Sweet Trouble

Almost a Glimpse (2)

“So how about you?” they asked her.

Barbara groaned as Miriam wiggled her eyebrows at her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Miranda smirked. “Oh, please. The tall, broody stranger who literally swept you off your feet? That is prime material.”

Barbara swept her hands through the cloth rack. Not looking for anything in particular. “It was an accident.”

Miriam gasped dramatically. “Was it an accident when he came back and apologized? Twice?”

Barbara rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smile threatening to form. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Miranda leaned in. “Come on, B. You know you want something out of this. When was the last time you even went on a date?”

Barbara hesitated, and that was enough.

Miriam clapped her hands. “Exactly! See? It’s been too long.”

“I’ve been busy,” Barbara muttered, turning back to the clothes like they were the world’s greatest wonder after sliced bread.

Miranda sighed, dropping the teasing tone. “You know, you deserve more than just being busy, right?”

Barbara finally picked something off the rack mindlessly. More? What did more even look like?

“Uh! That dress is beautiful, and it compliments your skin so well. We are definitely taking it!” Grateful to the dress for taking the girl’s attention, Barbara held it up to her neck and turned to the mirror, and indeed, it gave everything.

The next stop was yet another boutique that Miranda had been raving about all morning. The moment they stepped inside, Barbara knew she was in trouble. The store was filled with soft fabrics and delicate scents.

"Welcome to paradise," Miranda declared, stretching her arms like she was about to embrace the entire store.

Barbara sighed. "Mir, I don’t need any more clothes."

"Of course you do," Miranda shot back. "Look at you. Work clothes, work shoes, work face." She gestured up and down. "When was the last time you wore something fun?"

Miriam nudged Barbara with a grin. "She’s not wrong."

Barbara groaned but didn’t protest as Miranda pulled her toward a section of flowing skirts and crop-fitted blouses. The colors were soft—blush pinks, muted blues, warm creams. A stark contrast to the practical neutrals in Barbara’s closet.

Miriam plucked a sundress from the rack. "Ooh, this would look amazing on you."

Barbara eyed the dress. It was pretty—light, airy, and let a lot of skin on display. It reminded her of something she might’ve worn before life had beaten the softness out of her.

She shook her head. "Where would I even wear that?"

Miriam shrugged. "Anywhere. Everywhere. You don’t need a reason to wear something nice, B."

Barbara exhaled. They made it sound so simple. As if choosing a dress was just that—a choice. Not a reflection of how she felt inside, of how wearing something light and pretty meant allowing herself to be seen.

She reached for a simple ivory blouse instead. "This. This I can do."

Miranda gave her a look but didn’t argue. "Fine. Baby steps."

By the time they left the store, Miranda had spent way too much money, Miriam had texted Daniel a dozen times, and Barbara had let herself enjoy the moment just a little bit more than she expected.

They stopped at a café afterward, their shopping bags crowding the small table as they sipped their drinks. The café buzzed with conversation and the clinking of cups.

Miriam leaned back with a content sigh. "This was fun. We should do this more often."

Barbara swirled her spoon in her coffee, hesitating. "Yeah. We should."

Miranda pointed at her. "No should. We will. No more work excuses, no more hiding. You’re coming out with us at least once a month."

Barbara huffed a laugh. "Once a month? That’s all I get?"

"Don’t push it," Miranda said, smirking.

Miriam chuckled, but then her expression softened. "Seriously, B. It’s nice to see you relax for once."

Barbara’s fingers tightened around her cup. "I’m relaxed."

Miranda snorted. "No, you pretend to be relaxed. Big difference."

Barbara didn’t reply, but their words lingered.

She hadn’t always been like this—closed off, always busy, always putting work before herself. There was a time when she laughed freely, when she allowed herself to live. But that girl felt like someone else now, someone she wasn’t sure she could ever be again.

Still, as she sat with her friends, the warmth of their company surrounding her, she allowed herself one quiet thought— Maybe she could try.

Later, after parting with the girls who had failed to convince her to join them on a spa date, she wandered into a bookstore to pick up a book or two for the weekend. The bookstore smelled of old paper and dust. As she strolled down the halls, something unexpected tugged at her memory.

It wasn’t any one thing but a series of small, unassuming details.

A name on a book spine.

A child’s laughter echoing down the aisle.

A man’s voice—a deep timbre that, for a second, sent her heart pounding before she realized it wasn’t his.

Her fingers tightened around the book she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She had been fifteen when her world had collapsed. One moment, she had a family, a home. The next, she was standing in front of her father’s cousin, a man she had once called Uncle with childlike trust.

He had taken her in, but not out of love. She became a loose thread in the fabric of his perfect life—one he had to pull in before she unraveled everything he had built. The warmth of family had been replaced with cold calculations. Every kindness had come with conditions, and survival had meant silence.

She closed the book, exhaling shakily. The weight of the past still clung to her, and she desperately just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep the rest of the day away. But before then, she decided to grab coffee briefly.

Thankful that the library had a cafe just beside it, she selected her books and headed in for a cup of coffee and donuts.

The sun had dipped lower by the time she settled down at her table with a book in hand, though her focus wavered. The day’s conversations had left her pensive, thoughts wandering back to things she rarely let herself dwell on. Her childhood. The family that was supposed to be hers. The way everything changed after her father’s heart attack. The scent of roasted coffee and sweet pastries filled the air.

She exhaled, shaking herself from her thoughts the second time today just as the door chimed, signaling another customer. She barely glanced up at first, but something drew her eyes to the man walking in.

William.

He didn’t see her. He was talking to someone near the counter, his expression unreadable as he glanced at his phone. He looked different in casual clothes—more at ease, though there was always something guarded about him. The sound of his voice was a low rumble.

Barbara hesitated, her heart quickening slightly, then lowered her gaze back to her book, feigning interest. Still, for the rest of the time she sat there, she was acutely aware of his presence only a few tables away."

They were just two people occupying the same space --For now.