The Affair by J.L. Berg

Author:J.L. Berg [Berg, J.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780998391274
Publisher: JL Berg, LLC
Published: 2020-02-12T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The next day, I was feeling back to my normal self.

Physically at least.

Emotionally, I was all over the map, so when Sawyer called in sick, explaining he’d caught my flu, I wasn’t sure how to react.

Was he telling the truth?

He’d certainly sounded sick on the phone.

But then again …

Maybe he was just trying to avoid me and the awkwardness between us after the life-altering kiss I’d interrupted?

Of course, the idea that he was sick had me wanting to rush over to his house the second I hung up the phone. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could microwave a can of soup just as well as anyone else. And if he needed someone to fluff his pillow or bring his Advil, I could definitely be that person.

But as much as I wanted to play nursemaid to Sawyer, that pesky, rational side of my brain won out. The store had been closed, on a Saturday no less, while I recovered. Since we were always closed on Sundays, we’d now been dark a full weekend. If I had any hope of catching any tourists headed out of town, today was the day.

I was also terrified of the distinct possibility that he was, in fact, just avoiding me. I had this nightmarish vision in my head of me showing up at his door with a thermos of soup, only to find him outside, doing yard work, or happily enjoying a day off.

Or worse, with someone else.

I wasn’t sure I could handle that rejection.

So, for now, avoidance was still front and center in my life when it came to Sawyer. Avoidance and keeping myself busy.

Unfortunately, the store was doing a terrible job at the latter, and as of ten o’clock in the morning, I had found myself completely out of things to do. I’d cleaned, caught up on receipts, rearranged just about everything I could, and now, I sat at the front counter, rattling my thumbs against the solid wood top, wondering what to do next.

Taking a quick scan toward the windows, I searched for any sign of customers. Letting out a long sigh, I reached under the cabinet for my nana’s journal—the flowery leather one.

The one I’d been sneaking peeks at every second I could.

It was like I was back in high school again, sneaking one of my mom’s tattered, old romance novels into my backpack so I could read the naughty parts on the bus.

Only this time, it wasn’t fiction I was reading. It was real life. And that real life had belonged to my grandmother.

William is such an easy man to talk to. He listens without interruption. Without judgment or blame. I find myself sitting with him longer than I should, letting my cup of coffee or tea grow cold as my mouth runs long.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to talk to someone about George. It takes a toll, watching him fade away. Seeing our life vanish from his eyes.

Knowing my name means nothing to him.

Talking about him with William helps.

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