Chapter Twenty
Zoey
T he changes in the neighborhood are fast, even if they’ve been a long time coming. It’s Thursday and my mind is just overflowing with things. The rain that’s been threatening pours down in the late afternoon. It’s a slow day, with a few extra sales from people darting in to avoid the worst of the rain.
“Things change, Zoey,” Magnus says behind me as I look out the window from the little front display I’m meant to be redoing.
“I know. But it shouldn’t be because of a bully who wants to price people out.” The last of the boxes go into the moving truck double parked outside. The warning lights are a beacon that breaks the gray. “That’s the Abidi family moving out.”
His fingers slide slow along the zipper of my dress and I shiver from that light touch. “Perhaps on to better pastures.”
“Or further out, where commuting is a little more difficult for them.”
“It’s part of life.”
I stiffen a little at the barely-there words, but he softens them.
“Or so they say. C’mon, Zoey, the day’s pretty much done. You can’t change things.” He pushes my hair away from my neck, leaving it exposed to the warmth of his breath, and in the reflection I can see us, wavery with the rain outside, ghostly figures, and he leans down, almost skimming my skin with his lips.
“I want to.”
I want to sink into him and just let him take me from all the worries, all the pressures that eat at me. I want to forget anything and everything and just feel.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin, “you have. Just by not giving in you’ve made them more money.”
I turn and he’s there, body skimming mine. “They rented. They got priced out by the landlord. And that happened because their no-good landlord sold to Sinclair to make a pretty penny.”
With a small sigh he steps away from me and I turn back to my display, placing books and little boxes I found in the little room where odds and ends always find their way, right at the top of the stairs before roof access.
It’s fall and boxes and old crates and lock boxes all make that feeling of hidden corners where you can unlock the secrets of books. That’s the thought in my mind, anyway. And overall, I think it looks okay.
I dust my hands and try to find that sweet warmth that held promised passion from his touch, but the truck is still there. And now Sinclair’s in my mind. Sinclair and the things Magnus doesn’t know about his gran’s situation.
She told me how he thinks she’s paid up, but bills add up and she doesn’t want him to foot them. How he’s paying for elective surgery for her hip. Everything is a mess and if I had a million dollars I’d give it to those who need it.
But I don’t.
A customer comes in and I let Magnus handle it, stepping into the back and going over some numbers I’ve been crunching for a couple of days. When the register door closes and the bell on the front door tinkles, I close the notepad with my sums and I step out behind the register.
We’re both there, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the other’s body heat. But I don’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch me. That little moment at the front of the store was only that; a moment. I pull up a stool and sit, then look up at Magnus.
“How’s your gran?”
He shrugs. “Old. But stubborn.”
“The mobility issues?” I half smile and reach for a ginger and cacao nib cookie I made. “I’m prying, I know. But…I liked her.”
“She likes you.”
“I just didn’t expect the walker and her frailty. Not her spirit. That’s strong, but bodies…”
“They give out, yeah, I know.” He breathes out and closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s one of the reasons I’m here. She needs an operation.”
I might not have a million dollars, but I’m better off than most. Especially most around here, and I own this place; Sinclair and his evil goons notwithstanding. “I can help—”
“Zoey.”
“What? I can. If it’s pride, you need to swallow it down.” I put my cookie down and cross my arms. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
He stares at me a long time, those onyx eyes darkening and his expression—I can’t read it, but it’s not what I expect—bites down into me.
I expected him to land somewhere on my spectrum between embarrassment and grateful.
What I have is…not triumph, but I thought that flickered, although I put that down to the way his eyes catch the light…but something darker, graver, almost wonder but with a fatalistic edge. As I say, I can’t read it.
Maybe it’s shock.
“I know you don’t. And it’s stupid, Zoey. Stupid to wear your heart on your sleeve. People will take advantage.”
“Then that’s bad karma for them.”
He runs his fingers lightly along my arm. “Probably. And thank you. I honestly don’t know if you realize how much that means to me for you to say that. But we don’t really know each other—”
“You help people. Otherwise, what have you got? A pile of emptiness? And as I said, you help people. People need to help other people, so—”
“No.”
I frown and slowly get up from the stool. “No? But if you need help, then I can. I’m not asking for you to pay me back.”
“I would, if I took your offer, but I’m not going to.”
“And then I’d give you as long as you needed to do so. My offer’s on the table.”
“You don’t even know how much it is.”
“I’d give what I could.”
“And I appreciate that, I do, but I can’t take from you, Zoey.”
I nod. Because now the idea is in my head. He’s being some kind of prideful. “We could do a fundraiser—”
Magnus laughs. “Giving and helping that charity is enough to make my gran annoyed if she found out. Imagine if word got back, I’d started a fundraiser?”
“I think she’d secretly be happy.”
“Zoey, leave it. I’ll find a way.”
When the mail comes, hand delivered by USPS, I can’t get the urge to help out of my system.
I know things he doesn’t.
And I made a promise not to say a word.
That promise doesn’t stop me from trying to do something, though.
“Can you man the store for me for a while? If it hits six and I’m not back, just lock up and—”
“Leave the key under the mat? I’ll wait for you to get back.” He looks at me like he’s expecting some kind of explanation, which makes sense. But he’s not getting one.
I go into the back and grab my raincoat, umbrella, and bag. “I’ve got some errands to run. See you soon.”
“Zoey! Come in.”
I follow Amanda…actually, I’m not sure if she’s Magnus’s maternal or paternal grandparent…into her apartment.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect someone to come knocking.”
“There’s no security in this building.”
She nods, picking up a knickknack from the mantle in one hand, the other clinging to the walker. His gran looks a little frailer, more drawn, but after what she told me, I don’t blame her. And add that to what Magnus said…
“I know,” his gran says, putting the knickknack down and she offers me a brave kind of smile. “The buzzer was broken ages ago, along with the lock. And this new landlord isn’t going to fix anything.”
“I’m not surprised. This is how the rich make their money, preying on others.”
She nods again. “But what can we do?”
“Maybe you should talk to Magnus.”
“No, he does enough for me. He-he’s sunk so much of his savings and money and time into helping me out. He doesn’t think I know all that, but I do. I can’t ask him to pay my rent, too.”
“I can help—”
“No dear. The prices are skyrocketing and I’m half convinced this place will be pulled down. It’s happening all over.” She eases down onto the armchair and sighs. “I’ll be okay. I’ll find a way.”
“I can help.”
“No, Zoey.”
I nod. I can’t force people to accept my help. But there has to be a way, help find a place nearby. Or…I don’t know, I’ll need to think of something.
“It doesn’t have to be money.”
“Oh, my grandson should never let you go. You’re a keeper.”
And heat floods me. That isn’t what this is about. “At least think on it,” I say, sidestepping the whole comment.
“I won’t change my mind.”
“Thinking on things can help,” I say. I check my phone. I still need to visit the bank. “I need to go, but just think on it.”
“Fine. I’ll think on it.” I’m almost at the door when she says, “Zoey, just one more thing…”
Nerves nip at me as I hurry back through the rain from the bank. I have a meeting set up and the more I let my idea stew in my head, the more I’m convinced I can do this. It’s risky, but it’s my decision.
I go into the building through my apartment door because I want to dump my stuff and the little folder from the bank so Magnus doesn’t see it.
So I’m a little surprised when I come down the stairs and into the ground floor of the store that I don’t see Magnus. The sign is still set to open and I frown, sliding behind the counter to the little back room.
He’s at my desk, papers and bills in one hand and the other sliding down over the accounts.
For a moment, I can’t move as ice moves heavy through my veins. I grip the wall tight. “What are you doing?”
Magnus looks up and swallows, like a kid caught red-handed in a cookie jar.