Since I shattered myself.
I’ve burned through a week of sick time and my only vacation day, hiding out in my house like heartbreak is contagious. But I have to go back to work Monday. The world keeps moving, even when your heart’s in pieces.
Abby loops her arm through mine. “This town is disgustingly cute.”
I nod, sipping my coffee. “It grows on you.”
We cross the street, and I’m just starting to feel normal again when Abby stops so abruptly I nearly slam into her.
“Abbs?” I murmur, frowning. She’s staring at a two-story white-shiplap storefront with wide windows and an old hand-painted sign that readsMabel’s Candles. There’s a smaller sign taped crookedly to the door:For Sale. Entire Shop. Contents Included.
Abby’s nails dig into my wrist.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She blinks, chokes out a breath. “Holy shit. This... this is it.”
“What’s it?” My eyes dart around the sidewalk like the ten-inch God, or, fuck…Kade, might jump out. “What the hell are you—”
“I have to go in.”
And then she’s moving, practically jogging toward the door. I scurry after her, my heart racing for reasons I don’t understand.
Inside, the candle shop smells like heaven. Like vanilla, wax, and lavender. Sunlight pours in through the front windows, catching on shelves of handmade candles, jars of bath salts, and little wrapped soaps that look like candy. The displays arecharming but a little outdated. Doesn't seem to bother my bestie in the least.
In the center of the shop sits a thick wooden counter, carved and nicked with age. Behind it, in an antique-looking chair, is a woman who has to be at least eighty. She’s hunched slightly, glasses low on her nose, eyes closed.
Abby approaches slowly. “Excuse me, ma’am? Are you okay?”
The woman jerks, startled, blinking behind thick lenses. “Oh! Goodness. Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just resting my eyes.”
They fall into easy conversation while I browse, but I catch the highlights.
The woman’s name is Mabel. She’s owned this place for over twenty years, but her kids live out of state and they’re putting her into assisted living. Right now, she lives in a converted two-bedroom upstairs, but she can’t manage to get up there anymore, so she’s sleeping on the couch in the breakroom.
It’s devastating, and I rub my chest, but the ache only grows.
“So, it’s time,” Mabel croaks, eyes misty but resigned. “I’m selling it. Everything inside too. I just want it to go to someone who loves it like I did.”
My heart skips a few beats, and I turn to my best friend, watching her with wide eyes. Abby listens intently, but her gaze keeps drifting around the shop, reverent, like she’s not seeing it—she’sdreamingit.
I’ve seen that face before.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin.
When we finally leave, Abby has Mabel’s personal number scribbled on the back of a receipt, tucked into her pocket like a secret.
We walk for a few blocks in silence, and I can tell she’s thinking hard, planning maybe.
“You okay?” I ask finally.
“Not even a little,” she breathes with a big smile. “But in the best way.”
I laugh softly and look around. This town. This stupid, magical, heart-breaking town.
“I really do love it here.”
She nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
