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“I’m nine. If I can do hard things, you definitely can. You’re way older than me.”
Well, shoot. She’s got me there.
“Sometimes you have to let people go.”
Her small, pink lips downturn. “That’s sad.”
“It is. But eventually things get better and you move on.”
“That’s not how all my books end.”
Good gravy. Where’s this kid’s chaperone?
“The books you read are fiction. You learned about the difference between fiction and non-fiction in school, right?”
“Yes. Fiction is make-believe.”
“Exactly.”
“So happy endings are make-believe?” She squishes her brows together, trying to figure this out.
Same, girl, same.
I bite at my lip, wondering if I should deliver the brutal truth to Abigail right now or let her learn for herself the hard way.
“Not always,” I hedge. “Sometimes love works out.”
“And you get married?”
Probably not the time to quote current divorce statistics.
“Yeah. And you get married and live happily ever after.”
“That’s what I want.”
“Me too, Abigail. Me too.” Well, at least I used to want that. Before I realized every man is a freaking cheater. Or, at least, every man that dates me.
“You still could, Ms. Sloane. Look.” Abigail points to the arch of the Children’s Department. Cam’s leaning against the wall, all broad shoulders, tapered waist, and muscles for days. He waves at Abigail and she waves back, smiling shyly over at him.
“Abby—we have to get going. I need to stop by the grocery and pick up dinner.” A blonde woman swings over, taking Abigail by the hand.
“Okay, Mom. See you next week, Ms. Sloane. Good luck!” She waves and wanders off with her mother, leaving me alone in the Children’s Department. Well, alone with Cam.
Shit.
There’s only two minutes to close and no one left to rescue me.
Cam wanders over, his marine gaze never leaving mine. Like I may scurry off and he’d have to chase me through the stacks or something.
“Hey. Can we talk? Please?” He clasps his hands, his voice tipping up.
I break eye contact, heat unfurling low in my belly even as hot anger bubbles inside me. The man still has an effect on me and it’s low-key annoying.
“No. Go away.”
“Please, Sloane.”
I war with myself for a few seconds, but figure he’ll stalk me in the parking lot anyway.
