“Nonsense!” Meredith quips, her pearl earrings dangling cheerily. “A stunning young man like yourself. You need something nice to wear.”
“I…I think I’ll just wear something of my own. But thank you!” I rush out. The last thing I want is to hurt Meredith’s feelings since she’s been so nice to me. Nicer than anyone in a long time, really. Stealing a glance at the price tag only confirms that there’s no way I can afford to buy the polo and now that I know Meredith, there’s no way I can bring myself to lift it.
“Try it on, at least,” she smiles, squeezing my left wrist. “See how it looks on you.” Her expression is forthcoming, unjudging, with nothing but sincerity in her eyes. Suddenly, I want to see myself in it. Feel the fabric against my skin. To lose myself in another version of my life for just a moment, pretending that I’m someone else. That Icanbe someone else for, however briefly, a moment. Someone who wears delicately knitted moss-green polos and works in a prestigious chocolate shop alongside the—although slightly grumpy—very dashing Mr Bennett and doesn’t have a single care in the world. Someone who’snotBenjamin.
“Okay,” I give in.
“Excellent,” Meredith clasps her hands together in front of her chest, her fingernails painted in a pale pink mother-of-pearls varnish. “You’re definitely a size small,” she muses, leafing through the stack of polos. “Aha! Here we go. Last one. See, Lady Providence is smiling at us. The changing rooms are over there,” she nods to the back of the shop. “If you need any help, love, just give me a shout and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”She turns around and walks towards the counter, her heelsclick-click-clickingagainst the grey epoxy floor, and I head in the other direction, towards the changing rooms.
Closing the curtain behind me, I quickly discard my worn mustard-coloured sweater on the wooden stool in the corner and carefully slide on the polo. Taking in my reflection in the full-size mirror, I freeze on the spot. The polo fits me perfectly, like a second skin almost. And Meredith was right. The deep moss-green colour really matches my dark brown hair perfectly. Even the dull brown of my eyes no longer seems quite so lifeless, but instead rather… pretty. Yes, pretty. The luxurious fabric stretches across my slim chest and tapers down my slender waist, and I suddenly like what I see in the mirror. I look stylish. Nice, even. And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? It’stoonice. Too nice for someone like me.
‘Look what you’ve done, Benjamin. Ugh, you just ruin everything, don’t you? No wonder your mother has stopped inviting people over when you’re around. Such a nuisance.’My heartbeat fastens into a frantic pace as the sound of Father’s voice rings through my head. Yeah, I can’t have nice things. I’ll only ruin them just like I’ve ruined everything else.
Taking off the polo carefully, I quickly put my sweater back on and leave the changing area. Heading for the counter, my eyes downcast, I hope Meredith won’t be there, so I can just place it on the counter and slip out of the shop unnoticed. No such luck, though.
“How was it?” she enquires cheerfully, twisting her golden necklace around her index finger.
“It was…it was very nice,” I gulp, looking at the stack of woollen scarfs in pastel colours adorning the counter, my gaze zeroing in on a lemon meringue one. My mouth waters. I love pastels. I dream of an entire closet filled with pastel-coloured clothes. Like that scene in theGreat Gatsby. The original one, not that awful, fast-paced one with Leonardo. No, the one with dreamy Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. When he shows her all her pastel-coloured shirts, she twirls around and laughs and laughs and lau—
“And…?” Meredith beams expectantly.
“Oh. I think I’ll just think about it,” I whisper, placing the polo on the counter and, along with it, my dream of life’s little luxuries. “But thank you for your time.”
“Nonsense! What’s to think about? It’s perfect for you, young man.” A frown appears between her groomed brows as something seems to dawn on her. Brushing at her fringe, she bites her bottom lip, deep in thought, before her face suddenly brightens again. “Oh, silly me! I forgot to tell you. It’s on sale. 50% off. I’m trying to make room for the new spring collection, so it’s gotta go, really,” she smiles as she starts to fold the polo neatly. “You sure I can’t tempt you? Last small one in green,” she sing-songs.
“I…” I lift my gaze, my eyes connecting with hers briefly. “I think I’ll just…” I pull at the neckline of my sweater, a suffocating feeling rising in my chest, as I steal a glance towards the exit.
“I tell you what,” she continues, unfazed, as she pulls a paper bag from behind the counter and places the polo inside it. “Take the polo. Then, when you get your first salary, you come pay me.” There’s a finality to her words, a challenging glimmer in her eyes, giving off anend-of-discussionmessage.
“But…but you don’t know me,” I blurt, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’m just…” I shake my head in disbelief as she pushes the bag across the counter against my chest.
“And Ilovechocolate!” she coos. “It’s my guilty pleasure, you see.” She winks conspiratorially. For a moment, confusion blurs my mind. “And I don’t mind a bit of liquor inside, if you know what I mean,” she grins. “Barnabyis always better with a little buzz.” She laughs, waving a hand in front of her. “Who am I kidding? Life in general—and menopause in particular—is better with a little buzz.”
“Oh…I see…” I nod eagerly, leaning in over the counter and lowering my voice. “I don’t think I’ll get paid for another month, though.”
“That’s perfectly all right, love. You go on now.” She shoos me, pointing at the exit. Still in somewhat of a stupor, I turn around and nearly float out of the shop, clutching the paper bag against my chest like it’s my most prized possession. Well, it is. I’ve never owned anything this pretty before. If I had a closet, I would twirl and twirl and twirl around in front of it later, holding the polo against my chest. Just as I’m closing the door carefully behind me, she calls out after me, “And best of luck at your new job, young man! I hear our Mr Bennett is quite a character.”Yeah, I’m going to need that. I’m going to need all the luck in the world. But maybe—with this shirt—I can at least fool Mr Bennett for a little. Our Mr Bennett.
Chapter Three
Easter
It’s official then. My favourite colour is green. Moss green, to be exact. Damp, soft moss covering the forest bed after a light spring drizzle. Deep brown locks of hair resting against it, pale, near-translucent grey-brown eyes tipped towards the equally grey sky, creamy-white skin peeking from behind the collar of a moss-green shirt, pink lips shaped into an obscene O. And…right. If there’s a colour in hell aside from flaming red like the flames currently licking up my inner thighs, I bet it’s green, sent here to torture me in the middle of my own shop.
“You were—”
“What?!” I snap, my eyes dislodging from Benjamin’s collarbone, evident behind that cursed green neckline. It’s good quality. I can tell by the way the fabric drapes against his skin, the way it caresses his bones and cradles his… stop it, Easter! Will you just stop already? You know how this song goes.
“Sorry, Mr Bennett, sir,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering fucking everywhere, long eyelashes fluttering. I wonder if they flutter like that—exactly like that—whenhis lips are shaped into that O, his entire body engulfed in the throes of passion, a sweet moan curling from his mouth. I bet they do. I bet that O tastes just as sweet and tangy as candy oranges covered by the darkest, bitterest of chocolate, the filthy combination exploding on your tongue, your mind going momentarily blank.
“…chocolate. You were about to tell me about chocolate,” he breathes, his cheeks reddening.Cho-co-late.
He articulates the word in—at least to my deranged ears—the most obscene way possible. Much too obscene anyway for a bleak Wednesday morning. A morning that will, from this day forward, be known as the day that Easter M. Bennett officially and irrevocably lost his bloody mind. He says it in that airy, gaspy way, like one would say, ‘suck me’ or ‘finger me’ or ‘fuck me.’
“…me?”
“What?” I croak, my vocabulary apparently now limited to that one word that doesn’t rhyme withtwatbut really should. Twat. Why, oh bloody why, is the universe doing this to me? All I wanted was a bloody shop assistant. Famous last words, I guess.
“I…” he looks uncertain around the shop, twisting his hands nervously. “I was just…where do you want me, Mr Bennett, sir?” His grey-brown eyes search my face questioningly.On the counter. Face down. Ass up. That stupid green shirt stuffed into your mouth while I stuff you from behind.
