33. Henry
HENRY
The fluorescent lights are so harsh they drain the color out of everything. The racks are packed too tight, sleeves snagging on hangers, price tags flashing neon yellow. The music—if you can call it that—is some pop song from ten years ago, crackling through a single blown speaker.
It’s chaos. A visual assault. Whoever designed this layout should be tried for crimes against retail. Nothing breathes. There’s no flow, no balance, no story. Just piles of fabric jammed too close together.
I walk the aisles of Discount Rack, hands in my pockets, trying to blend in. This is my first time in a store like this. I’d always assumed they were depressing. Turns out I was right.
I stop at a display. It’s tucked away between two bins but it’s actually good.
A single mannequin in jeans and a white shirt, styled with a scarf in a way that looks unplanned but perfect.
I know it’s Natalie’s work. No one else in this place would think to tie the scarf like that or to roll the sleeves unevenly so it looks lived-in instead of staged.
It’s exactly the kind of thing she would do.
My chest tightens. I know she’s here. Her parents told me where to find her but part of me still can’t believe it. Of course she’d do this. She’s so damn stubborn. Starting over from the bottom, taking an entry-level retail job instead of asking for help.
This has gone on long enough. She’s had time to breathe, to calm down, to see reason.
I can’t give her any more time. I’m losing my mind.
Every day, I sit staring at my phone, convincing myself she’s going to call but she hasn’t.
So now I’m here. Because if she won’t come back on her own, then I’m going to have to make her.
I move slowly down the aisles, scanning every face, ready to stop the first person in a red vest and demand to know where she is. But then I see her.
She’s crouched in front of a bottom shelf, carefully straightening rows of women’s underwear with a kind of quiet precision that just about breaks me.
Her hair’s tied back, a few loose strands escaping around her face.
No makeup. She’s wearing a red vest with Discount Rack stitched in yellow across the back. A plastic name tag pinned to the front.
She looks smaller somehow. Not physically, but like the fire’s gone out of her. That spark, that confidence that used to fill every room, has pulled back into her. And still, somehow, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Natalie,” I say.
She flinches at the sound of her name, stands too quickly, and only then seems to notice the pair of underwear in her hands. She tucks it onto the rack like she’s embarrassed to be caught here at all.
I try to think of what to say, even though I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times in my head. But now, standing in front of her, every word I planned disappears.
“Did you come to see me, or are you shopping?” she says, gesturing toward the women’s underwear.
We both grin and before I can stop myself, the words fall out.
“I tried to give you space,” I say. “But I can’t keep doing this. We’re going to work it out, alright? We belong together, and you’re going to have to let me help.”
“Okay,” she says.
For a second, I think I misheard her. I was braced for a fight, an argument, anything but she just looks down. Then she takes a step forward and suddenly she’s in my arms, her head pressed against my chest.
“I’ve been stupid,” she says. “And proud. And I missed you.”
I pull her close, holding her tight. For the first time in weeks, everything in me goes still. I smile into her hair. She still smells like home.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say. “Carter’s waiting for you. You can have my job. I’ll be your assistant or something.”
She looks up at me then, eyes bright again. “Actually, I had another idea. But I might need a little help. Some financial backing...a few connections.”
“Done,” I say, without hesitation.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I don’t need to. Whatever it is, it’ll be brilliant.”
Her smile is the best thing I’ve seen in weeks and when she slips her hand into mine, something settles in my chest. I don’t need anything else. This is it. She’s it. And now that I have her, I’m never letting go.