Page 38 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

The clerk, mid-forties with red-framed glasses and a coffee ring on her paperwork, blinks like she’s just remembered what planet she’s on.

“Hang on,” she finally says, dragging herself out of her seat and disappearing through the door behind her.

Ava finally turns to me, voice low. “How’d you know it was here?”

I meet her gaze. “Brad told me. Eventually.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Just swallows, nodding once.

The clerk returns a minute later dragging a large suitcase. Gray hardshell, a scuff on the corner, a purple ribbon knotted around the handle.

Ava stiffens beside me.

“This it?” the woman asks, wheeling it over the carpet.

Ava steps forward slowly, laying a hand on the top. “Yeah. That’s it.”

The woman shrugs. “Figured someone would come for it eventually. That guy said to toss it, but we don’t throw out stuff like this unless it leaks or bites.”

My jaw locks. I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, nod once, and turn to grab the handle before Ava has to.

“Thank you,” Ava says quietly.

The woman just waves it off and heads back to her desk.

Outside, the air hits cooler than before, biting around the collar of my coat. I haul the suitcase over the curb and pop Ava’s trunk without a word, easing it inside.

Then she says softly, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Ava’s hand lingers on the handle before she shuts the trunk.

“That ribbon,” she says quietly. “It’s from the ribbon-cutting ceremony for Open Pages. Our first location. Brad hated it. Said it made the bag look childish.”

I don’t say what I’m thinking. That he doesn’t deserve to touch anything that matters to her.

“I like it,” I say instead. “Makes it easier to spot.”

She gives a tiny smile. And I swear it softens something in my chest.

Her eyes flick up to mine, searching. “Seriously, thank you. For pushing him. For getting it.”

“You don’t have to carry everything all by yourself,” I say. “Not anymore.”

A flicker of something crosses her face. Relief, maybe.

“I’m starting to believe that.”

She walks to the driver’s side of her car, and I let her go without another word. She’s lighter on her feet than she was leaving the apartment. Still tired, still raw, but a little more steady.

I climb into my truck, start the engine, and pull onto the road. In the rearview, Ava’s right behind me.

By the time we pull into the driveway, the sun’s slipped low enough to cast a golden haze across the lawn.

I kill the engine and step out. Ava’s car door opens a few seconds later. She pops the trunk and grabs the quilt first, her fingers trailing over the plastic bag delicately.

I take out the rest of her things and follow her inside, shrugging off my coat at the door as she moves through the front hall.