Page 18 of One Touch

It felt like I had been hooked up to high-voltage cables. Cortisol pumped through my body, and all my financial panics slammed into my brain one after another.

The stack of unpaid bills hidden beneath the counter.

The deposits for the wedding venue.

The money for the catering.

The fucking flowers. Black lilies.

Rent.

Vlad’s awful suit.

And now, the added expense of repairing Ethan’s car. . . .

Of course, he said he’d claim most of it on insurance. But most of it wasn’t all of it. And I wasn’t letting him pay a cent for the damage I’d caused.

“Okay. Time to get serious.”

Grabbing a notepad and pen, I started jotting down numbers, trying to calculate how much I could realistically afford to pay Ethan each month.

“Let’s see . . . if I cut back on inventory, maybe skip a few book fairs . . .” I mumbled to myself, tapping the pen against my chin. “And if I pick up a few shifts at The Lighthouse Diner, maybe, I could probably scrape together . . . fifty dollars a month? A hundred if I eat mostly vegetables.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I could talk to Ethan, and work out a payment plan. The thought of facing him again made my chest tighten, but I knew I couldn’t avoid him forever. Not if I wanted to make things right.

There was a knock at the door. I looked up, half-expecting it to be Ethan coming in for a macchiato. But it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to be buying any expensive coffees from me after I’d caused him all that damage.

In fact, it was Connie Hart, the manager of Peach and Tree, a hardware store just a few units down from me on Main Street.

I let her in and flipped the sign to “Open.”

“Connie! I was just actually writing a returns note for the wedding gift you gave me,” I said. “Give me a second and I’ll get it for you.”

“A returns note?” Connie looked confused. Ugh, I envied her dress sense. She always looked like the kind of woman who was a private member of a tennis club. Confident, well-manicured, smart. Today, she wore a striking navy blue blazer with high-waisted beige pants and a crisp white blouse. Pretty much all my clothes were second-hand, but somehow, everything Connie owned looked like it had come straight off the shelf.

“Well, we didn’t get married, so . . .”

Connie pushed a stray lock of straw-colored hair behind her ears. “Oh, honey, you keep it. Just don’t share it with Vlad, okay?”

“No, please, I’d feel bad.”

“I insist. If you give it back to me, I’ll just dump a load of free stuff you may or may not want on your doorstep, anyway. You might as well choose some things you like. Now tell me, how are you holding up?”

“It’s been rough. I’ve mainly been eating ice cream. A lot of ice cream.”

“And reading romance novels, no doubt.”

“You know, I actually haven’t. I’m a bit . . . romanced out.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

I pursed my lips. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together, “you know what they say. The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one.”

I choked out a laugh, feeling my cheeks flush. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.”

“I’m just kidding.” She grinned. “Although, when you’re ready, you just let me know. I’ve got a nephew who’s single and ready tomingle.” She winked, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Now, I need some romance novels, stat.”

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