I went to move out from behind the register, but Brady blocked me, putting his knees up against the counter. “Tell me.”
It was that tone that was not quite a demand again. I wanted to talk to someone about it. Someone who’d understand Grams and could maybe help me unravel how she’d let this happen. I couldn’t tell my mom, not with her and Bailey still stung by what had happened with the will.
I sighed. “His bank owns the loan my grandmother made when we remodeled last year.”
“Okay?” Brady said.
“Grams missed a payment, and I missed a second one after she passed before I got my arms around everything,” I said quietly. “So, he’s foreclosing.”
“That’s bullshit!” Brady’s voice echoed around the empty store. It was. Grams had died. You’d think the bank would have granted me some leniency. Anger flickered across his face and he said, “I can loan you the money.”
I stared at him, mouth dropping open. I was already shaking my head and trying to push on his legs to get out of the small space that he’d enclosed me in, trying to put distance between me and him and the emotions that swelled in me. He didn’t budge. His hand came up and wrapped around my wrist.
Sensations of longing mixed with belonging curled through me.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Stop throwing money around like it’s water, trying to rescue me.” I was unable to meet his eyes, looking instead at the long fingers surrounding my wrist. Staring at the leather bands that he wore. The wordsaspire, dream, andgratitudeon metal tied to the leather.
“What’s the use of having all the damn money I have if no one, not my family or anyone I care about, will let me help them?” he asked, frustration flowing through him.
“You’re helping by teaching Grams’ students for me. Sounds like you’re helping your sister by being here. Those things mean more than the money,” I said.
“I know they do, but if I have money to burn, why not take that, too?” he asked as if he truly didn’t see the reason why I, or anyone, would turn it down. His fingers rubbed softly on my inner wrist.
“Brady, did you see that transaction that I just made?”
He nodded.
“That was the largest sale I’ve had in a month. I have no way of teaching the lessons going forward. I have no way of keeping the store afloat in the long run. Even if I sell my—” I stopped myself, afraid that if I said more, he’d try to throw money at that as well.
He put his other hand on my chin, drawing my eyes to meet his. “Sell your what?”
I pulled myself away from him, backing into the counter and still barely putting a couple of inches between us.
“Nothing.”
“Sell what, Tristan?”
I blew out a frustrated sigh. “Even if I sell the mural somehow, it won’t be enough to cover more than a few months.”
It took him a moment to catch up to the six panels he’d looked at the day before. The art I’d been painting for months, but which had increased to a frantic pace since Grams’ had died. I’d needed to put the emotions and loss somewhere so Hannah didn’t feel it threatening to explode from my body. She was too sensitive. Too serious. She didn’t need me falling apart on her as well.
He stood up, still blocking me, taking in my face and the emotions I was unable to hide from him for some reason when I was an expert at hiding them from everyone else.
“Let me help,” he said, and now the demand in his voice was replaced with a beg.
“You do not owe it to my grandmother to help me out of this mess.”
“I do. But that isn’t why I’m asking you to let me help you. I’m asking because it’s tearing a hole inside my chest to see you suffering.”
I looked away, unable to watch my pain reflected back in his eyes.
“I think we both need to face the fact that William Chan is right about one thing: the store isn’t sustainable,” I said.
I was taken by surprise when he surrounded me in his arms, hugging me tightly. My head was forced to his chest. The scent of him flooding me. The ache returning that was there whenever we touched. The ache for more than sex. For a partnership. For a friend you showed your soul to. I had Stacy and Nash, but they rarely saw all of me. Like the painting upstairs in the studio at Grams’, I only showed pieces of myself to them.
The doorbell jangled again, and I went to pull away, but Brady wouldn’t let me. He whispered, “We’re going to figure this out.”
The thought of not having to shoulder it all alone was a beautiful one. It wasn’t one I could allow to make a reality, but it was still lovely in the moment while it lasted.
