Page 47 of Hazel and Elijah Find Out: First They F*cked Around

“I don’t even know what you could do… I don’t… I don’t know how to give any of these tasks to someone else.”

I nodded. “I get that. I think it’d be good if you did, though.”

She tightened, her shoulders drawing back up and her spine straightening.

I kept my voice gentle, hoping my words wouldn’t hit a sore spot. “Hazel, you can’t keep this pace up. It’s taking so much from you.”

I knew she was sleeping more than she had been before we’d started dating—taking more time outside of the clinic in general. But even this much work wasn’t healthy. The dark circles under her eyes were still there, even if they were lighter. The reason she was spending less time working was because of me. Would she go back to overworking at the rate she had been before I’d arrived?

If she could just share the load with her staff… I could see all the weight carried on her shoulders—and it was a lot.

“What am I supposed to do?” Her tone made it clear I should tread carefully.

“You’re doing cleaning, and stocking, and ordering. Give those tasks to someone else.”

She scoffed. “I can’t do that. Everyone’s working fifty-plus hours a week, and then I’m going to be like, ‘By the way, here’s more work that wasnotin your job description. Enjoy.’”

“How many hours are you working, Hazel?”

“Less than I need to be because I’m spending time with you,” she bit back. Shaking her head, she took a calming breath. “I’m sorry. I want to be here.”

She shook her head again. “I’m really sorry. I’m just overwhelmed and tired, and I don’t know how to make everything work.”

Feeling like she might need to move again, I turned us back the way we came and started walking. “What about that woman’s daughter? The one who wanted the job?”

Her lifted eyebrow could only be described as annoyed. “You mean, the woman who said her daughter couldn’t have a job?”

“There are other high schoolers. You could hire someone for two, three-hour shifts a week. There are things that only you can do, but things like advertising or community outreach—things that actually bring in more business—can be given to others. Unloading that work could pay for itself.” After a moment of silence, I asked, “Do you want to keep talking about this or do you want to let it be?”

“Let it be.”

“Okay.” I lifted our joined hands and kissed the back of hers. Her glove was warm against my cold lips.

“You said you ran into your dad?”

And he drudged up old memories better left in the past.

I hummed confirmation, but didn’t elaborate.

“Is that why you were being so quiet?”

“Probably.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

The knot in the pit of my stomach tightened. “It was just a playlist of all his greatest hits.”

Now it was her voice that was gentle. “What are those?”

I kicked at a clump of frozen sand, which flew in every direction. “It all boils down to the fact that he thinks I’m not worthy. That I’m not good.”

Thatyouwould be better off with someone else.

“Not worthy of what?”

“Acceptance, forgiveness… love.”

She stopped, the toes of her shoes planted in the sand, and I turned to face her. The firm set of her jaw, and the conviction in her eyes, made the center of my chest feel tender, and I looked out at the turmoil playing across the water’s surface.

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