Page 6 of Hale Yeah, It’s You
PRESENT DAY
Mondays always move fast, but today is a sprint.
I bust my butt to get all the boxes broken down and out to the back dumpster before Dad arrives, and when he does, I wave him off mid-stride, skipping lunch without a second thought.
He doesn’t argue—he never does when I’m in a mood like this.
Instead, he takes his thermos to the front counter and keeps busy chatting with the regulars.
I bury myself in the back office, attacking the mountain of paperwork I’ve been avoiding for weeks. Inventory sheets, vendor invoices, payroll reports… I don’t let myself slow down. Not even for a breath. Because I know the second I do, Roman will find a way back in.
And he does.
That suit. That stupid, perfect suit. The way he filled it out, the way his voice sounded deeper than I remembered, more assured.
It’s like he’s a whole new man and yet somehow still the boy who wrecked me.
I drop my pen and cover my eyes with my fingertips, pressing hard like I can force the image of him out of my brain.
“Frankie?”
I drop my hands in time to see my mom leaning against the doorway, one hip cocked casually against the frame.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her tone light but lined with motherly concern.
I release a long, controlled breath, avoiding her eyes like they’re X-rays. “Yeah. Had a long day. First day of school for the bug and all that.”
Her face softens. “Ah, that’s right. Was my sweet girl excited?”
“She was. Nervous, too. But you know how she is—give her a day and she’ll be running for class president.”
Mom chuckles as she walks in and sinks into Dad’s old recliner, the one he dragged into the shop after she threatened to toss it.
It’s cracked and lumpy and matches the couch in the corner that no one sits on unless they’re desperate.
I’ve always suspected he bought them as a pair, back when Mom still humored his garage-sale taste.
“She definitely has her mother’s spirit,” she says with a warm smile.
I bite the inside of my cheek. That bitter taste creeps in, the one I’ve never fully shaken. She means it as a compliment, but to me, it lands like a slap. Mom’s always been the queen of soft excuses, especially when it comes to Tasha. I’ve long since stopped trying to make her see the truth.
“She’s her own force,” I say carefully. “That I’ll agree with.”
My eyes drift to my mom— Grace Hale , former pageant queen and present-day perfectionist—with her gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail.
We all have the same eyes, the Hale women.
Me, Mom, Tasha, and now Alayna. Before hers went silver, we all shared the same head of wild brown curls too.
It’s eerie sometimes, like we’re variations on the same face .
She looks tired tonight. Sad, even. A quiet sort of sadness that settles in the corners of her mouth and eyes.
I wonder, for a flicker of a second, if she’s more affected by Tasha’s absence than she lets on.
But if she is, she doesn’t say. She never does.
I gave up trying to pull it out of her years ago.
“I can close up the shop tonight,” she says suddenly, shifting in the recliner. “Or your dad can. Or I’ll ask Mike. You’ve had a long day, honey. You look like you could use the break.”
I blink and look at the clock. Quarter to six.
Crap.
“The store’s been closed for almost an hour,” I mutter, pushing up from my chair. “I completely lost track of time. I’m going to be late for dinner.”
“Is that a yes?” Mom asks, eyes twinkling with surprise.
“Actually… yeah. That would be great. I promised Alayna I wouldn’t be late tonight, and it’s going to take a miracle to keep that promise.”
I peel off my dusty work shirt and grab the backup sweater from the hat tree in the corner.
It’s deep purple and maybe a touch too low-cut for dinner at Jake’s, but it hugs in all the right places and makes my eyes look like melted chocolate.
I swipe on some lip gloss and run my fingers through my curls, doing my best with what I’ve got. I’ve definitely looked worse.
Mom watches me with a curious expression, something unreadable behind her eyes.
“Enjoy your dinner, Frankie,” she says finally. “Clay will appreciate the effort. Those two are lucky to have you.”
I freeze.
The way she says it—it’s not about Alayna. Not exactly. It’s the way she emphasizes Clay. Like she thinks I’m dressing up for him.
I shake the thought off, grabbing my purse. It’s been a long day. Seeing Roman has clearly scrambled my brain.
Before I can escape, Dad appears in the doorway .
“Hey, kid.”
He’s wearing his favorite blue Hale Hardware shirt, the one with more holes than fabric.
Dozens of brand-new ones hang untouched in his closet, but he always goes for the broken-in one.
His belly fills it out more these days, but he looks happy.
Sturdy, in that dad way. A little slower, a little rounder, but no less himself.
“Have a good night, Dad,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
If I let him get talking, I’ll never get out of here.
“Take your time,” he calls as I rush past. “And tell my grandbaby I said to eat an extra fry for me!”
His laugh echoes behind me as I burst through the front door and jog to my car. The cool evening air hits my face, and I smile to myself despite the chaos of the day. For all our mess, my family is still solid in all the ways that count.