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SABRINA
He grabs my coat and yanks me out of the restaurant. Everyone is looking at us, and I can’t stop looking back at our dates who are actually giving chase. If it were me, I would have publicly laughed it off and had a shot. But I applaud Melanie for her delusional moxie. Tinyhole and Schlong are bolting after us.
Patrick almost pulls my arm from its socket as we run down the block. It’s slushy and gross, but I keep running like the Schlong has a chainsaw. I’m a champion high-heel wearer, so I’m keeping stride with his long legs that are twice the size of mine. He keeps laughing and looking back at me, and my smile joins his in lighting up the evening. I glance back, and we’re starting to lose them, but they’re still coming. Like they’re going to catch up and somehow force us to date them.
We round the corner, and Patrick ducks into a hardware store. I trip on the threshold as he pulls me to hide behind the paint sample display.
He’s above me like we’re in a caper film peering around the corner of the display at the door. I whisper, “What are we doing here?”
He stands and pulls me to face him. “I’m an interior decorator and I’m on a deadline. It will just take a moment for me to pick out the new kitchen colors for the Millers.” I laugh. He grabs a handful of paint color sheets without looking and shoves them in his pocket. “Done.” He shrugs, and I laugh again. “They really aren’t that picky.”
An elderly man with a champion waxed mustache is flipping a closed sign.
“Sir,” Patrick says, and he jumps and stumbles a second.
We step out. I move in front of Patrick and say, “Sir, we’re sorry to startle you.”
“We’re closed. How the hell did you get in here?”
Patrick steps out towards him. I follow and wobble a bit. My heel is worse for wear from our marathon sprint away from the restaurant. I put my arms out and try to catch myself. I grasp one of the tiny plastic shelves full of the paint chip sheets, and as I tumble down, all the shades of blue come with me. I land hard on my butt, my legs splayed in front of me, as paint sheets tumble all around like confetti.
Patrick kneels. “You ok?” His hand is on my knee, and my skirt moves under his touch. And now my knee feels like it’s scorching. He looks at me, and I get a close-up view of his eyes. I hold up a blue paint sheet to his face.
“They just turned a little blue.”
He reaches around me. His face is closer to mine. The tug to kiss him is strong, but he backs up quickly. He has a mossy green paint chip and puts it near his face. “Now what do you see?”
“They’re darker green. That’s crazy.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I like them both.” He picks up my discarded blue chips and hands me both strips.
“Then keep this safe for when you want a change tonight. You’re really ok?”
“We’re fucking closed. Get out,” the man blusters. I smile.
“We can help pick up. I’m sorry about this,” Patrick says.
The man says, “Nah. I’ll make the kid do it in the morning. Now scram.” I giggle as he uses scram. I bend my knee and realize we have a problem. I look at him. “The heel on my shoe is broken.” I lift my leg, and it’s dangling. Patrick pops up and approaches the cranky man.
“We’ll get out of here as soon as I secure a strong, quick-set glue. And borrow leather snips for a moment.”
I don’t move from my position on the dirty-ass hardware store floor. Someone is taking care of me. That never happens. I’m the one alone and caring for myself.
My makeshift cobbler returns after following Mr. Cranky Butt around the store. Patrick places a twenty on the counter, then walks over and snips my heel off.
“Get out. That’s enough.” Mustache claps and points to the door.
“But I need to fix her shoe.”
“Tick tock. Got Valentine’s plans. If I don’t get to the Elks Lodge, Marvin’s gonna snake Debbie for the night. Then I’m going home alone. She’s a fickle filly, and I’m not one to disappoint, so ske-fucking-daddle outta here.”
Patrick takes my hand, and I stand lopsided up on one toe.
