Page 67 of The Tattered Gloves
“I HATE TO say it, but I think we need help,” I confessed, looking over all the notes Sam had taken since even before I’d started at the bookstore.
It was pages and pages, and we were still no closer to figuring out how to save the store.
“That’s what I have you for!” he answered, a slight smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. “And you’ve given me caviar dreams with no way to pay for them.”
I shook my head. “I know, and I’m sorry. I like the coffee idea, too, and I think it would really bring in customers, but without the money, I don’t know how we can make it work.”
His fingers threaded through his unruly hair as he leaned against the worn checkout counter that had probably been there well before his parents had been born. My fingers found a groove in the wood and began to trace it. I imagined what it would feel like — slightly cold and slick from the many layers of gloss it had retained over the years. If I pressed hard enough, I could almost feel it through the tiny holes in my gloves.
“So, who do we ask?” he finally questioned, obviously conceding to something I’d already come to terms with.
“Your dad?” I said quietly, already preparing for the retaliation.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“Willow, no.”
I’d learned enough about Sam now to know that when he used my real name, there was no fooling around. My mind had memorized each and every time I heard it, and in every instance, he’d been angry, attempting to be sincere, or… well, I wasn’t sure about the other time. Sweet maybe?
At any rate, I knew not to push him.
“Okay, what about my aunt?” I suggested, quickly switching subjects. “Or your sister?”
He laughed almost immediately. “My sister? You obviously don’t know her very well.”
I shrugged. “I’ve only met her once.”
“Right. Well, you know she’s the oldest?”
I nodded.
“Have you ever heard the saying,Age is only a number? Sometimes, I think it was created especially for Sophie. She’s a bit of a free spirit. At twenty, she’s no closer to becoming a grown-up than you and I are.”
“But I thought you said she was moving out on her own? That sounds pretty grown-up,” I said, trying to picture myself living alone.
Even though I’d practically raised myself — cooked my own meals, picked up my own messes, and did every other possible thing a parent did — the idea of actually being by myself, without anyone? It sounded horrifying.
“Oh, she’s living alone,” he sneered. “On my dad’s dime. She said she was going to find a job, go to school, whatever, but she has yet to do anything.”
“Maybe she just needs time?” I suggested, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
She had seemed nice — in the three minutes I’d gotten to know her.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes, I think we coddled her too much.”
That sentence confused me, and I found myself asking, “We?”
He nodded. “After my mom left, it was Sophie who took it the hardest. I mean, we all did… in our own way. No doubt you’ve heard how my father copes?”
“No,” I admitted. “When I got here, Addy told me to stay away from town gossip or at least not to believe everything I heard.”
He smiled. “That sounds like something she would say.”
It was weird, hearing him speak so fondly of her. I wish I had known about Addy’s friendship with Sam’s mom sooner, but then again, speaking about it would have been gossip in Addy’s mind… and she would have been right. It was better to hear it from Sam directly.
“You know those movies where a man loses his soulmate or whatever, and he spends the rest of his life being sad and alone?”
