Page 18 of Catch Me When I Fall

Was it silly of me to consider Michael a friend after pulling me over?

Taking a breath, I made my way to the bookcase along the left wall, my fingers brushing over the spines as I scanned the titles. I hadn’t read a new book in years. It was something I used to always do before I got married. After, I couldn’t find the time. Between housework and going to the gym every day, by the time I had a second to relax, I was too exhausted to do anything.

My eyes stopped on an interesting fantasy book, and I plucked it out of the shelf, feeling the weight of it as I thumbed the pages. Flipping over to the back, I took my time reading the blurb, my interest peaking with every sentence. I tucked the book into the crook of my arm and continued making my way down the wall of shelves. By the time a young woman around the same age as Michael approached, I had three books in my arms.

“Hi,” the woman greeted me cautiously from behind.

I turned to her fully and gave her a small—awkward—wave. “Hi. Are you Sarah?”

She nodded, and it took me a second to respond. I was taken aback by her beauty. She wasn’t movie star beautiful. No, Sarah’s beauty was more of a gentle beauty. She had an oval face, fair skin, baby pink lips, light brown hair, and the prettiest brown eyes I’d ever seen. They put her husband’s eyes to shame.

“Rossy said my husband sent you,” she began. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yes. He just—uh…” I trailed off and bit the inside of my cheek as she waited for an answer. “He actually pulled me over outside of town.”

Her brows went up, and she slowly folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re here to tell me he was rude, I can assure you I’ll straighten him out when he gets home,” she promised.

My lips twitched as a bubble of laughter threatened to surface. “No, no. He was so kind to me—even kinder when I started crying.”

“Oh, gosh. You cried?” she asked softly. “Why?”

I pressed my lips together, not wanting to say it again. Once was enough, for today at least. I held out the note to her. “He said I needed to come to you and tell you to call him,” I explained.

Her arms fell as a soft confusion hit her features. “Call him…? What?” she muttered more to herself than to me as she took the note from my hand. She looked at it and then met my eyes again. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay.”

She stepped forward and gently put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m just going to call him, and I’ll be right back out. Please continue shopping. Oh—and feel free to get some coffee. My treat. Just tell Margo its on me.” Sarah gave me a warm smile, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and disappeared to the back.

“Everyone here is so nice,” I murmured, watching her walk away.

I ended up picking out one more book to purchase before making my way to the coffee counter. The girl with the black hair and colorful tattoos looked me up and down before her eyes flicked behind me, most likely searching for Sarah.

When she looked back to me, she asked, “Let me guess. Sarah said your drink is on the house?”

A sour taste filled my mouth as her question rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe everyone here wasn’t nice. I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary. I can pay for my own drink,” I assured her.

She continued looking me up and down for a few more seconds, but it felt like forever. When she finally finished her cold assessment, her cold eyes seemed to warm. “I’ve decided I like you,” she declared before nodding to the stool closest to me. “Take a seat and tell me what you want.”

“Is it possible for you to make a lavender latte?” I asked, setting my books on the counter.

She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “Sure thing, Cardinal,” she drawled, turning to face the espresso machine.

Cardinal?

“Cardinal?” I parroted.

She nodded, not looking at me. “Your hoodie.”

Yeah, I really needed to change clothes.

I took my seat and, in an effort to not be awkward, I pretended to read the backs of the books I was set to purchase, the low hum of the espresso machine filling my ears.

I could feel eyes on me that weren’t Margo’s, but the unsteady feeling I’d been expecting never made its presence known.

For some reason, I felt safe in this quiet little bookshop.

“Name’s Margo, by the way,” she said as she frothed the milk, looking at me over her shoulder.

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