Page 7 of Your Soul to Keep

Julian huffed. “Man, you’ve got zero chill.”

Gabe laughed, the rumble I’d missed so much for so long touching me in all the places that had long grown cold. “I never did have any chill with Shae.”

I didn’t catch what Max said to Bridge but heard Julian chuckle before joining their conversation.

In a room full of people, there was only Gabe and me, the same now as it was then.

I surrounded myself with people and never once escaped the loneliness. Back in his presence for a couple of minutes, I came alive.

Picking up his beer bottle, he tipped it up to his mouth.

I watched his lips wrap around the bottle.

My mouth went dry.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

I watched it, hungry, jealous to take the place of the bottle encased in his hand.

Tattoos peeked out from under the cuffs of his long sleeves. Those were new. But after more than twenty years, there probably wasn’t much of anything that wasn’t.

“She’s my Achilles heel.” His delayed answer was for my ears, not Julian’s.

My eyes snapped to meet his, catching the hint of a smile in his blue eyes.

There he was.

I smiled back. “Funny,” I murmured. “I always saw you as my black knight.”

3

Still

Easingherpaper-thinhandfrom mine, I realigned my aching back and relaxed into the chair beside her bed. Selfishly, I prayed for more time as I watched her sleep.

The day Nan called to notify me of her diagnosis, I packed up the remnants of my life. The next day I quit my job, jammed what I couldn’t live without into the backseat of my car, and drove home.

At that time, she was only beginning to cut back on her hours at Ayana’s. As she worked less and less, I took on more of her duties. I floundered under the weight of her workload.

As weeks turned into months, I found my feet.

And Nan faltered on hers.

During opening hours, I helped man the hostess stand, circled around the tables to greet our patrons, and hid in the coat check when I desperately needed a break.

Over the years, I’d clocked hundreds of hours in that tiny space. After my mom passed, I spent many days at the restaurant with Nan and Grampy, playing with my baby dolls in this very corner as they ran the restaurant.

At one point, Grampy set up a miniature crib and highchair along with a tiny, velvet, tufted stool for me.

When I got older, the stool stayed but the dolls vanished only to make room for a small chest of drawers filled with drawing supplies and books.

It was in this corner Nan found me crying after we lost Grampy.

It was in this corner Nan cried with me when we lost my dad.

And it was in this corner I hid when Gabe stopped calling and moved on with someone else.

Every night, when I wasn’t needed on the floor, I poured over spreadsheets and order forms, struggling to understand how Nan had managed to make ends meet.

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