Page 3 of Finally Loved

She turned in a circle, finally spotting the sign for the exit, and bolted for the door.

The cold spring air hit her like ice. She knew it was chilly today, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as she felt. She only had seconds to register it as she attempted to throw herself away from the store, away from Roxanne, and away from any awkward encounters with Roxanne and Clare should they leave, before she stumbled and smacked directly into a solid, warm body.

Neve stared up in horror as two gloved hands gripped her shoulders in an effort to steady her. Warm, kind eyes smiled down at her, but all she wanted to do was cry. She felt as though she couldn’t do anything right. She couldn’t even get out of everyone’s way without charging into someone and ruining their day.

“Are you okay?” the woman who was still holding her asked, her brow furrowing and her eyes becoming filled with concern as she took Neve in.

Neve looked at her, hating more than ever that this was where Roxanne had chosen to dump her. She was all alone in the world. Lost, with no clear way home, her things in someone else’s car—someone who didn’t even want her, had maybe never really wanted her, not as she truly was.

And this stranger, this person she would never see again, was the only thing holding her together and asking whether she was okay.

What else did she have to lose?

Neve shook her head. “No. I don’t think that I am.” And her sobs came in earnest.

Chapter 2

Alba wrapped an arm securely around the shoulders of the woman who had just collided with her. She had no idea what had happened, but she had no doubt that the flood of tears was not simply the product of having run face-first into a stranger at the mall. That was a little embarrassing, perhaps, but, on a good day, the two of them would have laughed it off and gone their separate ways. For this particular woman, though, the second Alba had looked down into her face, she’d known something was very wrong.

She glanced around, inwardly cursing the lack of benches, before leading the pair of them off towards a low wall, some half-bare landscaping providing a little cover from those coming and going to the parking lot.

The woman went willingly enough, hiding her face in her hands, her chin to her own chest. Alba figured she’d probably do the same thing if the roles were reversed. Though she couldn’thelp but wonder whether both of them should have more of a sense of safety and refrain from allowing strangers to lead them off to hidden areas of massive parking lots.

“Here,” she said softly, guiding the woman down onto the wall and sitting beside her, one arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

They sat in relative silence for several minutes, the only sounds being those of the environment and the woman’s quiet sobs. Alba hated how obviously she was attempting to stop them, how stiffly she was holding her muscles as she attempted to stifle her sadness. She wanted to say that it was okay to cry, that the woman could let it all out, no shame, no grudges held, but she got the feeling the woman needed the silence to feel like she wasn’t crying on a stranger, to find the strength to carry on.

Alba focused instead on the birds flying overhead, landing in the trees, and twittering to one another. In her peripheral vision, however, she couldn’t help but notice the way the light caught in the woman’s hair. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d describe the color of it—something that seemed to sit at the intersection between blonde, red, and light brown—but she couldn’t help thinking about how the lightest hairs sparkled in the sun.

Eventually, and though Alba could still feel how tense the woman’s shoulders were, even through her own gloves and the woman’s coat, the tears subsided slightly and the woman sat up straighter. She glanced quickly at Alba, her blotchy face only serving to highlight how piercingly blue her eyes were.

She took several steadying breaths and Alba simply smiled softly at her, fully prepared to wait as long as the woman needed.

“I’m so sorry,” she croaked, clearing her throat immediately upon hearing her own voice.

Alba inclined her head towards the woman. “It’s really okay. You’re welcome to cry it out as long as you need. Sometimes, we just need someone to sit with us while we cry.”

She laughed, the noise was something bitter and sad. “Usually with someone we know, not some random person we just literally ran headlong into.”

Alba laughed with none of the bitterness. “Perhaps, but I think it’s easier, maybe, to do it with someone we don’t know.”

Those blue eyes and blotchy cheeks turned, fully focusing for the first time on Alba’s face. She narrowed her eyes, considering. “You think so?”

“Definitely.” She almost laughed at the confused scowl, but she figured being laughed at was the last thing the poor woman needed. She shrugged. “Think about it. We’ve never met before, we’ll probably never meet again. Whatever happens in this moment exists only here. No matter what you tell me, no matter what I see, it’s not going to matter in any kind of consequential way once we part. You’re never going to have to regret what you told me, or how you were, because who will know about it? Who is going to say anything about it? You could slam every person you’ve ever known and you’d never have to regret it because I don’t know those people. You’re not going to have to face me knowing that you spilled how you were feeling about people in a dark moment.”

“Huh.” She turned away, staring at the worn tarmac and its faded parking lines. “But we’d still both know.”

“True, but do you care what a stranger you’ll never see again thinks?”

She chewed her lip, ducking her head again. “A little bit,” she murmured.

Alba breathed a laugh. “That’s fair. I have been told I can be a little shameless. Perhaps it’s different for other people.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, somewhat absently, and Alba found herself wanting to know what the woman was thinking.

“Okay, think about it this way, then: whoever has upset you is not someone I know. You can say whatever you want aboutthem and what happened, really get it off your chest, and, when you’ve gotten the worst of it out, you’ll be prepared to discuss it in a more measured way with the people in your life. All the people you’re worried about saying the wrong thing around, or worried that they’ll start judging someone they know based on one angry moment, they won’t be a problem. You can get all of that out on a stranger who has no skin in the game.”

She looked intrigued by the idea for half a second before a shadow crossed her face and she huffed a breath.

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