The Shop He Stole From Me

Synopsis

That was the very shop George Booth and I had spent so much time choosing together. I stood at the entrance, the delivery slip in my hand softened by sweat. The door opened from the inside. A young woman in a pale blue dress stood there. An apron was tied around her waist, making her look like the lady of the house. I had seen her before. George told me she was a distant cousin. He had even posted photos of them together on Instagram. I looked at her, and she looked back at me. "Who are you looking for?" she asked, one hand resting on the doorframe, her voice carrying a hint of annoyance at being disturbed. I glanced up at the sign above the door. It was No. 18 Willow Lane. I wasn't mistaken. This was the shop my father bought with the last of his savings before he passed away, the final thing he left me. I asked, "Does this shop belong to you?" The woman looked me up and down, her eyes stopping on my wrinkled hands, worn and rough from washing dishes. "Why do you care?" she asked. "I'm looking for the owner," I said. She let out a small laugh and then turned toward the inside. "George, someone's looking for the owner." I heard the sound of a cup being set down on the table. Then George's voice came from inside. "Who is it?" I didn't leave. The smile on the woman's face slowly faded. She stepped forward, blocking my view. "We're not taking walk-in customers today. You should try somewhere else." I asked, "George is inside?" Her hand tightened around the edge of the door. "You know him?" Footsteps approached from inside. Before the little brass bell above the door could ring, I turned around and walked away, leaving the alley behind.