“Tatty,” she speaks. She keeps her voice smooth, though the rock in her throat hurts. “Tatty, I can’t marry him. Please don’t ask me to.
S ara Leah used to talk poetically about the smell of the ink the way the deep wet fragrance assaulted her when she entered Tatty’s print shop flooding her senses intoxicating her like wine.
Aidy opens the small door to the shop inhales then lets her breath out in a whoosh. To her it just smells overwhelmingly like ink.
“Aidy ” Tatty calls from behind the cutting machine. His voice is chapped and thin. “I’m glad you came.”
“My pleasure ” Aidy says automatically throwing her coat behind the counter. The setting sun glints through the frosted windows. It’s warm inside too warm and she has her own paperwork to complete but Wednesday has always been her day to help out in the shop. Not that there’s much helping to do these days but she hasn’t the heart to say so.
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