Page 9 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

Tuesday morning is a blur. I wake up later than usual—thank you, melatonin—and barely have time to grab my coffee before flying out the door with Alayna.

Clay’s unusually quiet, moody even, but I don’t have time to dissect his vibe.

Honestly, I’m avoiding another heart-to-heart. One was more than enough.

Alayna, on the other hand, seems blissfully unaware of the emotional tension hanging in the air. She’s completely at ease, perched in the passenger seat, using the visor mirror to carefully apply her makeup.

We hit the final speed bump in the school parking lot a little harder than I mean to, jostling both of us.

“Hey!” she yelps. “Watch the bumps!”

“Sorry.” I wince, easing off the gas. “At least you won’t be late. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Students rush past the car in a blur of backpacks and books, fighting the fall wind. A few shout greetings to Alayna, who gives a casual wave like she’s been doing this forever .

I pull down my own visor mirror and flinch at my reflection.

My hair is frizzy at the temples, a result of falling asleep before it dried.

I skipped makeup entirely, and now—sitting next to my flawlessly put-together niece—I briefly consider stealing her cosmetics bag.

Not that it matters for a shift at the hardware store…

but I’m meeting Roman tonight. And maybe a small, vain part of me wants to look good, if only to remind him I’ve done fine without him.

“Huh? Oh,” Alayna says, finishing with her eyeliner. “I guess I didn’t realize you were still asleep. It took me forever to dry my hair, and by the time I noticed you weren’t with Dad, you were already making coffee.”

“Not your job to wake me up,” I mumble, flipping the visor back up. “I just wish I’d had time to get ready.”

She clicks her mascara closed and turns toward me. “Dad was in a crap mood this morning. Any idea what that’s about?”

I glance at her, surprised. Maybe she’s not as oblivious as she looks.

I shrug, aiming for casualness. “How would I know?”

Alayna narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “Come on, you’re seriously going to play dumb?

He was acting so weird last night at dinner.

Jealous, if you ask me. I think the new principal—your ex-boyfriend, which I’m still salty you didn’t tell me about—really got under his skin.

There’s totally bad blood between them.”

I sigh and focus on the windshield. “Ancient history. High school boyfriends are exactly that—high school. They should stay there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she teases, humming “Bad Blood” under her breath.

“I love you, you annoying little twerp, but if you don’t hustle, you’re going to be late. And I look like a troll—I refuse to go sign your tardy slip looking like this.”

Alayna leans over and blows me an exaggerated kiss. “You always look hot, Keke. Don’t even worry about it. ”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite niece,” I grin, tapping the wheel.

She opens the door with a dramatic eye roll. “Um, I’m your only niece.”

Then the joke hits. She groans and sticks her tongue out as the door slams shut behind her.

My mind refuses to settle. I spend over an hour wandering the aisles with a broom in hand, pretending to tidy while accomplishing exactly nothing.

When Mom and Dad show up for lunch, I jump at the chance to slip out for a bit. The look of surprise on my mom’s face instantly makes me flush with guilt.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Is everything okay?”

I nod. “I overslept this morning. I want to knock out a few things at home, if you don’t mind.”

She studies me like she’s trying to see through my forehead but doesn’t press. She hugs me tightly and sends me on my way.

I head straight home and dive into the shower, giving my razor a workout I’ve been neglecting.

Afterward, I spend more time on my hair and makeup than I have in years.

I hate how much I care—but it doesn’t stop me from swiping on an extra coat of mascara or squeezing into my black dress pants, the ones I’ve been told fit like a second skin .

I try on every top I own before finally settling on a deep crimson sweater. Diamond studs, my favorite black heels, and a healthy dose of doubt later, I catch my reflection in the mirror.

I don’t know if I look ready for a date or a job interview. But what I do know is that every inch of this effort feels like armor.

Armor to shield my heart. To hide the fact that Roman still has the power to hurt me, no matter how many years have passed. I won’t let him. I’ll tell him about Alayna, let him say his piece, and we’ll go our separate ways.

Wishful thinking in a town like this—but still. I can try.

As focused as I am on Roman, Clay’s words from last night keep pressing at the edges of my mind. That old saying— when it rains, it pours —has never felt truer. I’m caught in a downpour with no umbrella, no idea which way is up.

For years, I’ve kept the wanting locked away. The dream of a real family, of more children, of something that was mine. And in a handful of chaotic days, everything has shifted. The risks I was too scared to take are back, demanding to be acknowledged.

I miss the predictability I used to hate. Nothing is certain now.

By the time I return to the hardware store, it’s already three. Mike’s car is in the lot. He’ll be gone by five—before Roman arrives—and if I have my way, so will my parents.

“You look lovely,” my mom says, grinning from behind the register. “Going somewhere after work? Dinner with Clay again?”

I groan. “I have a meeting. It’s personal.”

She gives me that look. The one that says I wasn’t born yesterday.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. But just in case, why don’t you work on the books today and let me and your dad handle the grunt work? I’d hate for you to ruin that sweater—red is my favorite on you. Where’d you say this mysterious meeting was, anyway?”

I didn’t say where, and we both know it. Her barrage of questions is a fishing expedition. I don’t bite.

“You can stay if you want, but Mike and I have it covered. You know Tuesdays are slow.”

Right on cue, Dad strolls out of the office and wraps Mom in a hug from behind. “How about we take off and let our daughter run the place for a while, Grace?”

Mom glares at both of us but doesn’t protest as she leans back into him.

“Only if you take me out to dinner,” she says. “I’m not cooking tonight.”

Dad grins. “You never want to cook. But I could go for one of Jake’s burgers.”

“Or a salad?” Mom suggests sweetly.

“Of course not,” he says, sticking out his tongue like a five-year-old. “I’ll leave the rabbit food to the rabbits.”

Mom scolds him, but she’s smiling. They’re still the gold standard of a good marriage—like both sets of grandparents before them. Leave it to my sister and me to break the streak.

“I love you guys. Thanks for letting me sneak out.”

Dad pats my shoulder. “You work too much. It’s time to hire someone full-time. Give yourself a break, kiddo. Life doesn’t wait.”

I wave him off. Between Dad, Mike, and the college students who help out part-time, I have more support than I need. This shop—this life—is mine, the hardware store might not be much, but it’s the only thing that feels truly my own. I’ve always been okay with that.

At least… I used to be.

“Alright, alright,” I say, ushering them toward the door. “Get out of here.”

I hug them both and watch them leave. Once the door shuts, I retreat to the office, take Mom’s advice, and pull up the books. The numbers blur on the screen, my mind refusing to cooperate .

I chew the end of a pencil and rest my forehead against my folded arms.

The next two hours crawl. I can hear Mike humming as he stocks shelves, helping the rare customer that wanders in. I stay hidden in my office, heart racing every time the bell over the front door jingles, knowing it’s not Roman. Not yet.

At exactly five, Mike pokes his head into my office.

“I’m heading out. Want me to flip the sign?”

“Please. Thanks, Mike. Tell Mel I said hi.”

“Will do. You should come by for dinner soon—she’s been asking about you.”

I smile. “I miss her. Tell her I’ll stop by soon.”

Mel, Mike’s lovely mother, cooks a mean casserole and hosts a once-a-month ladies’ night where she and her friends play cards, drink boxed wine, and gossip like teenagers. I’ve been her guest more times than I can count. She says I’m an honorary member now.

He nods, ever a man of few words, and heads out. I hear the lock click behind him.

Alone now, I press my forehead to the desk and try to steady my breathing.

Any second now, Roman will walk through that door.

When I finally hear the knock at the door, my whole body lurches from my chair.

There’s a crease in my pants from sitting, and I smooth it out with my hands, hastily pulling my sweater back into place. I allow myself two long, deep breaths—and then I head straight for trouble.

Roman has his back turned when I open the door.

Another well-tailored suit clings to him in all the right places.

From this angle I can see he’s not the long, lanky teenage boy I once loved.

This man is still lean through the middle, but he’s impossibly broad now—muscular, solid, a living piece of art.

Not for the first time since he came back, I wonder how different I look to him . “Hi, Roman.”

He turns, and his dark eyes rake over me, undoubtedly taking the same inventory I did.

The way they linger—curious, appreciative—makes me grateful I dressed up.

Sexual chemistry has never been our problem.

The cool evening wind tosses my curls around my face, but it does little to cool the heat rising in my cheeks.

My heart pounds hard against my ribs, as if it’s trying to break out.

Roman clears his throat. “Wow, Frankie, you look…” His hands gesture vaguely toward me before falling to his sides.