Chapter 32

He didn’t get a break until well after noon, when Mr. Trumbull left him to mind the till so he could sort through the new shipment of paper goods that had come in from Chicago. Perched on his stool behind the counter, he fingered the note in his pocket, the edges already getting soft from the constant contact, and waited for Mr. Nickles to finish his Monday perusal of the magazine stack. Every permutation of what it could possibly contain filled his head, from a love letter extolling the wonder of the night before to an invitation to join him again that evening.

Would he go? Yes, he would. Without blinking. He was starting to believe he’d do just about anything Seb asked of him, walls or not.