37. Salem
SALEM
The shop was exactly how I had left it, and there was comfort in that.
I’d taken considerable time off for the PR situation and worried the place would unravel without me.
It hadn’t. We had the right crew, the right systems. Everything was running as it should, and there was something settling about that. It felt like proof.
Nothing asked anything of me except to be taken care of, which was the thing I needed most right now—problems with solutions.
I set my bag down and moved through the space aimlessly. It didn’t matter what I was doing. Stillness meant thinking, thinking meant feeling, and I wasn’t ready for either.
My phone buzzed on the workbench. I ignored it, and it buzzed again. Then again. I dragged a rag across the counter and kept my eyes on my hands, flipping it over enough to see the screen.
There were notifications stacked on notifications, and I knew what they probably were. I turned it face down and picked up the rag again.
The bell above the door rang.
Rowan said, “You ghosted me. I have been trying to get a hold of you for what feels like a week.”
I turned toward her, already bracing. “I‘m sorry.”
“You didn’t answer my texts. I had no idea where you were.” Her expression shifted the second she got a good look at me, irritation settling into what I would guess was worry. “You look like you didn’t sleep. Are you okay?”
“Sometimes I hate your observation skills, babe.” I gestured at myself. “I didn’t sleep.”
“What happened?”
“It’s just a lot right now.”
She held my gaze, waiting. When I didn’t give her anything, she thinned slightly. “Is this about him?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
The bell above the door rang again, and Chuck entered with a stack of papers. “Hey, Salem.”
I loved Chuck—his quiet steadiness, his gruff exterior, the one pair of coveralls he always wore, the Henley underneath that had probably been white at some point in its long and storied life. Chuck was solid, calm, wonderful, and not particularly observant, which was going to be a problem today.
“Got some paperwork in today,” he said, setting it on the counter. “You gonna change the name from Gray Harbor Auto or keep it?”
I winced.
Chuck cocked his head, then glanced at Rowan.
“Proud of you, girl,” he said, apparently deciding to proceed. “Glad you’re the one taking over. Means I can rest easy in Cabo.” He slapped the counter once and headed toward the office.
The door swung behind him.
The silence that followed was immediate.
“What is he talking about?” Rowan asked.
I exhaled. “I’m buying the shop.”
She stared at me.
“Chuck’s retiring. I’m taking over. I got approved for a loan this morning.”
“When,” she said slowly, “were you planning on telling me that?”
“I was going to—”
“When?”
I didn’t answer fast enough.
Her jaw tightened. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s not like that—”
“It is exactly like that.” Her voice climbed slightly.
“You’ve been weird for weeks. I thought it was October—she’s always weird in October—and then I thought it was this guy, but no.
It’s you buying an entire business and not telling your best friend.
There’s no way this was a passing thought.
Tell me you haven’t been planning this, and Chuck is just experiencing early-onset dementia. ”
“I didn’t know if it was happening.”
“That is not an excuse. Not for something this big.”
”I didn’t want to jinx it.”
“That is not the point. The point is you shut me out. You disappear, you stop answering, and I find out you’re buying a whole business.”
“I know I am—”
“You are what?” Her voice caught slightly on the last word. “What about Madison? What about college? You just changed your mind and forgot to tell me?”
I didn’t have an answer that didn’t make it worse.
Rowan looked at me for a long second. “Fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Rowan—”
“Don’t.”
She turned and walked out. The bell rang sharply behind her.
I stared at the space she’d crossed, and then, I looked down at the papers Chuck had left on the counter.
My shop.
The thing I had been saving for and planning for and holding at arm’s length because saying it aloud made it real, and real things could be taken away. Right here on the counter in a stack of documents, official and completely unable to feel like what it was supposed to.
Me not telling her wasn’t fair. There was no version of that with a good excuse attached to it, and I knew that. Knowing it didn’t make the bell above the door stop ringing in my head.
I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the counter and closed my eyes. I’d stay here until I figured it out. All of it. What to do and what I felt and whether I was actually doing the right thing or just telling myself I was.
Honestly, I might as well move in. Wouldn’t be that hard.
I owned the place now.