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“She didn’t flirt with you.” Heather watches my face.

“Good,” I reply, straightening the cups.

“You hate it.” Heather folds her arms.

“I love it,” I insist, avoiding her eyes.

“You want her to come back and call you sexy.” Heather grins.

“Go inventory something,” I point toward the storeroom.

She grins. “You're falling for her.”

Instead of answering, I stare through the window at Temptation Ink. Kira is laughing with her brother and my chest tightens. Am I falling for her? No. That would mean there's still some distance left. I think I've already landed. I've spent years making choices for other people, and somewhere along the way I forgot how to admit I wanted something. Wanting Kira feels selfish, until I catch myself imagining her laughing in my kitchen, arguing with me about coffee, and fitting into a life I thought was already full. That thought makes me happy, which somehow scares me more than being alone. The realization should scare me. It does, but not for the reason I expected. I'm not afraid of wanting her.

I'm afraid I'll do what I always do when I want something for myself: convince myself somebody else needs me more, then walk away. I did it after our parents died. I stopped dating. Stopped traveling. Stopped thinking about a life outside the shop and my sisters. At first, it was necessary. Later, it was habit. Now Kira is standing on the other side of the street, and for the first time in years I want something so badly that duty can't drown it out. I want mornings with her. I want her ridiculous drink sitting beside my black coffee. I want to hear her call me bossy when we're eighty. That thought lands hard.

I grip the counter and Heather's teasing expression softens. “Ross?”

“I’m fine."

“You say that a lot.” Her smile fades.

“Because I am,” I insist, looking toward the window.

“No. You say it when you don’t want us to worry.” She touches my arm.

I look at my baby sister and see too much understanding in her face. “When did you get smart?”

“About ten years ago. You were too busy bossing everyone around to notice,” I huff out a laugh and her eyes widen. “Was that a laugh?”

“Get out,” I say, trying to hide my smile.

She hugs me quickly before I can dodge. "You’re allowed to be happy too, you know.” She squeezes my arm before she leaves.

Then she leaves me standing there with the one sentence I don't know how to answer.

six

Kira

By lunchtime, I've convinced myself Ross isn't coming. By one, I tell myself I don't care. By one-oh-five, I'm staring through the window again.

“You’re going to burn a hole through the glass.” Keanu peers past me.

“I'm checking the weather,” I say, keeping my eyes on the shop window.

“The weather is Ross-shaped?” Keanu asks, following my gaze.

I glare at him. The door opens before I can answer and Ross walks in. My heart does an embarrassing little jump. He's changed out of his work flannel into a dark thermal shirt that makes him look unfairly good.

“Tattoo check.” Keanu gestures toward the doorway.

“Back room,” I tell Ross, pointing toward my station. Keanu looks between us and I point at him. “Not one word.” He raises both hands as Ross follows me to my station. “Shirt,” I say, reaching for a clean pair of gloves. His eyebrow rises. “For the tattoo,” I clarify, gesturing at his shoulder.

“Sure, it is.” Ross lifts one eyebrow.

I grin despite myself. “Look at you learning how to flirt.”