The familiar scent of books usually brought Amy comfort.
But not today.
Fictional escapes didn't feel like it was helping her case at the moment.
She stood behind the counter, aimlessly rearranging the display of new arrivals for the third time that morning. Her fingers moved mechanically, pushing spines left, then right, then back again, like somehow the books themselves could reorder her thoughts.
They couldn't.
Her mind kept drifting not anywhere else but to him.
Jace's face. Gina's voice. That scene looping in her mind like a broken record.
"Amy."
The voice broke her trance. Not sharp, not harsh just soft and steady, but firm in the way that told her she wasn't fooling anyone.
She looked up.
Mrs. Thompson, back from her trip, stood with her purse still over her shoulder, studying Amy with narrowed eyes and a look only older women with too much life experience could wear properly.
"Is there a reason you're folding that hardcover like it owes you rent?" she asked, approaching.
Amy blinked at her hands, she had been pressing the edges of a copy of Little Fires Everywhere with too much force.
"I....sorry. I didn't mean to." She said immediately composing herself.
"Mrs Thompson,I didn't think you'd be coming back till later in the day..... how was California?" She said brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Mmm." Mrs. Thompson slid her purse off, placing it gently on the counter. "Looks like I came back just in time. Come on. Sit with me."
Amy opened her mouth to protest, to insist she was fine, but the words felt like gravel in her throat.
Mrs. Thompson already knew. Arguing was pointless.
They moved toward the reading corner by the bay window where they used to enjoy chapter by chapter of different novels together.Sunlight drifted lazily through the glass panes. Normally, Amy found that kind of thing beautiful. Right now, it just made her feel heavier.
The older woman lowered herself into the armchair with a soft grunt, motioning for Amy to take the other. "Start talking."
Amy hesitated. She didn't want to look pathetic. Broken. Weak.
But then again, it was Mrs. Thompson. The woman who had taken a role of a mother in her life, a woman whom she had come to acknowledge as family, a woman who recommended her books based on moods, not blurbs. If anyone was going to listen without judgment, it was her.
"It's… complicated," Amy finally managed, curling her fingers together in her lap.
"Of course it is. That's what makes life interesting."
Amy huffed a weak laugh. "It's Jace."
Mrs. Thompson's lips pursed thoughtfully. "Mmm. The photographer."
"Yeah." Amy stared at the floor. "Turns out… he wasn't completely honest about someone from his past."
"How far in the past?"
Amy hesitated. "His… ex. She showed up. I walked in on them three days ago."
Mrs. Thompson tilted her head. "Walked in on them what, exactly?"
Amy felt heat crawl up her neck. "They weren't kissing or… anything. She was holding him. He was trying to push her away, I think. I don't even know anymore. But.....he lied to me. He told me she was just some old friend who sent him photos sometimes. Never mentioned they had history."
Mrs. Thompson didn't jump in right away. She just nodded slowly, absorbing every word like a careful scribe in a story Amy hadn't wanted to tell.
"And you don't know what to do next," she said finally.
"I don't know anything right now," Amy admitted, voice cracking slightly. "I'm just… angry. And embarrassed. And tired."
Mrs. Thompson tapped her fingers on the armrest thoughtfully. "You know, being tired is usually when people make the worst decisions. You don't have to figure it all out today."
Amy stayed quiet.
"But," the older woman went on, "you need to ask yourself one question before anything else."
Amy looked at her, eyebrows furrowed.
"Do you want to be right… or do you want to be happy?"
That question cut her deeper than expected. She swallowed hard.
"I don't even know if I can trust him again," Amy whispered.
Mrs. Thompson nodded knowingly. "And that's fair. But remember..... trust isn't given like a gift on birthdays. It's earned. Over time. And sometimes people fail you, even the ones who love you. The real question is..... does he want to earn it back? And do you want to let him?"
Amy let out a slow, shaky breath.
"It's not about rushing into his arms tomorrow, child. It's about giving yourself permission to want more for your life than broken promises."
Amy felt a tear trail down her cheek before she could stop it. Mrs. Thompson reached over and squeezed her hand.
"And before you worry about whether he deserves you," Mrs. Thompson added gently, "make sure you're not forgetting that you deserve peace first."
For the first time that day, Amy's chest expanded fully with air. It felt raw, unfamiliar, but real.
"I don't want to be one of those women who forgive just because I'm scared of being alone," she whispered.
Mrs. Thompson's eyes twinkled. "Good. Then don't be. But don't push away love because you're scared of needing someone, either. There's strength in choosing who gets to stand with you."
Amy smiled faintly, wiping her tears. "You're kind of a badass, you know that?"
Mrs. Thompson grinned. "Took you long enough to notice."
"I think I know what I want to do now" Amy said. "Thank you Mrs Thompson,that really meant alot"
"You're most welcome dear and yes... California was beautiful" She said smiling.
"Of course it is " Amy replied smiling back at her.
They sat like that for a while..... two women, two generations, bound by shared understanding.
The bell above the door jingled, a new customer walking in. Mrs. Thompson patted Amy's knee and stood.
"You take a moment, sweetheart. Think it through. I've got the counter."
As she walked back toward the front, Amy leaned back in the chair, staring out the sunlit window, wondering what kind of future she was brave enough to build for herself now.
The shop grew busier in the afternoon, the hum of soft conversation and the rustle of pages filling the spaces around Amy, but it all sounded distant. Muted. Like she was underwater.
She stayed at the counter, straightening a pile of bookmarks that didn't need straightening, while her mind circled the same exhausting track..."What now? What did she even want?"
Mrs Thompson words had struck a chord and made her realise something.
Just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her out of the spiral. She glanced at the screen.
Sophie.
For a moment, Amy considered ignoring it. She didn't know what she would say.... didn't feel like talking was the answer to anything right now.
But again this was Sophie. She deserved more than silence.
Amy slid the phone to her ear. "Hey."
"Ames," Sophie breathed, relieved. "God, I was starting to worry. You haven't answered my texts."
"Sorry," Amy murmured. "I've been… here."
"At work? You should've stayed home. Or at least let me come get you."
Amy closed her eyes, hearing the protectiveness behind her best friend's words. Sophie's loyalty was fierce. Sometimes overwhelming. But never unkind.
"I'm okay. Really," Amy said softly. "I needed to get out of my head for a bit."
"You don't sound okay."
Amy smiled faintly. Sophie was impossible to fool. "I'm getting there. I just… I don't want to hide. Not from this. And not from him."
Silence hummed between them for a moment before Sophie spoke again, quieter this time. "Do you want me to pick you up?, I'm almost done here at work, We can have pizza, watch something dumb, scream into pillows....whatever you need."
The offer was tempting. So tempting.
But Amy shook her head, as if Sophie could see it through the phone. "No. Thanks, Soph, but I think I want to go home. I need… I need space to think. Alone."
Another pause. Then, "You're sure?"
Amy took in a long breath, feeling something steady inside her that hadn't been there this morning. "Yeah. I'm sure."
"Alright." Sophie's voice softened. "But you call me if you change your mind, okay? Anytime."
"I will. Thank you."
After hanging up, Amy stood there for another moment. Finally, she grabbed her things, told Mrs. Thompson she was heading out, and stepped into the evening air.
Then came back through the door again and gave Mrs Thompson a tight long hug.
"Thank you" She said.
"Anytime honey" Mrs Thompson replied.
Amy headed out again, something renewed in her heart.
The sky was painted with streaks of amber and soft purple, the kind of twilight that usually made her smile.
She was driving home on her own. Not to prove anything to anyone. Just because she chose to.
For the first time in days, the ache in her chest felt like something she might, eventually, be able to live with.