That sounds illegal.
Me
Thrifting, Haynes. I’m going thrifting.
Shepherd
Oooh! LOL. Sorry. My mind forgot to go there. I’ve never been to a thrift store.
He’s never been to a thrift store? That surprises me given his background. But now, as a professional athlete who wears fancy pants and expensive sneakers, he probably owns socks that cost more than my monthly coffee budget alone.
Me
That tracks.
Three dots again.
Shepherd
I feel your judgement. So, what would you tell a beginner thrifter?
I stare at the screen for a moment. Is he asking if he can come? Do I want him with me? Inviting him into my world feels…different. Riskier. Much more personal than meeting at the bar, but then again, maybe I can learn more about him by watching him maneuver through a thrift shop where other peoples’ trash is often my treasure.
Before I can overthink it, I type my response.
Me
I’d tell him to meet me at Funky Junk on Hawthorne in twenty.
The reply comes instantly.
Shepherd
On my way.
I blink at the screen and murmur, “Holy shit! I didn’t expect him to say yes. I guess we’re doing this.”
Since I showered last night, I pull my hair into a messy bun, my signature look most days because I just don’t have enough energy to give a shit what I look like, and tug on a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt. I drag my newest favorite sweatshirt over my head, it definitely hangs on me, but still smells like Shepherd, and slip into my teal Converse sneakers. I take a quick peek in the mirror to make sure I don’t look like a troll and then grab my cross-body bag and head out the door.
I step inside Funky Junk, the familiar bell jingling overhead, and stop dead. Mari stands inside with Shepherd, her head tilted back to look up at him, laughing at something he’s said. My fingers tighten around my keys until the metal bites into my palm.
“Oh hey!” Mari’s eyes dart to me, widening slightly. “Your friend just got here.”
I cross the worn floorboards slowly, counting my steps. Mari’s smile has that particular curve to it. The one she gets when she’s met someone famous or found a vintage Chanel at the bottom of a dollar bin.
“Hi,” I manage, my gaze bouncing between them like a pinball.
Shepherd turns. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, a genuine smile that reaches all the way to his irises. “Morning,” he says, his voice like a warm hug. “I was just introducing myself to Mari. She was telling me about your cup collection.”
I shoot Mari a look that could wither houseplants, but she simply responds with an innocent flutter of her lashes.
He extends a paper cup toward me, steam curling from the lid. “Coffee?”
“Uh…thanks.” My fingers brush his as I take it.
“I told him you have impeccable taste in damaged goods,” Mari says with a wink that’s about as subtle as a foghorn.
“Aaaand thanks for that,” I mutter as heat crawls up my neck like ivy.
