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All this on my mind had plastered a big smile onto my face as I pulled into the parking lot of the Apple Pan where the gang and I were all meeting to have some breakfast. But if I hadn’t been smiling before, I would’ve when I laid eyes on who was pacing back and forth in the parking lot.
Shania.
She looked so good I wanted to park and watch her like some kind of creeper. Not my style, of course, but I mean—damn. She was dressed in a simple outfit of tight, dark jeans, white sneakers, and a fitted, maroon T-shirt. Everything clung to her body just right, and even in her obviously stressed state, she still looked like a fucking knockout.
Wait, though. Looking beyond how hot I thought she was (very), I saw a more pressing concern: she was having some kind of serious crisis.
Her body was hunched over as she talked on the phone, her expression looking worried and defeated all at once. None of our friends were with her, so whatever she was going through, she was going it alone.
I killed the engine and hopped out of the car. Right at the exact moment I put my sneaker on the pavement, Shania hung up the phone, slipped it into her back pocket, and shook her head in frustration. I almost wanted to leave her in peace—dealing with shit on my own was my preferred way of doing things, after all.
But there was no way I could pass her by without saying something, anything. As weird as it might’ve sounded, I felt more than a little protective over her. The idea that she was upset hurt almost as much as if I were the one dealing with the bullshit.
“Hey!” I approached.
Her eyes snapped up, a look of mild surprise on her face suggesting she was in the middle of some deep thinking. She shook her head, as if remembering that she was in a world that had other people in it.
“Hey.” She was clearly trying to sound enthused but coming off defeated.
“The gang inside?”
“They’re…” She sounded like her mind was a million miles away, like every word was work to get out. “Sam and Will are, but…”
OK, that was about all I could take. It killed me to see her like that.
“Something wrong? You don’t seem like your usual self.”
The tired expression was replaced by one of conflict, like she was trying to decide something—maybe whether or not to tell me what was up.
“No,” she said. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Come on. Something’s up. You can talk to me.”
If she kept on wanting to hide it, that was her prerogative. But I had to push, at least a little.
She sighed, perhaps realizing that getting off her chest whatever was on it would be for the best.
“It’s the bank,” she said. “The one bank.”
“The one bank?”
“Yeah. A credit union, to be specific. Every other actual bank I went to about my loan turned me down a long time ago. Turns out when you’ve got barely any collateral and aren’t exactly bringing home a massive paycheck, banks aren’t exactly chomping at the bit to lend you money.”
I said nothing, letting her go on.
“Anyway. This one credit union had actually been working with me. Turns out that there’s some government program you can get in if you’re a woman looking to open a small business. So, I’d been talking with this agent there, seeing what it would take to qualify. And I met the qualifications—until very, very recently.”
“A qualification like having a job.”
“You got it. Even with a little extra government incentive, there’s not exactly a lot they can do when you’re unemployed and offering up your tiny-ass nest egg as collateral.”
“Shit,” I said. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but I’ll get over it eventually.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re canceling your dream.”
“Nope. Just pushing it so far into the future that it might as well be canceled.” Another head shake. “I’m feeling so…stupid about the whole thing,” she said. “Having this dream that was already hanging by a thread and then turning around and throwing my job away because of…what? My ego got bruised?”
“I was there for it,” I said. “That was more than an ego bruising. Hell, I had to hold back the urge to bust down the door and knock that dumbass out of his cheap shoes.”
The first real smile that I’d seen on her face that day appeared.
“Thanks for the mental image.”
“Anytime,” I said, smiling right back. “But seriously—you did the right thing in telling that dick to fuck off.”
“Maybe the right thing. But not the smart thing. I mean, if I don’t get my employment situation sorted out soon, forget even opening a shop—I won’t be able to pay rent.” One more slow head shake.
