”
Cautious hope fills me as I eye the overflowing shelf. Hopeful or not, the smile I give the man is forced. Sometimes I wonder if once, maybe when I was young, before life wore me down, they were genuine. “Thank you.”
He peers over my shoulder, neck craned. “Do you need a cart?”
Lip caught between my teeth, I half turn and follow his line of sight. “Yeah, I’ll go get one.”
He waves me off with a firm hand. “I’ve got it.”
Before I can utter another word, he’s headed toward the front of the store.
While I wait for him to return, I dig through the clearance items, setting aside a few cans of paint. The color options aren’t great, but the discount is steep. There’s a purple shade that will work for my room, even though I don’t love it. A blue that will look okay for the main spaces. A yellow that’s perhaps a bit too bright but will be fine for now in the kitchen and laundry room.
The man approaches with a cart. “Finding everything you need?”
“Yep, I think so.” I grasp the handle of a gallon in each hand and heft them into the cart. “It’s not perfect, but I’m on a budget.”
He looks me up and down, brow furrowed in curiosity. “You’re new in town.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I am.” I dip my chin. “My brothers and I just moved here. ”
He breaks into a wide smile. “Welcome. It’s a close-knit community. You’re going to love it.”
“I’m realizing that.” I give him a tight smile. “Anyway, thanks for the cart.”
He waves. “Holler if you need anything, dear.”
I peruse the clearance section a little longer, adding outlet covers and even a paint roller that’s slightly dented but will still get the job done. When I make my way back over to the paint section, I’m not at all surprised to find my nerd brothers having a sword fight with wooden paint stirrers.
“Have you decided on a color?” I ask, holding out a hand for chips.
They cease their mock sword fight, and each one passes me a paint chip.
The colors are… disgusting, to say the least. But it’s not my room, so I keep my mouth shut. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since I took custody of them a month ago, it’s to pick my battles.
“Why don’t you grab paint rollers and tape while I get these mixed up?”
“Aye, aye, Cap. We’ll get right on it.” Casen tugs Quinn down the next aisle.
There’s no one at the paint mixer, but there’s a bell with a note that says Ring for service.
I tap the bell, and a moment later, the man from before appears behind the counter.
“Interesting choice of colors,” he says when I hold out the paint chips.
“My brothers chose them for their room.”
“Ah, I see. Do you know what brand you’d like to use? I recommend?—”
It’s rude of me, but I cut him off. “Whatever’s cheapest.”
Even if it’s a dollar cheaper, that means I’ve got an extra dollar in my pocket.
“Of course, but?—”
“Harold,” I say, reading the name embroidered on his apron. “I’m on a budget. Just pick whatever is cheapest and covers well.”
“Um.” He taps his fingers. “That would probably be our Thorne’s Promise in-house paint.”
“Perfect. I’ll take a gallon of each of these colors.” I tap the chip cards. “Thank you,” I add in hopes of smoothing the edges of my abrupt response.
“Is this it for the paint?” he asks, pulling the gallons off a shelf.
“Yep, that’ll be all I need to have mixed.”
“If you need to do any more shopping, I’ll just bring these to the front, and you can pick them up when you’re done. I can give those clearance gallons a good shake while I’m at it.”
“That would be great,” I say as I pull them out of the cart again.
As the mixing machine does its thing, making a loud whirring noise that makes me wince, I wheel the cart over to the next aisle. Instantly, I groan. Of course my brothers have knocked over a display, and dozens of sponges are scattered all over the floor.
Casen and Quinn, who are picking the cardboard display back up, freeze, eyes wide and locked on me .
“What did you do?” With a huff, I abandon the cart and drop to my knees, scooping up the sponges.
“It was an accident,” Casen says.
“We’re cleaning it up.” That from Quinn.
It’s silly. It’s only a display. It’s easily righted and nothing is broken. Even still, tears prick at the backs of my eyes. I’m stressed , and every time I turn around, one of my idiot brothers is doing something stupid.
“Hey,” Quinn says softly. “Are you, like… okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, thrusting a handful of sponges at him.
“Maybe she’s starting her period,” Casen mutters. “She seems extra emotional.”
“This has nothing to do with my period.” I run my fingers through my hair, which is somehow tangled, even though I brushed it an hour or so ago.
I’d rather not let on just how stressed I am. Despite the way they worry me endlessly, they’re kids with enough burdens of their own to deal with. And in reality, some of my worries are unfounded. Concerns like the one that hit me the second I saw the mess they’d created. That my brothers would be taken away from me because the powers that be will see that I’m not fit to take care of them. I feel entirely unworthy of them. Too young, too dumb, too fucking broke to raise them. But in my heart, I know they’re better off with me. It’s why I fought so hard for them after Mom went to prison.
The three of us get everything righted, and since they were wreaking havoc rather than picking out paint rollers, I toss a few of those into the cart along with plastic roller trays .
“Let’s go,” I say, pushing the cart forward.
At checkout, I find the paint cans, just as promised, and the older gentleman loads them for me. When the total appears on the register, I balk a bit, but I bite my tongue and pay for it. The house smells musty and stale, and with any luck, a fresh coat of paint will fix the issue. I can’t blame Thayer and Laith for leaving so quickly. I’m not sure how Caleb held out for as long as he did.
I’m worried that even the paint won’t be enough. Not with the shape of the worn carpet in some of the rooms, but I have to try.
Outside, the boys help load the car without complaint. They’re useful when they want to be.
Once it’s all taken care of and they’ve returned the cart to the front of the store, I smooth my windblown hair off my forehead. “I’m going to walk around and see if any of these places is hiring. Why don’t you hang out over there?” I ask, lifting my chin to the store down the street that looks like an arcade.
“Sure,” they say in unison, giving me matching shrugs.
I pull out a ten-dollar bill and hand it to Quinn, but rather than take it, he just arches a brow.
“This isn’t going to last long.”
“I barely have that to spare, so make it last.” I ruffle his hair and then Casen’s.
With annoyed looks and hands roughing through their hair, they take off.
Once they’re inside the arcade, I wander down the street, searching for help-wanted signs. With the number of businesses on this block and the next, someone is surely looking for part-time help.
The money I make doing scheduling for a doctor’s office is decent. On my own, it was good enough, and it’s a remote position, which means I can be around for the boys when they need me. But it’s not enough to support the three of us comfortably. They’ll start school soon, and if they want to play sports or get involved in other extracurriculars, I don’t want to have to tell them no. When I was growing up, we didn’t have the money for that kind of stuff. I don’t want the same for them if I can help it.
The first help-wanted sign I encounter is in the window of a musty-smelling thrift shop. I put in an application even if I’m not sure I can survive the smell. It might be worse than the house.
Next up is a hair salon, but they’re only looking for a licensed hairstylist.
I continue on my way, passing a cute cupcake shop as I go. I’d love to surprise the boys with a half dozen, but my bank account is already screaming at me.
With a look one way, then the other, I cross the street and peruse the shops on the other side. The first few I try aren’t looking for help. The coffee shop is next. It’s a cute, quaint little place, and it smells like heaven.
“Hi,” I say as I approach the barista. “I was wondering if I could put in an application? I saw the help wanted sign on the door.”
“Oh.” The young girl straightens and scans the small space. “Let me get my manager. ”
I step aside to wait so I’m not in the way if customers come in.
She comes back, her face lit up, and points to an empty two-top by the front window. “She’ll be out in a minute. You can sit over there if you’d like.”
With a grateful smile, I shuffle to the table. I sit, my feet doing a nervous tap dance on the stamped concrete floor. A handful of minutes later, a woman several years older than me appears beside the table, holding a simple blue folder. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek bun and a pair of red glasses sit perched on her pert nose. She’s dressed in a pair of adorable plaid pants and a short-sleeve shirt that shows off her full sleeve of tattoos.
I instantly like her.
“Hello, I’m Amy.” She sits across from me and extends her hand. “Keeley said you were asking about a job?”
“I’m Halle.” With a nod, I shake her offered hand. “I’m new in town and saw the sign out front. This place is adorable.”
“I know it’s unusual to go straight to the interview process, but since we’re both here, I figured why not.”
“That’s great.” I set my hands in my lap and lace my fingers. Hopefully that’ll keep me from waving them around like I do when I’m nervous.
“Great.” Amy pulls a piece of paper from the folder. “Have you worked in a coffee shop before?”
“No, but I’m a quick learner.”
Her eyes dart away, and my heart sinks.
She looks back at me, and when her expression remains open, I exhale in relief. “Any experience with an espresso machine, at least?”
“Yes,” I fib, keeping my shoulders back and my chin high. If she hires me, I’ll spend some time watching videos on YouTube. That way I won’t look like a complete novice.
She arches a brow in doubt, and that confidence shrivels a bit.
So I double down and lie through my teeth. “M-my friend has one at her house,” I stammer.
She moves on to other questions without calling me out, thankfully. Questions about my job history and skills that don’t include making coffee. I’ve worked in retail and the backend of a restaurant, as well as a little waitressing. That should help sway things in my favor.
She taps her pen against the table and blows out a breath. “Experience as a barista is typically a must?—”
My heart sinks.
“But”—my heart dares to soar—“I have a good feeling about you. When can you start?”
I resist the urge to get down on my knees and thank her. “As soon as you need me.”
“How about Monday?”
That gives me four days to make some progress on the house and figure out how to use an espresso machine.
“Monday is perfect.”
“Good.” She breaks into a genuine smile. “Welcome to the team, Halle.” Standing, she holds her hand out once again. “Order a coffee on your way out. On me.”
“Thank you.” I infuse the simple phrase with as much gratefulness as I can manage. “ I’ll see you Monday.”
Normally I wouldn’t take her up on the offer for a free coffee, but oh boy, do I need it.
I ordered an iced caramel latte and walk out with a pep in my step.