Page 48 of Veiled in Brick

I waved her away for, one, my workplace was within earshot, and two, my will to speak about my feelings had quickly dwindled to nothing.

I told her, “I gotta get to work.”

“Okay, okay,” she returned. “You good?”

The wetness that had gathered along my eyelids had dissipated. My throat, though still containing an ever-present lump, was no longer constricted. I breathed a heavy breath in, and then let it out.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m good.”

She nodded. “I’ll be working; Liam’s walking you home tonight?”

I let out a ragged sigh. “Uh huh.”

“You’ll live,” she told me with a gentle smile. “Let me know when you make it back?”

Her serious gaze upon her final question struck me, and I knew that it wasn’t a request in the least.

“Yeah, yeah,” I assured her, taking a step toward the entrance to Zest. “See ya.”

She waved, I returned the gesture, and I twisted the knob on the front door, giving it a generous shove with my hip to usher it open. I waltzed towards Brenda, who was at the cash register as per usual, waving a casual hello, and she asked:

“How’s Claire?”

I smiled. “Good, she’s good.”

“I’ve seen her guy around,” Brenda noted.

“Luke?”

She nodded emphatically, and I snorted at her usual insistence for details as she said, “He’s pretty. What’s his deal?”

“Bartends with Claire at Henry’s,” I told her. “Come get a drink with us some time; you could meet the whole group.”

Brenda made a noise of general approval at my offer and then said, “Oh, speakin’ of boyfriends—”

I whined, “Don’t start, Bee.”

I made my way to the back to the usual spot where housed my items while I worked, and as I was depositing my purse, a stark contrast to the dark grey countertops caught my eye within my periphery. I glanced to it and my heart jumped to my throat.

A single white rose laid before me.

I stared at it, trying to will it to disappear with my mind alone, yet it stayed in the same place. Taunting me. Watching me.

“He asked me to leave that for you,” Brenda stated with a smack of her imaginary gum.

“He?” I breathed. “Who?”

“The guy that stopped by the other day,” she clarified, her bob haircut tilting to the side at my seemingly odd reaction to a romantic gesture. “The—the one who said he was your boyfriend?”

“James?”

“Well, he never said his name—tall, nice eyes, crooked nose, right?”

I picked an alternate characteristic at random.

“What was this guy’s hair like, Brenda?” I asked slowly.

“Black,” she responded instantly. “Short. Eyes just as dark—”

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