Page 28 of Playing Dirty
I was here, holding the clipboard, giving the orders, keeping the lights on. I was running the damn store. I was showing up.
But him?
He was somewhere else, untethered.
Silent.
The idea that this could all be mine one day used to thrill me. Now it just felt heavy.
I paused at the end of aisle two, adjusting a stack of cereal boxes. Someone had knocked the bottom row crooked, and I lined them back up one by one.
Straighten. Stack. Breathe. Let go.
I was restocking receipt paper in the stockroom when Amanda walked in like she had something on her mind—which usually meant she had something to say that didn’t belong in her mouth to begin with.
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her hip popped like she was waiting for a punchline. “So… you and Matt still a thing? Or did he just, like, ghost youandthe store?”
My hand froze. I took a breath, finished placing the roll, and shut the drawer with a calm click. “We’re fine,” I said, without looking at her. “And the store is running better than ever.”
Amanda shrugged, like she hadn’t just lobbed a grenade at my pride. “Just asking. People talk, you know?”
“No,” I said, turning to face her, “youtalk.”
Her expression flattened, and she gave a lazy eye roll before turning on her heel. “Touchy.”
“Unprofessional,” I retorted.
She muttered something under her breath as she walked away. I didn’t ask her to repeat it.
The door buzzed two seconds later, and I almost welcomed the interruption.
FedEx guy. Mid-thirties. Ballcap, dimples, the kind of smile that made his customers’ days a little brighter.
“Morning, boss lady,” he said, carrying three stacked boxes like they weighed nothing.
“Morning,” I replied, signing the tablet he passed me. “You guys running late or am I running early?”
“I think you’re just killing it,” he said, flashing that grin. “Store looks good. You runnin’ this whole thing now?”
I handed him back the tablet. “Something like that.”
“Matt take a permanent vacation?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said evenly. “But hey, if you hear from him, tell him we’re out of pickle chips and his cat’s living like royalty.”
He let out a low laugh. “Noted.”
I smiled, just barely, and turned for the office.
Because it was funny—until it wasn’t.
Everyone saw it—the vacuum he left behind. And the woman who was still here, trying like hell not to fall into it.
I shut the door to Matt’s—my—office and let the hum of the store fade behind me. Just a minute to myself. That’s allI needed. One solid minute without questions, customers, or anyone noticing the cracks I was too tired to patch today.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled.
There they were—hundreds of messages. His stupid gifs. My sarcastic replies. Pictures of the store, of us, of nothing and everything. Tiny breadcrumbs from a time when he made space for me in his day.
