Chapter 4: Lost Warmth

  Noah had just finished his night shift at the café. He sighed as he untied his apron, shrugged into his coat, and stepped outside. The cold air stung his cheeks, but at least it woke him up. Taking the night shift had been the worst idea possible… but what choice did he have? A thought of his father slipped in unbidden, sour and frustrating. He shoved it away and trudged faster toward the grocery store.

  He hadn’t had time to shower in days, let alone eat properly. His stomach growled as he muttered, “Thank goodness it’s Sunday tomorrow.”

  Turning the corner, he pushed through the grocery store doors—only to smack straight into the glass.

  “Damn it… I really am that crazy,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

  Inside, he wandered the instant food aisle, scanning for something remotely appetizing. His eyes landed on sushi, and suddenly his throat tightened. He blinked back tears. Sushi reminded him too much of his mother.

  His grip tightened around a cup of noodles. He had never forgiven himself for her death. Rationally, he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. But knowing didn’t mean believing.

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  Three years ago, his mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer. One of the worst kinds. The doctor said there was nothing to be done. Two years, maybe, was all she had left.

  Noah had tried to prepare himself. He told himself to cherish the time, to be strong when the end came. He convinced himself he wouldn’t cry.

  But preparation didn’t mean readiness.

  He hated himself for not being there that day. For listening when she told him to go buy treats, to enjoy himself. If he had stayed, maybe he could have been there for her last breath. Maybe his father wouldn’t hate him so much, wouldn’t have kicked him out, wouldn’t have called him useless. Maybe she’d still be ali—

  “Excuse me, young man?”

  Noah snapped out of his daze. An elderly woman stood nearby, her hair mostly white, her face lined but kind.

  “Oh… hi?” he said, embarrassed.

  “Are you feeling alright? You were staring at that box of sushi for quite some time.”

  Was I really standing there that long?

  He forced a grin. “I’m fine, ma’am. Just zoned out for a bit.”

  The woman chuckled. “Well, you flatter me. I’m no longer a ‘ma’am,’ just an old lady.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. You’re still young at heart.”

  She smiled warmly. “You know, the world could use more people like you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Before you go, would you mind helping me get that can of tomato soup up there?”

  Noah glanced up. The can was perched on the top shelf, just out of reach. He sighed. He was short—painfully short—and he hated it. Still, determination sparked. He stacked a few boxes, climbed up, and snagged the can.