Page 3 of Tito

At least for the time being.

His hair was short, dark, and slightly unkempt. The style appeared accidental. The bold features of his face were deeply tanned from the Southern California sun. Although it was just after noon, a five o’clock shadow covered his strong jawline.

His stark white tee shirt hugged his athletic physique, and his tattered jeans accentuated a perfectly shaped ass.

If looking good was criminal, he’d be doing a life sentence in Pelican Bay State Prison.

“Hi. I’m the store manager,” I said, nearly stammering to find the words. “How can I help you?”

He lifted a hat from the display and looked it over. “I bought a hat in here about ten years ago and I need to replace it.”

“You’re hoping to find one just like it?”

He fitted the cap to his head and looked in the mirror. “I am.”

Some men looked good wearing a hat. He wasn’t one of them. “What did it look like?” I asked, hoping my chance of finding a replacement was nil.

He pushed the bill up. He pulled it down. He moved it one way, and then the next. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. The only thing that would have pleased me is if he took it off and never wore it again.

Thankfully, he removed it.

He looked at it like something was wrong with it. “Are you familiar with the ‘have a nice day’ smiley face?”

I nodded. “I am.”

The tattooed muscles of his bicep flared as he twisted the cap from side to side, inspecting it. He wasn’t a large man, but his stance and posture expressed a level of confidence that was undeniable.

His handsome looks were captivating, but the charisma that surrounded him had me intrigued much more than his looks. He’d no more than asked for a frowny-faced hat, and I wanted to hear his life story.

He hung the hat on the rack. “It was a black flat billed snap-back with a white embroidered face—like the smiley face—but it was frowning.”

I wanted to play no part in obscuring his handsome face with a ridiculous hat. “I’ve never seen anything like that here,” I said, stealing a glance at his colorful tattoos while he inspected another cap. “I’m guessing you could find one on the internet, or maybe have one made somewhere.”

“I’ve looked,” he replied. “I’ve found plenty of hats with frowny faces on them, but I want that exact hat. No exceptions.”

It would be an easy problem to fix if he would accept substitutes. Wanting an exact duplicate of a ten-year-old hat seemed silly. From what I could tell, however, he was dead serious.

“So, this is a big deal?” I asked jokingly.

He gave me a straight-faced stare. “One of epic proportion.”

I quickly looked away, avoiding being captured by his bottomless brown eyes.

I couldn’t believe it. He was serious. It was frowny-faced hat or bust. I mentally sighed and embraced the idea.

“Okay.” I replied, ogling a distant display of surfer attire. “Let me ask corporate management if there’s any record of where we got the hats back then. Maybe I can find out who made them for us.” I glanced in his direction. “Can you remember when you purchased it?”

He looked me dead in the eyes. “Specifically?”

I stood statue-still, staring back at him like a mindless buffoon. Raymond was right, his eyes were divine.

“If you know,” I said, breaking his gaze. “It might help in the records search. No promises, of course.”

“Saturday, August 8th, 2009,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I purchased it in this very store. It had only been open for a week or so at the time.”

“Oh wow,” I exclaimed, shifting my attention to him. “You remember the date? Must have been a banner day.”

He stepped into my field of vision.