A man’s voice boomed through the walls. “Hey, get back here.”
“Just a minute,” I called. What an ass. There was no such thing as a shoe emergency in the suburbs out here. I hurried into my work shoes, accidentally squashing the heel tab. Hopefully, my manager didn’t wake up from his hangover nap with all this racket. Shifts were always easier when he slept at his desk.
I worked my heel to edge the tab the rest of the way out of my shoe and power-walked to the counter.
Some meathead wearing a cheap, salt-dusted coat glowered to his left. The guy wasn’t even paying attention.
‘How can I help you?’ was too nice for this jackass.
“Yes?” I seethed.
As he turned, I recognized his boxy face and body:Zack Turner.
Underneath the crappy jacket, he wore a Westbrook High sweatshirt. Of course our old quarterback would wear a tribute to his glory days. As if he didn’t get enough attention then. Now, he had to ring the bell fifteen times for mine. I gave him my darkest glare.
Zack frowned. “Uh…hi.”
I cocked my head at the bell and crossed my arms. “Was there an emergency?”
He slumped his considerable weight to one side and slung a thumb into his jacket pocket. “No.”
“You were ringing that pretty urgently.”
“That wasn’t me,” he said.
“That was you yelling.”
He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t yelling.”
“You’re naturally that loud?”
“Yeah. So is everyone in my family.” He huffed and gestured to the left. “I was talking to–”
Bells chimed as a young woman in a puffy coat rushed toward us and waved. Her long, reddish-brown hair sparkled with melting snow. “Nicole, I’m so glad you’re working today. I was hoping I could say hi. Hi.”
I awkwardly waved back. “Hi.” Was I supposed to hold a pair of shoes for her?
She grinned, her round cheeks rosy from the cold. “I played ‘Jingle Bells’ as a hint it was me.”
“Super annoying,” Zack grumbled.
Sparkles waved him off. “She gets it. Don’t you?”
I wracked my brain for what that clue could mean. She did look familiar. Had we met at a casting call? Although she was kinda short for runway shows, and I didn’t remember auditioning for any Christmas plays.
She pressed her knees together and wrung her hands, each twist of her toes creating a jingle. Bells dangled from her boot laces. Based on the velvet ribbon that didn’t match the brand, she must have tied them there herself.
Was she eccentric or some kind of Christmas-freak? I gasped as it all came together: she was the bubbly mall elf who sat with me in the break room for a few weeks.
I smiled and welcomed her into a one-armed hug at the side of the counter. “Of course, how are you? I almost didn’t recognize you without the uniform.” That thing was brightly coloredpolyester. She had worn it with way more cheer than I tolerated my hideous neon-green Fancee’s tee.
After the hug, she bounced on her heels and clasped her hands. “I’m going to be a party princess. I’ve decided to be Sugarplum again–or at least a variant. But I need fun shoes to complete the outfit.”
I gestured to the unofficial New Year’s Eve display. “Party shoes are over there.”
She reeled back. “I can’t dance in heels.”
Zack cracked his neck and scanned the store. “Pick out what you want, then.”
