13
~Aria's POV
The rush faded the way storms do. Not all at once, but in pieces.
The bell over the door rang for the last time, and then there was quiet. The kind that feels earned. Karina locked the door, flipped the sign, and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath without realizing it. We both sank into the chairs behind the counter, bodies heavy, shoulders loose.
I stretched my legs out, rubbing my palms together absentmindedly. "Is it always this busy?" I asked, half-laughing.
Karina nodded without hesitation. "Most days. Word travels fast when something works."
"Don't you ever feel like you need help?" I asked. "An extra hand. Someone to share the load?"
She shook her head, lips curling into a soft smile. "No. I like it like this. I know everyone who walks in. I know their stories. If I bring someone else in, that changes."
I studied her, then asked, "So… this place. You own it, right?"
She nodded again. "Every shelf. Every jar. Every stubborn little corner."
"That's impressive," I said quietly. And I meant it.
She stood suddenly. "Wait here."
Before I could ask where she was going, she disappeared into the back. A few minutes later, she returned with drinks and a small plate of snacks, setting them between us. "Thank you," she said simply. "For today."
I smiled, touched. "You don't have to."
"I know. Still."
We ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Karina tilted her head, curious. "So, Aria. What do you do?"
I hesitated. Just a beat. Then, "I write. Erotic fiction. Well… kind of. I'm still new."
Her reaction was instant. She squealed, actually squealed, clapping her hands once. "I love that."
I laughed despite myself. "You do?"
"Of course. That's bold. Do you have a book?"
The question landed heavier than it should have. My smile faltered just a little. I thought of my first book. The excitement. The crash. The mess it became.
"I'm working on it," I said instead.
Karina beamed. "Good. I can't wait to read it."
I nodded, chewing slowly, letting that simple faith sit with me longer than I expected.
The words stayed with me. I can't wait to read it.
No suspicion. No pity. No sideways glance. Just excitement. Simple and clean.
I smiled into my drink, pretending it didn't mean as much as it did. "You'll probably forget by then."
Karina shook her head immediately. "I won't. People don't casually say things like that unless they mean to finish them."
I laughed softly. "You sound very sure."
"I am," she said, like it was obvious. Then she nudged the plate toward me. "Eat. Writers need fuel."
I obeyed, because somehow she'd already decided she knew what was best. The snack was warm and slightly sweet, grounding in a way I hadn't realized I needed. Outside, light filtered through the front windows, lazy now, late morning slipping toward afternoon.
"So," she said, leaning back. "How long are you staying in town?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "A while, maybe. I just… needed quiet."
Karina hummed. "You picked the right place for that. This town doesn't ask questions unless you invite them."
That made my chest loosen. Maybe that was why last night felt the way it did. Why help could be given without curiosity attached. Ethan. Brian. Even Karina.
"I think I'll come back," I said, surprising myself. "If that's okay. To the shop."
Her eyes softened. "You're welcome anytime. You were good today. Clumsy, but good."
"Hey," I protested. "I only almost set fire to one jar."
She grinned. "Details."
We cleaned up together, moving around each other easily now. When it was time to leave, I slung my bag over my shoulder and hesitated at the door.
"Thank you," I said again. "For today."
Karina met my eyes. "You are welcome, Aria."
Outside, the air felt lighter. The street looked the same, but I didn't. I slipped my AirPods back in, music low, and started walking toward the hotel.
My steps fell into the rhythm of the song, slow and unhurried. For once, I wasn't rushing away from something or toward a solution. I was just moving. Letting the day meet me where I was.
The town stretched quietly around me. Shop windows reflected the sky. A bicycle leaned against a wall like it had been forgotten mid-thought. Somewhere, a bell chimed. I breathed in, deep, and the air smelled faintly of leaves and something warm.
I caught myself almost smiling.
Every few steps, my mind tried to drift back. Headlines. Comments. That sharp, ugly word people had learned to throw so easily. I shook my head gently, as if to say not now. Not here. The music helped. It wrapped around the noise in my head and softened it.
When the hotel came into view, tall and calm, I slowed down. I wasn't eager to disappear back into a room yet. I stood there for a moment, watching people pass. None of them looked at me twice. None of them knew. And for the first time in days, that anonymity felt like mercy.
I touched my bag, felt the charger Karina had given me inside. A small thing. Still, it grounded me. It was proof that kindness could exist without conditions.
I went back inside and headed straight for the reception desk. The receptionist looked up and smiled, and slid my key card across the counter without asking anything.
"Thank you," I said softly, taking it from her.
The hallway upstairs was quiet, my footsteps muffled by the carpet. When I opened the door to my room and stepped in, the silence wrapped around me again. I dropped my bag on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a slow breath.
That was when it hit me.
"The herbs…" I muttered.
I had forgotten the jar Karina prepared for my cough. I rubbed my forehead lightly, half annoyed, half too tired to care. Going back out felt like too much effort right now.
"I'll get it tomorrow," I told myself. "It can wait."
I leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when my phone vibrated in my hand. I looked down.
Dad.
My chest tightened immediately. The screen kept lighting up, buzzing softly, like it was insisting. I couldn't do it. Not today. I let it ring until it stopped, then turned the phone face down beside me, as if that could quiet everything stirring inside my head.
I stood up and walked into the bathroom.
The water took a moment to heat, then steam filled the room. I stepped under the shower and let the warmth hit my shoulders. It startled me at first, then slowly loosened something I hadn't realized was clenched so tight.
I closed my eyes and leaned into it.
The water ran down my face, my back, my arms, washing away the day. The drive. The rain. The looks that lingered too long. The effort of holding myself together in front of strangers. I rested my forehead against the cool tiles and breathed, uneven at first, then steadier.
For a few minutes, it was just me and the sound of water hitting the floor.