He nodded, then gathered everything up again in his arms.
I’d left the radio off, having had my fill of Christmas music, and so I could hear him moving around behind the curtain.After a minute or two, it swished open.
“Is there a...”he started.
I pointed at the mirror.
Frankly, it was galling how good Flynn made a cheap, second-hand polo shirt look.The sleeves short on his arms, doing nothing to hide the biceps that I could just tell were the handiwork of some three-figure personal training sessions.He’d always been tall, but he’d filled out over the years, too.Shoulders wide, the black cotton stretched taut across them.
“Is it too tight?”He called over his shoulder.
I looked down, not wanting to have been caught watching.“We don’t do a choice of sizes,” I reminded him, “what you see is what we’ve got.”
Flynn nodded, then started pulling the shirt off as he stepped back into the cubicle.
Checked shirt next, and some sly part of my brain pointed out that he probably wasn’t what my mom had in mind as a “good ole boy.”
“Does it look ridiculous, or something?”
I glanced up, realizing Flynn was staring at me in the mirror.Shook my head.“No.I was...I was smiling about something else.”
He stared a moment longer, then nodded.Unbuttoning the shirt even before he was back in the little booth, a brief glimpse of bare shoulders before I turned away.
A few minutes later, dressed again in his own clothes, he dropped the pile back on the counter.
I nudged the stetson, flicking him a skeptical look.“Seriously?”
Flynn grinned.“Getting ahead of the trends.”
Shaking my head, I rang him up.
“You take cards, right?”
I didn’t bother hiding my disdain, for that one.“No, only barter.This’ll set you back three ducks, or a quarter sheep.”I pushed the card machine across the counter.“Of course we do.”
He blushed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.“I just...”Flynn shook his head, giving up.“Want to round it up?Like, as a donation?”
If he wanted me to gush, and declare him our most generous benefactor, he’d be sorely mistaken.Not that I was going to reject the offer: we were, after all, a charity.
“Thanks,” I said, flatly, punching the total into the little machine.“You want a bag?”
He nodded, and so I ducked down to pull out one of the mismatched plastic bags we kept under the register.If Flynn thought I was going to neatly fold his purchases, like it was some sort of fancy boutique, that was his mistake.Instead, I held the bag open, until he got the message and scooped everything bar the stupid hat inside.
I handed him the receipt, and waited for him to leave.
He watched me, a little longer.As if wondering if I was going to say something first, the crease between his eyes deepening.
“Look,” Flynn said, finally, “about last night.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I said quickly, shaking my head.
The crease turned into a frown.“But...”
His argument was interrupted by the door chiming.We both turned, instinctively, to see a harried-looking young woman usher in a couple of pre-teen kids.They looked unimpressed.
“Kids’ clothes?”she called out, across the store.
I pointed at the right rail.“It’s all there.”
