She sighed and twisted her hair around one finger. “I don’t know. I just . . .” She bit her lip in that way that some girls seemed to do. I guess they’d all read somewhere that it was supposed to be adorable. And while everything else about this woman was fairly perfect, for some reason, that move took me back a bit. It made her face look cockeyed. I tried to ignore that as she went on talking.
“It’s just that I, uh . . .” She was still twirling. “I work in the bookstore downstairs? You know, the one on the first floor?” She seemed to be unsure about this, and she kept asking me instead of telling me.
“Sure.” I nodded. “Braxton’s.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She giggled again. “And it’s like, so cold in there? I always try to bring a sweater or a sweatshirt or something, but I forgot today, and somebody told me that your store carries the best ones?”
“We do.” This was easy, although the way she turned every statement into a question was more than a little unsettling. “Absolutely. Well, we have some of the newer hoodies here in the front.” I guided her toward a rack of soft, multicolored sweatshirts. “And in the back, we have some others that are on sale. That’s where all of our clearance stuff is. Oh, and there’re some sweaters over here, if that was more what you were looking for.”
She glanced around as though I’d given her way too many options. “Okay, cool.” She ran a hand down her short skirt. “Do you think would be okay to wear a hoodie with this kind of dress? I mean, do you think it would look funny?”
She was asking me for style advice. This had to be a good sign. “Oh, yeah.” I nodded vigorously. “I see lots of women who—I mean, it seems to be kind of a popular look, so yeah. Absolutely.”
“Great, then. I guess I’ll just check.” She waved her hand. “You know, like the colors and whatever.”
“I’d be happy to help you with that.” I followed her over, hoping that she didn’t feel as though I was stalking her or was worried that she was a shoplifter. She began flipping through the hangers, and I realize she was humming softly to herself.
I cleared my throat. “I’m Harry—” I began.
“Oh, I love that name.” She grinned, and I was pretty sure the angels sang. “My name is Faith.”
I’d never met a girl with that name before, but I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand, and giggling yet again, she shook it. “Have you worked for Braxton’s for long?”
She shook her head. “No. This is my first week.”
“I figured.” And then, in case she thought I reallywasa creepy stalker, I added hastily, “I mean, I go down there quite a bit on my breaks to get a snack at the little shop inside the store, and I hadn’t seen you before.”
She laughed. “Oh, really? And do you know everybody who works there, then?”
“Pretty much.” I shrugged. “Is this your first time working at the mall? You’ll find out pretty fast that most of us who do get to know each other. You know, you pass the same people every day when you’re going in or out, and you run into each other at the food court… It’s like anything else, I guess.”
“One big happy mall family,” she teased.
“Not quite that.” I grimaced. “But you recognize the regulars.”
Faith glanced at her phone. “Oh, shoot. I need to get back. Where do I pay for this?”
I led her to the register stand, rang her up and clipped the tags from the hoodie. “I assume you want to wear this.”
“Of course.” She smiled at me, tilting her head. “Thanks. It was good to meet you. When you come down to get a snack next time, look for me. I’ll give you a discount . . . onanythingyou want.”
And then she winked at me, turned around and left the store. I stared after her, and in my mind, I’d already begun my next column for The Cuffing Season . . .
Today I met the perfect yee.
* * *
“She’s a junior in college—she’s originally from Minnesota, but she came down here for school because she was tired of winter in the north. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. And she works in a bookstore—how perfect is that?” I thumped one hand on the counter as I grinned at Sophia. “I mean, I’m a writer, and she works with books. Isn’t it perfect?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Sophia spared me a quick glance and went back to creating the coffee art for the waiting customer. She mumbled something else, but I couldn’t understand what she’d said.
“I’ve been talking to her for a little over a week, on my breaks from work and at lunch. We’re going out tomorrow night.” I shoved the rest of the pastry into my mouth. “And if it goes well—and how could it not? Then I might ask her to come with us for Halloween.”
Sophia turned toward me, dismay etched on her face. “Are you serious? But I thought it was just the three of us going out that night.”
I shifted on my stool. I’d had an uncomfortable feeling this might be an issue. “Well . . . does it really matter?”
