Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 129

Her Obsession.

I’m About To Do Something Questionably Illegal.

73

The toy store is chaos, in the best way. It smells like plastic and sugar, colours bleeding together in every direction. The walls hum with music, the kind made for kids‘ TV shows, and there’s a constant chorus of toys talking, laughing, beeping. For a second, I just stand there, frozen. It’s… overwhelming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much brightness in one place.

Naomi whistles low beside me. “Well, shit. If I’d known heaven looked like this, I’d have died years ago.”

“Get a trolley,” I tell her, already grabbing one myself.

We push into the first aisle, wheels squeaking against the tile. A man in a blue vest, older, with kind eyes, probably the manager, steps forward with a smile. “Need a hand finding anything, ladies?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I know what I’m after.”

He nods and moves on, leaving us to it.

The first shelf we pass is full of stuffed animals with bright–eyed bears and foxes with soft fur. I pick one up, press it to my palm, and the fur tickles my skin. It’s strange. I’ve handled every kind of weapon known to man, but I’ve never held something meant purely for comfort.

Naomi drops a plush dragon into the trolley. “Every kid needs a monster to fight nightmares,” she says, and I smile.

The xext aisle has puzzles, games, crayons, little books with thick pages and cartoon animals. I flip through one with dinosaurs that make noises when you press the pictures. It roars, and I jump. Naomi bursts out laughing.

“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling. “It’s loud.”

She grins wider. “You’re adorable when you’re discovering basic childhood experiences.”

I stick my tongue out at her, but keep filling the trolley with paints, paper, and a little backpack with a rocket on it.

We reach the toy kitchen sets, and Naomi grabs a tiny frying pan, brandishing it like a weapon. “For when he joins the family business.”

I laugh, really laugh. By the time we hit the action figures, Naomi’s found a superhero with light–up eyes. “He’s got the same scowl as Conner,” she jokes, posing it on the shelf.

“I like mine taller,” I mutter, smiling despite myself.

She bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, there she is, the scary little ghost with a sense of humour.”

I roll my eyes but keep moving. The last aisle is the one that hits me hardest, lots of little lined–up cars stacked along the shelves. Tiny ones lined up in neat boxes, shining under the lights. I crouch, tracing my fingers along the rows: race cars, trucks, vintage models, things I’ve only ever seen in movies. Naomi leans against the shelf, watching me quietly as I start pulling them down, a blue, a yellow, a silver, a green. Different makes, different styles. Each one goes into the trolley carefully, like I’m building something that matters. And then I see a small red car, scuffed on the corner of the box where it’s been handled too much. Just like the one Diego had clutched in the bookstore. I pick it up, turning it in my hands. It’s light, simple. Nothing fancy. But my throat tightens anyway.

Naomi crouches beside me. “That the one?”

1/3

12:32 Wed, Oct 22

I’m About To Do Something Questionably Illegal.

73

“Yeah.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “He had one just like this. Held onto it like it was the only thing in the world that was his.”

She nods softly. “I think he’ll like this one better.”

By the time we make it to the counter, the trolley is overflowing with so much colour and softness it barely feels real. The old man at the register stares, eyebrows raised. “You two running a daycare?”

“Something like that,” Naomi says with a wink.

He chuckles and starts scanning, bag after bag after bag. I pay without blinking, sliding the card Conner gave me across the counter. I tuck the red car into my pocket, keeping it close. As we haul everything back to the van, the sunset paints the sky orange and gold. Naomi leans against the door, panting from the effort. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like shopping, you did some serious damage in there.”

I look over the bags stacked in the back, filled with toys, books, colour, and laughter in plastic form, and smile faintly.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But for once, it feels like the right kind of damage.”

Want to grab some dinner?” I ask, tossing the last bag of toys into the back of the van.

Naomi looks at me like I’ve just suggested we take up knitting. “Dinner?” she repeats, brows lifting. “We’re not done yet?”

“Nope.” I close the van doors with a solid thunk and turn to face her, a small, sharp smile tugging at my lips. “But the next part… that needs to happen when the sun’s gone down.”

For a heartbeat, she studies me, with her head tilted and that familiar glint of mischief already sparking behind her eyes. Then she grins, slow and dangerous. “Ah, I see.”

“Do you?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I know that face,” she says, looping her arm through mine as we start walking down the street toward the glow of a nearby diner. “That’s your I’m–about–to–do–something–questionably–illegal–and–I–want–a–witness face.”

I laugh quietly, the sound surprising even me. “Maybe. You in?”

She bumps her hip against mine. “You even have to ask? Hell yeah, I’m in.”

We find a small place just off the main strip, with a neon sign buzzing and the smell of fries and grease wafting through the open door. It’s half–empty inside, quiet enough that the world feels small again for a bit. We slide into a booth, order two burgers, and talk about nothing while the sun melts behind the horizon. By the time we’re done, the streetlights are flickering on, and the night air has that perfect edge to it, calm, heavy and waiting.

Naomi wipes her hands on a napkin, then looks up at me with a smirk that matches my own. “Alright, Ghost. Let’s go finish this.”

I grin back, pushing out of the booth. “Let’s go tuck my baby brother into bed.”

We step out into the dark, the neon light catching on our faces, two shadows with one purpose and a little toy car to deliver.

2/3

12:32 Wed, Oct 22

I’m About To Do Something Questionably Illegal.

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