I winced, pushing my phone deeper into my back pocket. “Sorry about that. My date’s bringing me coffee after work, and I had to give him my order.”
She crossed her arms. “Now he’ll know your preference for the next date.”
Thenextdate. I grinned at the idea of it.
“And he’ll also learn you’re not always available to him. You should learn that too,” she warned, tuning on her heel.
“Sorry, Giselle. I will.” Even if this wasn’t life-saving work, it was important to her, so I’d do my best.
I hurried to put everything away, and just as I was finishing, a group of four girls about high-school age came in, chatting excitedly.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
It was five minutes until closing.
They perused the organized camisoles, then left them crumpled in the wrong spot. All my carefully curated organization was ruined. I fought the urge to follow them and fix everything the instant they touched it.
The girls picked about five things each, the closest one requesting, “Dressing rooms, please.”
“Sure.” I braced myself and grabbed the keys. “Did any of you need measuring?”
“No, we know our sizes,” one of the girls scoffed.
Small mercies.
I let the girls into their rooms, their laughter and commentary sweeping through the store.
It was torture.
Every second they played around was another delay.
There weren’t any free dressing rooms I could hide in to sneak a text to Angel and update him either. I slumped against the wall with building dread.
This was so unfair. Five minutes before closing. Before freedom.
If only we locked up early. But I guessed one of these girls might buy something. Hopefully, the effort would be worth it.
After enduring fifteen minutes of their fashion show from the corner of the dressing room, I announced, “Last call for different sizes. The mall’s closing soon, and we want to make sure you can get out okay before they lock any exit doors.”
“We’re fine,” the girls replied in unison.
“Great. I’ll just take away anything you don’t need,” I said cheerfully, trying not to reek of, ‘Hurry up and leave.’ They shoved clumps of hangers and clothing through gaps in the doors. “Thank you,” I said, clutching the whole awkward bundle to my chest.
At least if I started re-racking, I might be able to leave relatively on time. Metal hangers cleaved into my forearms under the weight of all these garments. I couldn’t run with them, but I could scurry. The door alert chimed when I was on my tip-toes trying to re-hang everything.
Oh, please don’t let that be another customer.
“Sorry, we’re closing,” I called over my aching shoulder.
“Special delivery for ‘pigeon.’” Angel propped open the glass door, clutching it from the top so he leaned at a flattering angle, then smiled at me.
All other thoughts fluttered away. “Hi,” I said, way too breathy.
“Rough day?” he asked, eyeing me.
I nodded, my arms sagging from the weight of these rejects.
“Have some sugar,” he said.
