“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Did my accent give it away?” He laughs, twisting a light-blue corded bracelet around on his wrist. “I followed love here, all the way from Alabama.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Lord help me, I was dumb for that man. And blind, because I couldn’t see how confused he was. My momma would’ve said he didn’t know whether to check his ass or scratch his watch.”
“I take it things didn’t work out?”
“He decided he didn’t want what I have, if you catch my drift.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Drift caught.”
“And you? Why do you look like your grandma just died?” His eyes grow wide. “Oh, shit. Please tell me she did not just die?”
“She did not.” I laugh softly. “Why did you close the shop in the middle of the day? Don’t you want to make money?”
He shrugs. “Nobody else was in there and I was bored. Why did you wander into a store when you didn’t know what it sold?”
I bite my lip and look away. I don’t want to talk about Noah. “My mind was occupied. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What did he do?”
“What makes you think someone did something to me?”
“Because looking at you is like looking at a mirror image of myself at this time last year. You looksad.”
“I feel sad,” I whisper, the emotion coming to the surface because it was named, like Dayton called roll and it stood up to announce its presence.
“Tell me all about it,” Dayton coaxes, making acome ongesture with his hands. “It’d be nice to hear someone else’s shit right now. This time of year makes me think of Diego.” He scrunches his face and shakes his head quickly. “I don’t want to think of him, or his new wife. So come on. Talk to me.”
I start talking. Dayton nods often, interrupting me twice to ask questions.
“It was probably just puppy love.” I tuck my hands between my thighs and lift my shoulders, then drop them slowly. If I attribute our feelings to being young, maybe it’ll make me feel better.
“That’s possible,” Dayton says, drawing out the second word. “No matter the age, real love is intense. You drown in it, and if it goes away, it hurts. But not any less just because you’re young.”
“How old are you?” I remove my hands from the warmth of my legs, wrap them around the beer glass, and take a long drink.
Dayton smirks. “Twenty-six. And based on your story, I’m aware I supplied alcohol to a minor.”
I glance at the bar, fearful the bartender heard Dayton, but he’s watching the TV in the corner and paying no attention to us.
“I should go,” I say, looking back at Dayton. “I have to work at my other job this afternoon.”
“You have two jobs?”
I nod.
“Are you in school?”
“I’m starting classes at the community college in January.” Pride fills me. I’m late to the party, but at least I got there.
“When is your next day off?”
“Wednesday.”
“I think you need yoga. Take a class with me? There’s a good studio a few streets over.”
“I’ve never done yoga before,” I murmur, standing and grabbing my jacket.
Dayton stands also. “First of all, you don’tdoyoga. Youpracticeyoga. And second, I can feel the stress rolling off you in waves.” He leans in to me and sniffs. “I can even smell it, and it’s not pleasant.”
