by M.A. Stacie
The boy’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his fingers gripping the counter top until his knuckles began shake. Emma swallowed her anxiety, along with a good dose of sadness. Keeping a clear head was imperative in these situations.
“We don’t make you do anything you don’t want to here. Decisions are always yours to make.” She pointed toward the empty chair. “Sit down. Please let me help you. Let me clean up your cuts.”
The boy’s bottom lip quivered, and her heart cracked a little. How could someone do this to another person? He was just a child.
“You,” he responded, his voice shaking. “Only you. Tell him to get out.”
The doctor did wait for her to say it. He nodded, explaining he would wait outside but the door must remain open. Emma understood the rules. She didn’t know enough about medical procedures to go it alone. Hopefully the space between the boy and the two older men would be sufficient.
She motioned again for him to sit down, before reaching across the counter for the medical supplies. It would be obvious as she cleaned the cuts if they needed more than a band aid or two, and she’d have to address that with him should the need arise.
He stared at her, his nerves clearly reflected even though he tried to bury them behind a strong facade. As she moved her hand to clean his cheek, his jaw jutted out defiantly in an effort to show her he wasn’t scared.
“I can’t remember if I introduced myself. I’m Emma. I help out around here, doing whatever Jack needs me to—Jack owns the shelter. He’s just outside with the doctor.”
“Humph.”
Not put off by his response, she continued to talk as she removed the encrusted blood.
“Have you known about the shelter long? I always wonder if we put our name out there enough.”
The boy shrugged, hissing when Emma prodded at a small lesion on his chin.
“Not much of a talker, huh? Well, I can speak for the both of us. My mouth is rarely closed for long. I’m never lost for words. Did the doc introduce himself?”
“I know who he is. The white coat gives the fucker away.”
“Hey! Enough with the swearing.”
He rolled his bright blue eyes, closing them tightly in pain when she swiped at the cut. “Ouch.”
“This one is deep. It may need to be stitched.”
“No hospitals,” he quickly said as Emma tossed the bloody cotton balls into the dish so that she could dispose of them correctly.
His face was still a mess. However, it was now a little less horrific. She pulled up a chair in front of him, making eye contact before she spoke. “The doctor can do it here, but that means you have to allow him into the room. I can stay if you want me too.”
The boy’s facade cracked just a little when he asked, “Will it hurt?”
“A bit,” she said, deciding honesty was best when trying to set some foundations of trust between them. “But without the stitch to keep it closed it will take longer to heal, could get infected and will probably keep popping open whenever you move your eyebrow.”
The boy nodded, murmuring for Emma to fetch the doctor. She didn’t go right away. Instead she remained in the plastic chair across from him, watching his stilted movements. Looking at him and the bruises swelling the side of his face reminded her so much of Asher. He hadn’t used a shelter that she knew about, and he had been left to wait the snowy night out in a coffee shop. She wondered if he still had the physical scars of that night. His hair had blocked her view of him and without a way of contacting him she supposed she’d never know now.
Tentatively, Emma asked for his name again, and when the silence continued, she assumed her request had been ignored. Sighing heavily, she stood, scraping the chair across the floor. “I’ll get Doc.”
She heard his soft mutter as she reached the doorway. “Gabe. Name’s Gabe.”
She smiled back at him, ushering the doctor in and explaining what needed to be looked at. Gabe never broke eye contact with her, his pupils wide as the doctor set to work on his eyebrow. He was strong, not letting any sign of pain flicker across his face. It wasn’t unusual. Most of the kids that arrived at the shelter were used to hiding weakness. To them it could mean a matter of life or death on the streets. Nevertheless, it didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with. Their strength would always be her weakness.
“You doing okay?” she asked, starting to reach out and soothe him, but the way his eyes grew wide made her pause. She backed away, pulling a medical chart down from the noticeboard and began filling out the details.
“I’m not giving you my surname.” Gabe’s tone was defiant.
Giggling filtered into the room as two teenage girls walked past the medical room. Gabe’s eyes thinned, watching them suspiciously.
“I understand. How old are you?”
“Sixteen. But that’s all you’re getting.”
“We don’t ask too many questions around here. We just want to help.”
“Doubtful.” He snorted.
Emma bit back a smile. She knew the pattern of emotions, and right now Gabe was on target. The anger would return soon, hopefully making the dam on his emotions burst. Sometimes it took days, other times it was weeks but they all reached the point eventually. They’d all been hurt too much to hold it inside forever.
“I get how sceptical you are—most kids are when they come here, but ask yourself this: would the others stay if we didn’t help in some way? Even if it’s just to patch you up and leave you to go your own way.”
Gabe frowned, cursing a second later as he reached up to his eyebrow. The movement had obviously hurt him.
“Don’t touch it,” the doctor rumbled. “Your hands are dirty. The cut is clean.”
Gabe’s shoulders sagged. He stared at the open door, assessing everyone who walked by. He stayed calm while the doctor finished patching him up, but jumped onto his feet as soon as the last suture was placed in his flesh.
“Gabe? Would you like some food before you leave? I could show you to the kitchen. Bolt will prepare whatever takes your fancy.”
“Bolt?” he questioned, a smirk teasing the edge of his lips.
“Yeah. He was used to running away too. Always bolting out of the door.”
Appeased by her explanation, Gabe nodded, following her out of the room and across to the kitchen. Luckily, it wasn’t busy, though he did shrink back when he saw a group of boys sitting on a table in the corner. Emma escorted him around the counter, away from them.
Jack was the person who greeted them, not the larger than life, Bolt. He cocked his head toward the back door, adding, “Bolt’s unloading a food delivery. He won’t be long.”
Emma took the opportunity as it appeared. “Gabe, do you feel up to helping him? Bolt could always use an extra pair of hands when we get a delivery.”
Gabe frowned again, shrugging right after. “Guess so. If it gets me food faster.”
Grinning, Emma started to lead him out of the kitchen. Jack stalled her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“You okay with this one? He’s responding to you better than me.”
“I’m fine. He just needs some baby steps.”
“Good. Let me know if you change your mind. We’ll figure something out.” Emma turned back to the door. “Oh, wait, I found this for you.” He handed her a small piece of paper. “The address of a bookshop. I found that book you wanted for your father’s birthday. Took me three hours but I actually found it. They’re holding it for you.”
Elated, Emma wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck, kissing his cheek noisily.
“You’re the best, Jack. Thank you.”
“Pfft, three hours is nothing compared to the work you do here. I should be thanking you.”
Gabe shuffled uncomfortably at the door, coughing loudly. Emma shot him a quick smile, waving Jack away. “Come on then, let’s go and sort the delivery out so that Bolt can feed you.”
Chapter 5
Asher
“Thank you. I’ll review
the application, along with the others I have, and will be in touch shortly.”
The overly made-up woman snapped her gum, flashed her lipstick marred teeth at Asher and left his store. He’d been searching for someone to help out in the bookshop part time for the last four weeks. No one seemed to fit right.
He chuckled, fairly sure he hadn’t fit when Ike had offered him the very same job. He’d been a battered and broken teenager with no possessions other than what little cash Emma had given him and the shabby clothing he wore. Ike had seen beyond that, maybe even glimpsing the man Asher could become with a little nurturing.
God, he missed the old man.
His heart ached in response. Asher doubted there would ever be a time when he didn’t pine for just a few more moments with him. Even though he’d been able to tell Ike exactly what he meant to him, Asher would always want to repeat it—to tell him one final time. Ike had meant everything to him.
The man had changed his life.
Ike had become his employer, his best friend and his surrogate father all rolled into one. No one would be able to fill the void he’d left when he’d died. At night Asher still found himself talking away to a ghost, as though Ike was still around. It was something he found difficult to stop and anyone watching him would be calling for the men in white coats to come and collect him. Maybe he needed that interaction, even if it was with the deceased. Maybe that was why he’d spent so much time with Emma and had been reluctant to part ways, even though she knew his past.
“Christ, Asher, you need to get a grip,” he murmured, readying himself for the next interviewee.
Checking his watch, he walked into the back of the bookstore, reached for a clean mug and poured himself a strong coffee. He had the distinct feeling it was going to take more than a couple of cups of coffee to get him through the next few interviews. He was being picky, focusing on the smallest detail as a reason to discount the person from employment. He needed the help but was reluctant to have anyone intrude on his personal space, and the store was his. The only possession he had that meant a damn thing. It had been Ike’s life, and now it was his.
He refused to let the old man down. He would succeed with the store.
Raising the hot brew to his lips, the bell over the door chimed, startling him. Coffee sloshed over the rim, splattering across the front of his white shirt. He cursed, reaching for a cloth to dab the liquid from the fabric. It seared through the cotton, burning his chest momentarily.
“Hello?”
“Um, just a minute,” Asher shouted out into the store, glaring down at the mess his shirt had become. There would be no rescuing it. The bin was all it was fit for now. Irritated, he stalked from the back room, scanning the store for the customer.
“Hello-oh!” came a shocked voice from behind a large row of autobiographies.
Familiar blue eyes met his wide brown ones as he focused on Emma. She was here, in his store, looking at him expectantly. Confused, he bit back to urge to ask what she was doing here. He hadn’t given her the name of his store, though he doubted it would be difficult for her to locate. There weren’t that many bookshops in this town. And there was always the possibility that her stumbling into the shop was a complete coincidence.
“Wow,” she whispered. “T-This is your shop?”
Nodding, he continued to dab at his shirt, eyes locked on hers. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. A flicker of lies? A knowing sparkle? He had no idea but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His pulse kicked up a notch, thumping against his wrist like a deep drum beat. She’d had that effect on him at the party. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Control was important to him. After living his childhood without it, he now clung to it ferociously as an adult.
“Yeah, it is. Sorry,” he said, glancing down at his shirt, “small incident with a large mug of coffee. The coffee won, as you can see.”
Emma stepped forward, her hand reaching out before she caught herself and pulled back. “If you take it off and soak it now it probably won’t stain.”
Feeling oddly playful, Asher quirked a brow, asking, “You want me to take my clothes off, Emma? Last night you asked me shove it in. You’re giving me ideas. Ones that include us both without clothes, and me most definitely shoving it in.”
He was rewarded with an instant flush of her cheeks. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her lilac blouse, her anxiety evident. “I d-didn’t mean—”
“I know.” He walked around the counter. “I was teasing you.”
Her expression softened and the blush of her cheeks faded slowly. Asher looked away sharply, realizing he already missed the rose-tinted skin and was about to work out what he could do to get it back. This was their second interaction in years, and yet she was already messing with his control.
An awkward silence built between them, only dispersed by the chime of the bell above the door. A middle-aged man and young boy entered the shop, walking directly over to the children’s section as they chatted.
“I guess I’m holding you up,” Emma said. “I do have a real reason to be here. I had no idea the shop was yours.”
Threading his fingers through his hair, he pushed the strands from his forehead. He cleared his throat, contemplating what to say next as he waited for her to confess why she was really there.
“Jack, my boss of sorts, called you earlier. It’s about a book—obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to find a particular one for my father’s sixtieth birthday. Jack says you have a copy. You reserved it for him—well, me actually.”
Asher froze, his fingers still threaded in his hair. “That book’s for you?”
Emma agreed though he noticed she wasn’t looking directly at him. Her gaze locked on the small patch of exposed skin on his stomach. Lifting his arms had raised his shirt, revealing his stomach to her and she certainly hadn’t missed the show he was offering. Nor had she missed the two pink puckered scars that marred the otherwise smooth skin.
Awareness had him dropping his arms, shoving his hands into the front of his jeans and staring at the floor while he gained control of his erratic heartbeat. The last thing he needed was her asking about his scars. He’d spoken about them once, and that had been to Ike.
“Um, I’ll go and get it for you,” he muttered, walking around the back of the counter and bending to collect the book. “This book has been in the store for longer than I have. It amazed me when someone called and asked for it.”
“Wow! Does age make the price higher? Like a good whiskey?” She took the dusty book from him.
Her joke lightened his anxiety. He shook his head, pointing to the small sticker on the back which told her the price. “I’m pleased it gets a new home. I bet Ike would be too.”
“Ike?”
“The guy that used to own this place.”
The bell above the door chimed again, interrupting their rather stilted conversation. A man Asher surmised was around fifty entered the store, dressed in a dark grey suit and bright red tie. He carried a worn, leather folder and large umbrella. He looked far too formal for Asher’s small, cluttered shop.
“Hello.” The man stepped forward. “I have a meeting with the proprietor in approximately five minutes. I like to be as prompt as possible.”
Asher held out his hand for the man to shake, introducing himself. “I’ll just finish serving Emma here, and then I’ll be right with you. Would you like to take a seat?”
The man seemed unimpressed with Asher. He cringed as he took in the coffee stains on his shirt. He was about to explain to the man what had happened but caught himself. It was irrelevant really, wasn’t it? And had nothing to do with the interview.
“I better leave you alone. You’re busy.” Emma handed him her credit card. “Charge it for however much and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Doing as she asked, he placed the book in a paper bag and passed it back to her.
“Thank you, Ash. It was…interesting seeing you. Again.”
“It’s alw
ays the case when we’re together, huh? Nothing is ever straight forward.”
“My father will be ecstatic when he sees what I have for him. You’ve made me the best daughter ever. Well, not that he has another but you get me.”
“Emma, you’re rambling,” Asher pointed out, moving around the counter and walking her to the door.
“Sorry. Thanks again.” She placed her palm flat against his cheek in a gesture he found too intimate. He had to shrug away, taking a large step back.
“Goodbye, Emma. Hope your dad has a great day.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak but nothing came out. Instead, she clutched the book and whispered her goodbye, leaving nothing but the chiming of the door as it closed and vanilla scent of her perfume.
Oddly, he missed her already.
***
Two hours later Asher was still no further in recruiting a part time assistant. The man in the tailored suit had ended up walking out. He’d thought the bookstore would be larger, tidier and much more elite. Asher had no idea what had given him that impression. The store was exactly as the name said: Hidden Treasures. There was nothing elite about that.
He groaned, flipped the closed sign on the store front and checked his watch. It was later than he thought, almost dinnertime and he was thankful the day was over.
On cue, his stomach grumbled. Having been interrupted by Emma, he realized he’d totally missed eating lunch. Damn, he needed food and quick, which left him with the only option of picking up something fast and fatty from further down the road.
A light tapping on the window had him pausing and looking up. He was about to tell whoever it was that the shop was closed but the words stuck in his throat.
“Emma?”
She smiled shyly at him as he opened the door. A large brown bag hung from her fingers tips, the enticing smell causing his stomach to rumble again.
“I thought you might be hungry. I hope burritos are okay?”