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“I like both.”

I do, too.

“Wanna tell me about thenon-bookthing making you smile?”

Telling my boss that the homeless man who likes to eat out of my garbage left me a rose on my porch for giving him fresher food doesn’t seem like a wise idea. It probably doesn’t paint me in the sanest light, and the last thing I need is the person who signs my paycheck rethinking that decision.

“I might have made a new…friend?”

“Oooo,” she girlishly giggles on a silly shoulder shimmy. “Friend orfriend?”

“Friend.”

Maybe the other type of friend someday. Wait. No. That definitely sounds crazy even if I’m more attracted to him than all the men I’ve been out with in my entire life. Yeah. Chris included.

“Well, I hope your new friend keeps giving you reasons to smile.”

Hold your judgments.

“Unfortunately, I’m about to give you a reason to frown.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I can’t make book club tonight.”

Thankful it’s not something more devastating, I let out a small sigh of relief. “It happens. No need to stress.”

“Is it that obvious that I am?”

“Kind of.” Adjusting the strap on my shoulder is done as I ask, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” She pauses, internal debate scrunching her soft, brown skinned face. “I um…I just have a prior engagement.”

“Gotcha.”

“If it’s alright with you, I’ll just grab the new month’s read on my lunch break tomorrow.”

Before I have a chance to reply, Clemmy, the main school assistant, nabs her attention from the end of the hall. “Boss, you’ve got a call on line one!”

She presents me with a polite smile. “Remember to CC me the book fair decorations order, please.”

“Will do.”

Presley’s the best boss. She really is. Intimidating model worthy looks aside, she seems like a beautiful person. Genuine. She puts everything she has into this school and in turn allows us – the employees – to put everything we have into our roles. We’re given the best training, the best opportunities for growth, and some of the best bonuses for simply doing what we love to do – educate kids. On a more personal level, we have similar tastes in books and T.V. shows – at least that’s what I’ve gathered from the non-child related small talk we’ve shared – which makes me believe we would be good outside of work friends if we tried. And honestly, I don’t try too hard to connect to anyone past the surface level anymore. Chris’s death became my scarlet letter of sorts. In general, people either avoid me completely – unsure of how to approach a widow adjacent woman – or avoid me for more than a quick hello, goodbye – to theoretically prevent them from saying something that could trigger me into a blubbering mess, which for the record I haven’t been for last couple of years. There are few exceptions to those groups, but those people really view me more as a pet project they want to reward themselves for when they ‘help me find love again’. Yeah. That shit ismoreobnoxious than just having people stay away from me, yet the never-ending nagging from my mother to ‘be more social’ pushes me to endure such irritations over the occasional cocktail with coworkers.

After a long workday filled with making book orders for the library, orders for the classrooms, orders for the book fair, participating in reading to kids as well as helping some of them read out loud to me, and managing the adult’s only book club meeting, I’m finally able to head home with just enough time to miss the predicted sleet storm.

I fucking hate them. Mainly because Chris died on an icy road trying to get out of one.

Pulling around the corner, the sight of a police car parked near my house with its lights on sends me back in time in all the worst ways.

My heart instantly lurches into my throat.

My fingers swiftly become slick.

Tense.

Dread drags itself the length of my spine and down my leg until my foot is no longer on the accelerator.