Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dahlia
The scent of paperbacks and warm vanilla fills the air as I reorganize the shelves in Better Than Fiction for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
The store looks pristine, with its warm lighting, cozy reading nooks, and tall shelves full of happily-ever-afters.
Everything is perfect. Peaceful. And still, I feel on edge.
Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline from seeing Echo in my space yesterday, or maybe it’s just my brain’s way of telling me I’ve been alone with my thoughts for too long. Either way, with only twenty minutes left until we close, I’m ready for this day to be over.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out and see Echo’s name flashing on the screen, I drop the damn thing like it burned me.
It clatters against the ground, and I just stare at it for a second, waiting for it to attack me.
Get it together.
You’re fine.
I pick up my phone and flip it face down on the coffee table without reading the message.
I tell myself it’s because I don’t owe him anything. That yesterday was a onetime, deeply fucked-up encounter that ended the moment he walked out of the shop. But then my phone buzzes again, and dread sinks deep into my gut.
Shit. He warned me what would happen if I ignored him. Do I really want to give him a reason to come here?
I exhale through my nose and slowly turn it over.
Echo: You’re avoiding me again.
Echo: See.
Fuck.
I didn’t think he’d notice.
A hollow laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
Of course he noticed.
He’s arrogant, presumptuous, and far too perceptive.
Now that he’s reached out again, ignoring him feels like the wrong move.
He’s already curious about me, and curiosity turns into persistence if I’m not careful. I need to do what I always do when people get too close. Push, deflect, and stay sharp enough to keep distance, but funny enough to make it seem accidental. Eventually, he’ll tire of my attitude and move on.
I type out a response, my fingers stiff over the screen.
Am I? Or have I just been too busy with work to respond to the egomaniac who strong-armed his way into my contacts?
I stare at the message, jaw tight, with my thumb hovering over the send button. It’s sharp and a little defensive, but it works.
Before I can overthink it, I hit send.
You’re the one who wanted to be friends with me, Bambi.
I press my lips together. I don’t like that he has a nickname for me. It suggests a sense of familiarity that we don’t have.
True.
But I was desperate.
I pause, then add,
So really, this friendship was kind of a last resort.
There’s a pause. Not a long one, but enough to make me wonder if I took it too far.
So we are friends.
I exhale and lean my hip against the counter.
Unfortunately
How are you?
Fine, I guess. My face still looks like I lost a fight with a brick wall.
It looked bad yesterday.
Wow. Thanks for the compliment
There’s a pause. Longer this time. I’m halfway to setting my phone down when it buzzes again.
What’s your favorite way to spend a day off?
Alone
Not out with friends?
I like quiet
Noted.
I’m debating on how to respond when my phone buzzes with an incoming call.
It’s Josh.
My stomach flips and I silence it immediately, waiting until it goes to voicemail. A text from him comes through seconds later.
Can we talk? I miss you.
I clear the notification without responding and go back to Echo’s message. I’m not ready to open that can of worms back up. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Echo’s next text comes through.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
I blink. That’s… oddly specific.
My thumbs hover.
I should just lie. It’s what I usually do when anyone asks something real. But maybe the truth is better. Maybe the ugliness of it will get him to see he doesn’t want someone like me in his life.
I wanted to be a mom.
A pause.
Do you still want that?
I swallow.
It’s not really in the cards for me anymore.
Three dots. Gone, then back.
Sorry.
Wow. You should write sympathy cards.
I mean it. You seem like you’d be a good mother.
You don’t even know me.
You stepped in for a stranger, knowing you couldn’t win. I know enough.
The questions from him continue after that. Some are easy. Others aren’t. I answer a few without thinking. Dodge the rest before he can push for more.
Are you always this inquisitive?
Only when I’m taking something seriously.
Ready for the next one?
Do you have a list or something?
There’s a pause. A real one this time. Longer than before.
No.
There’s definitely a fucking list.
You hesitated.
You’re very observant.
You’re very bad at lying.
I don’t usually need to.
That, I believe.
My turn to ask a question?
Sure.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
There’s no pause this time.
Someone who kept people safe.
I start to type out a response, but another text comes in almost immediately.
I’ll save the rest of my questions for another time.
Why?
It’s late. I’m sure you’ve got things to wrap up at work.
I glance at the clock. 9:15 p.m. I should’ve closed up shop a while ago.
Right.
Goodnight, Bambi. We’ll continue this tomorrow.
Not talk. Continue. Like this is something that will be ongoing. Fucking hell.
I lock the screen and tuck my phone back into my pocket, feeling like I gave him more than I meant to and kind of hating myself for it.