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Drawn to her and the seven layers of skin I’m sure she keeps her secrets buried under, I want to remind her of the woman she was the night we first met. That woman was air. Light. Free. And I couldn’t walk away from her knowing she was anything else.

“Listen,” I say, and she tilts her head up to look at me. “Let me do your inventory for you.”

“What?” she asks incredulously. “Zara, there’s no way.”

Ignoring her, I pick up the tablet and the stylus pen, holding them up in my hands. “Show me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I’ll take care of it when it slows down outside.”

“I remember you saying something about an extended lunch break.”

I watch her put her hands on her hips, exasperated with me. “Teamwork makes the dream work, does it not?”

“Clem!” a voice outside the storage room shouts. “Hurry up.”

“This is absurd,” Clementine mutters under her breath. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’ll do it later. Just leave the stuff in my locker before you leave.”

She reaches the door, but before exiting, she surprises me by turning back and kissing me on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she breathes out.

“For what?”

“One day I’ll tell you.” She steps back, smiling at me. Air. Light. Free. “But today is not that day.”

* * *

True to my word, I hang back, snoop around the storeroom, and flick through the tablet to work out how to at least do half of what Clementine has on her to-do list. It’s not what I anticipated when I set out to come here and see her, but there’s something about reducing even a little bit of her workload that puts me on cloud nine.

Opening the locker, I switch the tablet for my bag and rummage through it for the little notebook I often keep buried in here. Ripping out a piece of paper and finding a pen, I scribble my cell number and drop it into Clementine’s backpack, this way there’s no pressure.

The café is still bustling, which means that her lunch break will be short, if she’s even able to have one at all. And because I don’t want to frazzle her any more than my presence this morning already has, I quickly exit the café with my fingers crossed, hoping she calls me.

My stomach is filled with butterflies at the idea of her calling, every part of me feeling school-girl-crush giddy. It’s new, and probably a very bad idea, but I’m not in the business of pretending I don’t want this to be a thing. At the very least to try.

I just wish I knew what to do about Raine.

As if she’s got a sixth sense and knows I’m thinking about her, my phone rings and her name moves across the screen.

“Hey, babe,” I answer.

“Hey,” she sing-songs.

“How are you?”

“Good. I just needed someone to keep me company while I walk to my next class.”

“Should I be flattered you called or offended you’re using me?”

Raine laughs. “Either or works. How was your day?” I sit on my answer for a few seconds too long. “Mom, are you there?”

“I’m here,” I say. “Actually, I went to Wonderwood today.”

“Wonderwood?” she questions. “Where I work, Wonderwood?”

“The one and only.”

“Why?”