There was something so no-nonsense – completely matter-of-fact, so unceremonious and practical and calm – in her response that it grounded Jay, a little. Maybe she’d always been that way; maybe something in her just now reminded him of Simeon, cool and razor-sharp and preternaturally assured. The world felt like it was ending; every night seemed impossible to get through alone; even the shop didn’t feel safe anymore; and the worry and the work were eating at his insides until he was sure he was completely rotten to the core somewhere under this facade – but Florence seemed solid and steady and secure. So her remark cut through the noise, all those gasping breaths caught up in his throat that were in danger, he suspected, of emerging as sobs.

Fighting that feeling and the trembling in his limbs, Jay surrendered silently to her help, letting her clear up the mess he’d made. Instead, he placed a hand on a stool to steady himself, but when it proved not to be enough, he lowered himself down to the floor. Leaning his head back against the side of the shop counter, Jay slumped there and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his lungs drag in a long, slow breath. He kept his eyes closed. He could close his eyes in front of Florence; that was safe enough, he knew. She was his sister, as much as anyone was, so if he could trust anyone, he could trust her.

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