So were the cherry earrings she was wearing and the matching pin clipped in her bright blond hair.
April tilted her head and the earrings swiveled. “You could learn something from me, Alexia. It’s not just about sales, but returning customers. You want them to tell their friends about us and feel like they need to come back here again for more. Charlie doesn’t offer coupons and we don’t do any marketing, so word of mouth is all we have. Relationship building is important for an independently run business.”
“We sell crack, April.”
A kid went jumping by as if there were invisible hopscotch lines on the floor. I nodded at him to illustrate my point.
“You don’t think this place could ever go out of business?”
I shrugged. “If the movie theater or pizza shop closes, then yeah. But this street is a freeway of hyperactive kids between the ages of Winnie-the-Pooh diapers and high school saggy pants. Not to mention the fact we offer pick-up through the Internet.”
“Not everyone likes picking up when they can have it delivered to their house by another company,” she pointed out, refilling a display of Ring Pops.
It was near closing time and I sanitized the counter, wiping away all the grimy little fingerprints and germs.
After hours when we closed the shop and turned on the dim accent lights, it became pure magic. Long canisters lined the walls, and we had several short aisles with packaged candy and other items. We didn’t have any fancy neon sign—just a pink board that ran over the doorway with the store name painted in black. We were open from ten to ten—at least those were the advertised hours. Everyone on this side of town knew we’d stay open as long as there were customers. Night owls loved it because the colorful displays in the window would catch their eye and draw them in for a late-night snack before or even after their movie. I mentioned to Charlie once or twice that he should consider making us a hybrid business—perhaps buy the space next door to open a coffee shop and offer sweet treats for the adults, with a door connecting the shops. “Pipe dreams,” he would say. Charlie might have gone for it, but he probably didn’t have the money.
We admittedly got some peculiar customers wandering in; some of them looked like hardcore criminals while others just had strange eye colors. But sometimes there was a single guy and that’s how I ran into Beckett. It was hard to pass by our shop at night because the beautiful displays in the window brought out the child in everyone.
The last customer left the store and I stretched out my stiff muscles. “You feel like going to a party, April? It’s a little wild and crazy and there’s no telling who will be there. My neighbor is throwing one on Tuesday. You can swing by after work if you want; it’ll be going on all night.”
She considered it and scrunched the ends of her short hair. “Maybe. Where?”
“You’ve been to my apartment once or twice; it’s the one right next door. Stop by and keep me company. I told her I’d show up, but sometimes those parties can get a little nuts and I’d rather have someone there who’s…”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s what?”
Um—extracting foot from mouth. “Who’s sensible and won’t end up dancing naked on the balcony.”
April shrugged. “I might. Depends on how tired I am.”
I twirled my keys around my finger and stood at the door. “Coming?”
“No. My sister is picking me up tonight and I have a book to finish reading.”
I furrowed my brow and leaned on one of the display counters by the front window. “Something wrong with your car?”
April fidgeted with a stretchy bracelet on her arm. “I think it’s the transmission, but I don’t know anything about cars.”
“Come on; I’ll give you a lift.”
She averted her eyes. “Nah. I already got a ride.”
A grin crept up my face. “Actually, I happen to have a viable solution for you. See that beautiful Toyota out there in the parking lot? It can be yours for a reasonably low?—”
“Save it,” she said with an outstretched hand. “I don’t want your cootiemobile.”
Damn that hurt. “See ya, April.”
Standing on the curb, I glared at the car. Not one single inquiry. At this point, I’d consider selling it for a dollar just to get rid of the memories. But I needed a way to get to work, so that wasn’t an option.
The lights shut off in the shop and April locked the door, waved, and went into the back room. I was crossing the street toward the parking lot with a slow, reluctant gait when a familiar voice called out from behind.
“Sexy Lexi?”
I cringed. I hadn’t been called that name since high school when Michael Hudson deflowered me. After that, he called me Sexy Lexi and all his friends thought I was a slut. Isn’t that always the way it goes?
“Please, please, please, don’t let it be him,” I murmured as I turned around.
