The rain has been falling for hours. It stabbed at the glass like claws attempting to get in, soaking the sidewalk and getting through the cracks in the front door of the bookstore. Savannah Quinn stood in the centre of the soaked floor with a mop in her hand and her dark curls sticking to her neck. There were ink smudges on her wrist from the ledger she had tried to balance on the counter. She mumbled, "You've got to be kidding me," as she watched the brown drop fall from the ceiling. Another leak. This is the third one this week. The phone on the stool next to the register buzzed.
She didn't look. She already knew. One more final notice. Another reminder that the world didn't care if you were barely holding the walls up with your teeth. Savannah! There was a voice from the rear room. Mira. Always late, yet always loyal. I'm here. Just swimming. Mira emerged, holding a bunch of towels like a peace offering. I swear this ceiling hates you. No, the bank doesn't like me. The roof is just joining in. Mira got down on her knees to assist soak up the water. Her sneakers squeaked. We could set up another GoFundMe. Savannah laughed, but it wasn't funny. Okay. Because people who don't know each other want to help out poor bookstores. You could talk to your sister. That's not a solution; it's a comic set-up. Another buzz. This time, Savannah answered the phone. Last warning. Foreclosure is coming soon. There is a lawsuit pending. She read it out loud like a poem, with a flat voice. Mira looked up with big eyes. What are you going to do? I'm going to sign a contract to get married. Mira blinked. You hit your head, didn't you? Savannah smiled, even though she was exhausted and sad. No. I hit rock bottom so hard that I had to hunt for a ladder. A sleek black automobile slowly came to a stop across the street. The engine made a noise that sounded like a menace. Mira was the first to see it. Sav... who is that? Savannah turned and squinted. That's the guy who owns the ladder. The lights went off. The storm took them all in. The room got darker, and the pleasant buzz of the fluorescent lights stopped, leaving Savannah and Mira in the blackness. The only light came from the street, which cut through the window in thin lines. You did pay the energy bill, right? Mira said in a low voice. No. Savannah's voice was hoarse. I paid the printer and got food. Guess which one can't take your stomach back. A loud knock echoed around the room. Three knocks on purpose. Mira stopped. Savannah stepped forward, her heart racing in her neck. The person outside was tall and still, with a halo of rain around them. He didn't knock again. Are you waiting for someone? Mira asked. Not until debt collectors wear coats that cost a thousand dollars. The moist wind curled into the store like fingers when she opened the door halfway. The man on the other side stood under a black umbrella. His suit was dry, and his eyes were sharp and his lines were sharp. Miss Quinn? His voice was smooth but short, as if he didn't want to waste breath. His face was hard to forget: thin, angular, and with a shadow of stubble down a hard jaw. It depends on who is asking. Declan Monroe. She gulped. Yes, of course. The name made me think of money. And war. You are the owner of the building across the street. I have this one too. Her back straightened out. Then you know it's coming apart. I know you're late on your rent. Four months. Mira stepped in to protect. She's giving it her all. It's not like Declan responded, "It's not your business," without looking at her. Savannah held on to the door more tightly. What brings you here? To get? Put me outside in the rain? No. I'm here to help you find a solution. She looked at the umbrella, then back at him. What kind of answer arrives in a coffin? He smiled, but it wasn't warm. A suggestion. Her stomach sank. Sorry? I'll pay off your debts. Every penny. But I want something back. It rained on his umbrella. She looked. So what do you want from me? He looked her in the eye and didn't blink. Your hand. In a marriage. The stillness was so dense that it could choke you. Savannah blinked slowly, once. You're kidding. Declan didn't move. No. Mira stood behind her with a towel in her hand, speechless. Savannah answered gently, "You want to marry me so you can pay off my debt." He changed the cuff. Don't wanted. Need. That seems less scary, right? You're in trouble. I am too. This is good for both of us. She crossed her arms and her heart raced against her ribs. I am not a charity case or whatever fiction you have come up with. My bookstore is going out of business, I haven't had a professional haircut in months, and for dinner I eat instant noodles and deny it. You are also smart, tough, and in a tough spot. People are most honest then. She looked at the river slowly moving into the romance section. And what do you get out of it? A tax break? He thought about it. Just enough to make her heart skip a beat. He claimed that there is a condition in my family's trust. I have to be officially married for at least six months to get to the next level of holdings. Mira laughed. That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard. Declan glanced at her, calm as the cold. Old money doesn't make sense very often. Savannah let out a deep, quiet breath. So you want to marry me. Pay the bookstore back. Play house for six months. What happens next? Then we go our separate ways. A blank slate. No ties. She shook her head. And what if I say no? He moved forward. She could smell cedarwood and cold rain from that close. Then the bookstore closes on Friday. Your accounts are frozen. And the dream you worked so hard for is sold to the next vape business that will pay you cash. Savannah looked at the ledger behind her. It was half-soaked, soiled, and useless. She blinked and looked at Mira, who was pallid. Then she looked back at the man whose eyes had never left hers. She remarked, "This is crazy." "No," Declan said. "This is survival." She felt her throat tighten. When do you require an answer? His voice was a low, deadly whisper. Tonight.
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