Page 3 of They Are Mine

I don’t breathe.

Then my fingers curl around my phone, nails pressing into my palm, the sharp bite grounding me.

It’s fine.

It’s fine.

He’s just shy. That’s all.

Just one of those sweet, quiet boys who hesitate when they shouldn’t.

It’s not his fault.

I force my breath to steady, swallowing past the heat rising in my throat.

Outside, the air is crisp, but it does nothing to cool the warmth pressing at my skin. My lace-up heels click against the pavement, sharp and deliberate.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Noah is a romantic. I know he is.

He’s the type to fall in love easily, the type who craves connection, who would worship his girlfriend if he had one.

And he doesn’t.

Which means he should have asked me.

I slide into my car, my grip firm on the wheel.

I don’t leave.

Instead, I watch him.

Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.

He sweeps the floor first, slow and careful, like he actually enjoys it. Then he counts the till, twice, locks up the register. Thirty-two minutes, five more than yesterday, three less than the day before.

Never more than ten minutes off in either direction.

I make a note in my journal.

The only time he deviated was Monday. He got a call.

Probably a friend.

Probably someone who doesn’t know he belongs to me.

I exhale slowly, tapping my pen against the cover of my notebook.

I was so stupid when I was younger.

Waiting. Wishing. Hoping.

Peter never even noticed me.

I spent years making sure that would never happen again.

Dug into school, got a good job, my own car, my own place.

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