He looks past me at the gargoyle, clearly displeased. I don’t like this. Everything about him rings warning bells.
Wanting him gone, I continue the sale, slipping my hand over the small replica of the gargoyle. A replicawithouta cock. “That’ll be $15.99.”
His eyes drop back to me. “What?”
“For the figurine.” I motion to it, trying not to fixate on the carving’s lack of genitalia. “Unless you don’t want it?”
He honest-to-godsnarlsat me before turning away and storming out the front door.
I stare after him, my brow wrinkling. I don’t remember selling him a ticket to the museum, and I certainly would have—it’s not every day a man like him walks into the shop. He strides down the street, turns a corner, and I lose sight of him.
Shrugging it off, I lock the front door, flip theOpensign toClosed,and return to the counter.
My gaze lands on the figurine still lying there.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hand, rubbing my thumb down the replica’s front, tracing over the gargoyle’s face and along his chest. My thumb settles against his smooth groin before shifting down his legs.
I peer up at the real statue, increasingly uncomfortable with the white sheet draped over him. “Guess it’s just you and me now.” My soft chuckle sounds forced.
I rub my thumb over the figurine once more, eyeing the tent in the sheet.
When I take a step closer, my phone rings, and I shriek, dropping the figurine—porcelain clinks as it shatters at my feet. My heart pounds as I grasp the edge of the counter for support. My ringtone continues, and I curse under my breath as a cold sweat forms over my brow. I grab my phone with a curse, hoping it’s Hopkins.
Ella’s name appears on my screen. I shake out my nerves and answer her.
“So sorry about earlier,” I say before Ella can speak. My voice sounds like a squeak, and I clear my throat.
“Girl, you need to get out of there. No one should have to live in a town with bad reception. It’s cruel.”
“I know.”I’m trying.I change the subject to a happier one. “I’d love to be your bridesmaid!”
“Yay! Good! Because I need you. We’re having the wedding at the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Neither of our families will appreciate it, and I’m hoping you can help with that.”
“Art and history are my specialties,” I reply with a laugh, glancing at the exhibits beyond the entry room. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.”
“Thank god. It’s going to be tons of fun, lots of booze. Enough about me, how are you? It’s been a few weeks. Any interviews?”
I cringe. “I’m… fine. Taking it day by day. And no interviews. Not yet.”
“Don’t stop applying.”
“I won’t.” I can’t, not even when the process wears me down. “Mom wants to set me up on another date.”
The museum’s lights flicker.
“Hopefully it’ll go better than the guy who took you to his family reunion the day after your first date. What was his name again? Lionel?”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me.”
“Long day? You sound tired.”
I sigh. “There was a bad storm last night. I ended up running late when there were three buses of tourists waiting.” I can no longer resist the urge to look at the covered statue as I talk. My gaze drops to the protrusion in the fabric—is it damp or is that a trick of the light?
I look up for a leak and grimace. There is no leak!
“Is your boss out again? No new coworkers yet?”
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
