CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A SHOULDER TO CRY ON
The bell above the bookstore door chimes softly as I step in. It’s a familiar sound. A grounding sound. Maybe that’s what I need. I always have half days on Saturday.
I swipe my ID card and clock in, even though I’m not sure how I got here. My body is on autopilot. The smell of old pages and the soft jazz playing in the background should be comforting. But today, it all feels like someone else’s life; like I’ve stepped into a dream I don’t belong in.
Chris glances up from the register. His brows knit together in concern. “You okay?”
I nod too fast. “Fine.”
He watches me for a second longer than necessary, probably weighing whether to pry. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Can you restock the YA shelves? New shipment came in this morning.”
“Sure.”
I
