The following days felt different. Not necessarily easier, but there was a quiet shift between Max and me. We were trying, really trying, to make things work. The tension had eased, but the weight of everything still lingered, like a shadow that couldn’t be shaken. We were both aware that things couldn’t go back to the way they were, but we were also aware that we couldn’t afford to keep fighting like we had been.
I spent the next few mornings at the bookstore, rearranging shelves, organizing the cluttered inventory, and trying to reclaim a sense of control over something that felt so wildly out of hand. I was determined to make this work, for the sake of the bookstore and for Max and me. I needed to prove to myself, at least, that it was possible.
Max showed up later that afternoon, loo
