“It does, thank you so much.” I offer him a grateful smile. “Do you want to sit while I go grab them?”

“Sure.” His full lips spread into a wide smile and I try to ignore the way it causes the butterflies I thought went extinct years ago to take off.

I don’t say anything as I make my way to the corner filled with empty rocking chairs. I assume he’s following close behind, not only because the gazes of customers nearby still drift over my shoulder, but also because of the way the hairs on my arms are standing up. It’s as if he’s full of electricity. Like lightning preparing to strike.

“Wow. This is great.” His voice, which must sound so wonderful wrapped around the words he writes, startles me from my thoughts when we get to the nook. “I guess I see why this place is called the Book Nook.”

“Yeah.” My smile is more wistful this time, taking in the space alongside him. The constant ache in my chest lessens for a moment as I remember the way Gran beamed with pride each time she showed off our hard work. “It took us forever to find all of the pieces, but it was worth it.”

“Us?” he asks. I think I might see him glance down at my hands before returning his eyes to mine.

“Oh, um, yeah. My grandma.” I can’t stop my hands from wringing. I’m a nervous fidgeter and the anxiety I feel whenever I have to talk about her in the past tense sends me into a semi-tailspin. “This was her store. She left it to me, hence the slight disorganization right now.”

It’s not hard to see the moment his beautiful eyes—I still can’t decide if they are blue with green or green with blue—register what I’m saying to him. The way they soften at the edges and he moves, probably unconsciously, toward me and places his large hand on my shoulder.

It’s enough to break me.

Since the day she passed, I feel like I’ve been in survival mode. From planning the funeral, because Dad sure didn’t, to taking over the store, it’s always been something. Add in the fact that my mom caught the first flight out of Tennessee and showed up on my doorstep with so many suitcases, I knew she was planning on staying longer than the week we had initially planned on. I had to pretend to be fine and unbothered for weeks before she booked her return flight.

I haven’t been able to grieve. And I don’t want to. The sheer magnitude of what I lost is too big to be felt. If I even begin to let it in, I know I won’t ever recover.