Page 18 of Almost Us

I text Oliver a picture of the busted window.

Me

Are you busy? I need some help.

My phone lights up with his call about thirty seconds later. “Ella! Are you okay?” he exclaims, before I can say hello.

Okay might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m not hurt. “I’m fine. Some asshole busted my window with a chunk of cinderblock. I was hoping you could help me board it up.”

“I’m on my way. Are you there alone?”

“Yes, the cops just left.”

He curses under his breath. “Don’t stay there. Wait for me at the gas station down the street. It’s well lit. Lock your car doors.”

“I’m not leaving so some other bastard can rob me. There’s plywood in my garage if you can stop by there to get it.”

“I can bring what I need from here. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He must’ve been hauling ass because he pulls up out front about fifteen minutes later. My heart stutters when he climbs out of Alden’s truck. It’s been parked behind Stokes Brothers since he died. I’ve considered selling it multiple times, but I haven’t been able to let go of it any more than I have his motorcycle or the rest of Alden’s things.

My reaction isn’t lost on him. “Sorry, the wood wouldn’t fit in my car.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I just wasn’t sure whether the registration had expired yet.” That sounds a lot better thanthanks for coming to help me but all I saw was Alden when you got out of that truck.

He strides over and hugs me tight. “Were you here when it happened?”

“No, the alarm went off. I get a notification on my phone if it’s tripped.”

He steps back and frowns down at me. “You should’ve called me, not come down here by yourself.”

“I called the cops first. I didn’t go in by myself.” Now that I’m not alone, my heart starts to calm. I seize him in another hug and bury my face in his neck, breathing him in. That rich, dark scent of the shop combined with the fresh smell of soap on his skin is pure comfort.

His hand runs up and down my back. “It’s alright. We’ll get it fixed up. Insurance will replace the window.”

“Yeah.” It’s been a really shitty week, that’s what I want to tell him. But I can’t. I can’t moan about my problems when his are far more serious. “Let’s get started. It’s been a long day.”

It doesn’t take us long to get the window secured. While Oliver is finishing up, I print out a sign for the front door.

“Closed for the holidays?” Oliver asks, looking over my shoulder.

“It’ll work for now. I’m not putting what date I plan to reopen. That’ll depend on when this all blows over. I’ve already closed the online appointment form for the rest of December and January.”

He blinks and his brow furrows. “What’s been going on? You told me it was only a few cancelled appointments and some rude phone calls.”

“It’s gotten worse all week. My clients either cancel or no-show. Now, the Moms for Morality nutcases have shown up to protest. I can’t ask people to bring their babies here even if they’re willing. Not when it might not be safe. I need to give it time, let the spectacle of it pass. The holidays are a good excuse anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Ella.”

Shrugging, I tape the sign to the front door. “It’s the only thing I know to do now. Have you had any trouble? Phone calls?”

“Not that the guys have told me about. We’ve actually had calls from our regulars wanting to make sure we aren’t going to close and that their appointments are still valid.”

There’s probably something to be said on the difference between men and women in this situation. We’re both accused of the same thing in the viral post.

Though men are sometimes included in the maternity and infant photos, I cater mostly to women. My clients are worried that I’m a murdering, scarlet-A wearing whore who might hurt their baby. Stokes Brothers customers are overwhelmingly men, and they don’t give a shit what he might’ve done. Would it be different if they provided a service aimed at kids? Maybe.

I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this. I’m glad that Stokes Brothers isn’t suffering. It may be the only income that I end up with soon.

---