"What the hell happened here?" she asked in shock.
When her question was met with radio silence, however, she repeated in a more demanding manner.
"Robbers." Ortega rubbed his forearm. "They broke in and..."
"Shit." Miss Mae walked over and examined him.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." Ortega willed his fingers to stop shaking. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry, I was careless."
Something hung in his throat, making it really hard to swallow. Everything started to blur as his eyes heated up and he sniffed. Face down, his shoulders began to tremble.
'Fuck.'
The tears flowed freely. He clutched the edges of the table. 'Pathetic.' He felt her hand on his shoulder—and that broke the dam. He couldn't help it. She walked over and wrapped her hands around him. She felt and smelled safe. He let it all out.
Quickly, he got himself together, pulled away, and wiped the tears off his face. "Sorry. I should have called the police."
She saw the battered phone on the floor and scoffed. "We both know how useless those people are."
At that, he snorted a laugh, and she smiled a little—then became suddenly serious.
"Listen," she said, cupping the sides of his face. The gesture had him flinch, warmth blooming in his chest. It was surprisingly... motherly.
"There's nothing you could have done—and it's a good thing you did nothing."
Then she pulled away, as if surprised by her own actions. He saw something flash across her face before she turned to grab a broom.
"You can take time off today," she said without looking at him, then after a heavy pause, "Sorry for the trouble."
Ortega's thoughts ran dark. He picked up a broom and joined her.
And like that, they cleaned the mess in silence. The deeper he buried himself in the task, the angrier he got when he thought back to the moment. He should have done something—should have made smarter choices. That shock he felt weighed down on him. His face was a frozen mask of calm, but underneath he was drowning in self-hate.
The delivery truck arrived, and it was time to offload. He stopped his boss. "I'll handle it."
"You sure? These crates are pretty heavy."
Ortega scoffed. "Do I look like a twig to you?" Then, warmly: "Rest. I'll handle it."
He was already rolling up his sleeves. Miss Mae dropped her broom and smiled, retiring to the backroom but keeping an eye on Ortega as he lifted the beer crates one by one into the store. Ortega huffed after the first one—this was no joke. But by the fifth, he got the hang of it. After the final crate, he was a boss.
Ortega counted them—thirty-two—and closed the door behind him. Drenched and biceps burning, he went to the freezer and helped himself to a water bottle.
He couldn't help thinking about what would have happened if Miss Mae had arrived before him. Those robbers... he was lucky they just wanted goods. What if he encountered muggers or sadists next time?
He gauged from his boss's reaction that this was a common occurrence here—and that she had some history with the robbers. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the strong woman.
The thought of confronting Miss Mae about their security problem died. Not because he was scared to offend her, but because he understood the cost.
There was this small fantasy in his head—working double shifts as the store's bouncer and giving thieves serious beatdowns so his boss didn't suffer more losses. He smiled it away.
Every time the door dinged open, he snapped to attention, hoping it wasn't another robbery. At the same time, there was a thrill in the thought—maybe this time, he'd be better composed. If it happened again, he'd know what to do... right?
***
"Thanks for shopping with us," Ortega said to the woman before him. "Come back again sometime. We'd be happy to have you."
The last part wasn't in the script, but Ortega said it with a soft smile that made the woman giggle.
"I sure will, thanks a lot." She made to carry her groceries, but she'd bought too many. Ortega was already by her side, assisting with the heavy lifting. He helped her carry her stuff to her car. When he closed the trunk and was about to leave, she called him back, shuffled through her purse, and handed him a tip. Ortega gladly accepted.
She smiled and waved as she drove off. Ortega waved back, fisting the greens, something brimming in his heart. He headed back inside the store, feeling lighter now.
During break, he did push-ups and hydrated, then sat, depressed, looking at his battered phone.
When closing time came, he found himself delaying—confused that he was actually sad putting up the CLOSED sign.
This time, he didn't just leave after collecting his pay. He stayed back and helped her lock the store, then watched her tug the chain and padlock one last time.
***
"You know... you really don't have to walk me home."
"Yeah, and you didn't have to hold me when I cried, but you did."
Ortega thought that, but aloud he said, "I know."
And that was it.
The night was a blanket above them. Shops around were still open. Miss Mae was one of the rare few who closed early because she lived far.
The walk was mostly silent, and somehow they found themselves holding hands like they'd been doing it forever. Ortega tried to think of a conversation starter, but his head was blank, so he didn't force it. He just enjoyed the feeling of their interlocked fingers and stayed vigilant—these parts were dangerous.
Every time he thought of someone attacking his boss, a dark feeling surged in his chest. Her reassuring squeeze calmed him, and he found himself asking personal questions—where she lived, her favorite food, her birthday. She was a Gemini.
She was pretty open to talk, and they made jokes about the day's rollercoaster. She was curious about him too. When he told her about securing a job at XFashion, she became quiet. Apparently, that didn't bolster her impression of him.
But her smile was still happy when they passed his lodging and reached the bus stop.
"Thanks," she said.
"I'm just returning the favor." The words tumbled out, and she blushed.
The bus drove off, and he knew he was going to have a hard time sleeping tonight.