The Best is Yet to Come

Ten: Emma

It's been three days... not that I've been keeping track.

I'm surprised. I was half convinced that brown eyes and I would have crossed paths again by now. Maybe I finally scared him off, though the thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I swear the days have been getting longer, each shift at the store more monotonous than the last, but the nights are even worse. The nightmares have always been bad but they've hit a new level of excruciating. The same visions that have been haunting me for years seem to feed on my stress, making the colors blinding and vivid, my own scream startling me awake every night like clockwork. The extra large coffee warming my hands won't do anything to erase the purple patches beneath my eyes.

Thankfully, Glory already unlocked the shop this morning, saving me from having to dig into my bag for the keys. The thick doors feel unusually heavy to my exhausted muscles and when I step over the threshold, I try to inhale as much of the shop's aroma as I can. The familiar smell of potted earth and printed paper is convincing enough to stop me from turning around and walking back home.

One glance at the registers and my imagination is at it again, only this time, a twinge of guilt spoils my forbidden fantasies. I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about him every day since the incident at Glory's. Was he weird? Yes. A little rude? Yeah. But even though it wasn't what I really wanted, my conditioned response was to decline his advances and I was starting sorely to regret it.

That nagging voice in my head keeps reminding me that I've made a mistake; that I should have given Noah a chance. I mean, everyone deserves a chance, right? Even awkward strangers that look at you funny. I bet that's what Dr. Greene would say.

But it's not Noah that's the problem, dumbass. He's handsome, charming and funny- look what he could bring to the table.

What could you ever offer him? You're just toxic.

I even failed as his writing partner. There's no way I'm ever going back to that writing workshop. Noah's note is safely stored away underneath my bed, safe from prying eyes, including my own. It's agony- the curiosity to read anything Noah has written, to see his slender script scrawled across the page but I knew better than try to open that can of worms. There was no need to subject myself to unnecessary pain. So, with my heart pumping hazardously in my chest, I forced myself to make the smart decision; I hid the note in a box under my bed and tried to forget its existence.

I toss my things on a shelf in the backroom, an audible grunt in the direction of Glory's office taking the place of a morning greeting. With no energy for social interaction, I grab the broom and dustpan from the back room and try to make myself look busy by sweeping the entryway. It's quarter to nine; I have fifteen minutes before we open shop and I'm forced to put on my happy face. I chug the rest of my coffee and start to mentally prepare myself for the long shift ahead. This is the last time I'm covering shifts for Sarah.

I'm just about done when Glory comes from her office to flip the sign and prop open the door, alerting the town that we're open for business. Imagine my surprise when the first customer of the day is the candle-hating blonde lady who wears too many rings.

It's a Wednesday morning and the woman looks like she just walked out of the salon, her hair neatly pinned to the crown of her head. I'd bet my next paycheck that her periwinkle blouse and designer jeans are dry cleaned. I just don't understand the fuss about her return from the other day when clearly she wasn't worried about money.

To avoid being seen, I immediately turn the corner around a bookshelf and get to work on the basket of book returns, making a mental note to ask Glory about the rude woman later on my break.

........................................

The morning drags and I'm relieved when I finally head to the back room for lunch. I grab a homemade tuna sandwich from my bag and head to Glory's office for interrogation, lightly knocking on the door.

"Come in!" Glory sing-songs from inside. I open the door and plop myself into the chair across from her desk. "How's business?" she asks, her face focused on her computer monitor, the sound of her clacking keyboard triggering an exhausted headache.

"Good. The new thriller has been selling really well today." I take a bite of my lunch and notice three large boxes tucked in the back corner of the room. I nod my head toward them, "What are those?"

"More candles from the senior center, God bless them," Glory sighs, finally pulling her eyes from her computer to look at me, "What's going on? You've been awfully quiet today."

I take another bite and chew thoughtfully. Huh... I didn't think she paid enough attention to notice. "I was wondering about the candle lady from the other day. I noticed she came in again this morning. Did you end up giving her a refund?" .

She snorts, "Of course I gave her a refund! Well, not officially, I just ended up giving her $10 from my purse... you know, because of the charity."

What the hell? Even Glory went out of her way just to please this woman.

"Why give her a refund at all? I thought we weren't accepting returns," I push a little further, trying to figure out what made this lady so special.

"No one denies Evelyn Dean anything. Not in this town." Glory eyes me beneath a thin brow before obnoxiously clacking her keyboard again.

"Why the heck not?" I blurt, an unexpected burst of annoyance alerting me like a shot of espresso. After all, there was a special place in hell for rude customers.

The clacking stops, "Because her and her gorgeous sons own about half this town. Where have you been?"

I ponder this, taking another angry bite of my sandwich. Who knew? I guess I was more of an outsider here than I thought.

"Sons?" I ask, trying not to sound too curious. But if there was a royal family dictating the town, shouldn't I know about it?

"Just ask Sarah, she goes on about her fling with Noah Dean any chance she gets. I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about it."

I nearly spit my sandwich onto the floor. Noah Dean. It can't be...

Glory rises from her desk and reaches for her purse, "I gotta run. You and Justin should be fine for the rest of the night. Don't forget to bring the deposit to the bank." She grabs her purse and slips from the room, her farewell a distant echo as I slowly spiral into panic.

Noah Dean. I'm frozen in my chair. The other half of my sandwich lays forgotten in my lap. I quickly take my phone out of my pocket and open the first social media app I can find. I hastily type the name in the search bar, desperate to see validation that it was him. My Noah.

My Noah? What the hell is wrong with you? You made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with him.

I don't know whether I should scream or clap in excitement when I gaze at the profile picture.

There he was- shirtless, I notice, on a white sandy beach with a volleyball balanced against his hip. Noah's eyes are shut, which disappoints me but his head is thrown back in laughter and the most genuine smile is plastered on his face. Damn, he really is handsome.

I decide that Sarah definitely owes me a favor and scroll through my short list of contacts for her name. After crafting my message and noting the time, I toss what's left of my forgotten sandwich into the garbage and head back to the registers to finish the day, eagerly waiting to hear more about this Noah Dean.