Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“I have the worst ideas,” Wallace muttered. “Everything is terrible.”
“Good to know,” Hugo said to Naomi. “But no, we were just friends.”
“Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” Naomi asked. “Because he’s
gone.”
Wallace stopped, hands pressed flat against the counter. He bowed his
head and squeezed his eyes shut.
“I don’t know that he truly is,” Hugo said finally. “I think a part of him
remains.”
“Pretty thoughts, and nothing more. Did…” She huffed out a breath. “Did
you love him? God, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I don’t
know you. I don’t even care if you and he were—”
“We weren’t,” Hugo said simply.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I know,” he said, and Wallace felt hot and cold, all at the same time. “I
don’t know how to answer that question.”
“Yes or no. It’s not hard. But you not saying no is all the answer I need.”
She sniffled again. “You weren’t at the funeral.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It was … quick. For him. I’m told he didn’t suffer. There and gone as if
he never were at all.”
“But he was,” Hugo said, and he never looked away from Wallace. “He
was.”
She laughed, though it sounded like a sob. “He was, wasn’t he? For better
or worse, he was. Hugo, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how you
knew Wallace, and I don’t believe for a minute it was because of tea. I’m …
sorry. For your loss. Thank you, but please don’t call me again. I’m ready to
move on. I have moved on. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything else,” Hugo said. “I appreciate your
time.”
The phone beeped as she disconnected the call.
Silence filled the tea shop.
Wallace broke. “You can’t … Hugo.”
“I know,” Hugo said, sounding strangely vulnerable. Wallace looked up to
see him fiddling with his bandana, green with white dogs imprinted on it.
“But it’s mine. It’s for me. And you can’t take that away.”