Page 39 of Love Unwritten

“Think he would want to be with an older woman?” Suzette, who runs the local candle shop, whispers to her friend, Gertie, who always delivered our mail up at the house on the hill.

“You wouldn’t last a day with a personality like his.” Gertie scoffs. “He doesn’t talk. Period.”

“Who said anything about talking?”

Gertie snorts while I roll my eyes.

Mom leans in and whispers, “I now understand why you had a crush on him all those years ago.”

“Mom.” I shush her.

“What? You had good taste, even back then.”

“I didn’t have a crush.” I look around in a panic.

“Are we pretending that you didn’t use to write Ellie Lopez all over your math notebook? Or that you didn’t write ‘Prom King’ about him?”

I drag my hand across my throat in a silent request for her to shut the hell up, but it’s too late. Like sharks scenting blood in the water, Gertie and Suzette turn to glance at us.

“Ellie. It’s so nice to see you.” Gertie pats my thigh.

I always wear leggings and pants for a reason, but they don’t stop me from worrying about whether people can notice my scars through the material.

Mom has assured me they can’t, but I still panic from time to time, especially when someone touches me there.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Gertie.”

“I passed by the house yesterday to deliver a package, but Rafael said you weren’t there anymore.”

My face flushes. “Yeah.”

“Is everything okay?”

Mom leans forward. “She is no longer working for him.”

“What? Why not?” Katiya, a woman who owns the best Indian restaurant in Michigan, shoots me a pitiful look.

“Nico said she got fired, but I didn’t want to believe it,” one of the school staff members sitting on the bottom bleacher announces, making everyone gasp and mutter.

“It’s okay, Ellie. Don’t feel bad. You lasted longer than all the others combined.” Suzette gives my hand a squeeze.

“If you need a new job, my wife and I are looking to hire a nanny,” Antonio, a father of seven children, adds.

I plaster on my best apologetic smile. “Sorry. My stepdad needs help around The Broken Chord.”

My mom nods enthusiastically. “That’s our Ellie. Always stepping up to the plate when we need her to help at the music store.”

The more I consider returning to the tutoring job I once had, the less I want to. It feels like another setback in my life, all because I made the wrong choice.

What else can you do?

I never went to college, and songwriting isn’t really an option right now, so The Broken Chord is my only choice, whether I want to work there or not.

The only one stopping you from writing new songs is you.

“Did you need to announce it to everyone?” I whisper to my mom when they all focus back on the game.

She winces. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would spread so fast.”

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