6. Haylee
6
HAYLEE
I giggle as I dodge the kids who are chasing each other in the boys’ section. The shop is busy, and I love it, but it is not as busy as previous years, which gives me pause. I look around, giggles and smiles aplenty, but it is not full and shoulder to shoulder like it was years ago. Sure, we have moved things around to create better flow for customers, but it feels like this year is kind of slow.
Kids are too busy with their heads stuck in video games and phones to even consider the latest board game or doll. I wonder what is happening to our children these days. I, for one, am just as connected to my cell as kids are, but a bit more balance would be good for the young ones.
I hear a crash and see one of my displays has fallen a little, pushed accidentally by a child running past. I pick up the stand quickly, righting it and pushing it back out of the way some more, not wanting a repeat. Turning, I walk toward the back of the shop to the register and round the corner, colliding straight into something hard.
“Ouch!” I say immediately, my hand coming to rest on my nose that slammed into a man’s chest. His hands grab my upper arms to steady me. My face is now throbbing, my eyes slightly watering, my vision fuzzy as frustration nips at my shoulders. Looking up, my eyes settle on a pair of familiar ones.
“You!” I gasp, but annoyance sets in right away.
“You!” he says back, just as surprised.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, bewildered, all good manners and customer service completely out the window. Now that I know who he is I should be nicer. He is going to ruin us, but I try to bite back my anger. Maybe Jillian is right. Maybe I should apologize.
“Just looking.” His warm hands still hold on to my upper arms, keeping me steady and right in front of him. Our bodies move closer as kids rush around us, playing games. I take a deep breath and try to settle myself, blinking away the sting and breathing through my nose to ensure it is okay.
“You’re not having another seizure, are you?” he asks, looking at me seriously, and my brow crumples.
“I am not epileptic, you moron,” I say without thought. I am clearly not above name-calling today either.
“Moron. Well, I guess that is a little better than dickwad.”
I huff a laugh at his small attempt at humor, even though he isn’t smiling. What is it with this guy and his permanent scowl?
“Ahhh, you're funny.” I laugh awkwardly, grabbing my earlobe and pulling a bit as my cheeks heat at how close we are standing. He stares down at me, confused.
“What? Never heard a woman laugh before?” I tease, but he remains serious.
“Not genuinely, not in a long time,” he mutters and releases the grip he had on me as his hands fall to his sides.
“Well, I believe that.” Taking in another deep breath, I reach out to grip on to the shelf next to me, steadying myself due to how intoxicatingly amazing his scent is. A very masculine, woodsy cologne. Handsome. Check . Smells good. Check . Personality… Err, not yet there.
“What?” His eyes thin but don’t waver from where they first settled on me.
“You are not exactly…” I stall as I wave my hand up and down him. “Approachable.” It’s the best word I can find that isn’t too insulting. He looks similar as he did the other night. Slacks, dress shirt, and jacket. Like he was working today, even though it is the weekend.
“You sound like Sheridan.”
I assume that is his wife or girlfriend and that thought makes me feel a little bereft.
“Sheridan sounds like a smart lady,” I say, taking a small step away from him, not wanting to be too close, my head suddenly swirling with a mixture of emotions.
“She thinks she is,” he huffs as he looks around. A couple of boys run up to us. I recognize them as they come here every Saturday to play.
“Pew, pew, pew! I got you!” the little boy says, shooting me with a laser tag gun, the sounds and lights making noise. I giggle before I clutch my chest and slump against the shelves, pretending to be injured, and he laughs and runs away.
“You allow them to play with your stock?” he asks, eyebrows raised high in surprise.
“Yeah. We have a display toy room, so they can try before they buy some of the items,” I tell him, smiling. We started it a few years back and kids love it. We then donate those toys to charity.
“Ridiculous.” He shakes his head, and my shoulders tense again.
“Why?” I ask, my hands finding my hips.
“Because you are wasting money. They could break the toys, and then what? Your shrinkage must be insane.” The way he speaks, he doesn’t think I know what I am doing. Sure, he is one of the city's best businessmen, but he has no right to come in here and tell me how I should or shouldn’t be running my business. I am not sure why he even cares; he is about to push us out of here anyway.
“You must be bleeding money,” he says, his eyes back on me like he is waiting for a lie.
“No, actually, we are not. Besides, not everything is about money.”
I already know that he doesn’t understand that concept. He turns to face me fully, his mouth opening, about to tell me something. I steel myself for it, but before he gets a chance, a little girl walks up to us, offering me a fake cup of coffee and interrupting our conversation. With two pigtails and a smile full of gaps in her teeth, it is hard to ignore her, so I take a sip and pass the teacup back, ignoring him instead.
“That was delicious,” I say to her with a smile, and I see him stiffen before she giggles and runs away.
“They don't bite, you know,” I tell him, because he hasn’t moved a muscle, and I have no idea what he even wants or why he’s still here if he’s so uncomfortable.
“Who?”
“The kids. Every time one of them comes past, you almost shudder.”
“I’m not used to kids,” he says, taking a deep breath.
“You don’t have any kids?” I ask, but before he even responds, I know the answer from the deadpan look he gives me.
“No.”
“No nieces or nephews?” I question, his standoffish demeanor now making a little more sense. I bet this guy has no mess in his life. All straight lines and clean and shiny surfaces.
“No,” is all he says again.
“Hmmm. Probably explains a lot,” I tease, looking up at him with a smirk.
His eyebrows pucker, looking either annoyed or curious, I’m not sure. “Your meaning?”
“Nothing. Just you use less muscles when you smile, you know.” I watch for this man's stance to soften at all. It doesn’t. But as a quiet settles over us, he looks around the store at all the product and displays once more. Almost like he’s taking it all in, and that’s when I see it, a glimmer of recognition in his gaze that I want to know more about. I wait for him to comment, feeling oddly at ease in the silence.
“This shop hasn’t changed in years,” he murmurs. “I used to come here as a kid.” There it is. This isn’t his first time here. For most people who’ve traveled to the city even once, they’ve been here before. So it doesn’t surprise me.
“You would probably remember my dad, then. He was always here when I was younger. Christmas is his favorite. He took a lot of pride in chatting with all the customers, big and small,” I tell him, my smile instant as I think about my father and how much joy he has had through the years.
“Is the short balding man who always dressed as Santa for the holidays your father?” he asks, and my smile widens as pride pulsates in my chest.
“The one and only,” I say, feeling almost breathless for some reason. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me.
“Explains a lot.” He says my own words back to me. I raise an eyebrow, but I smile at his attempt at teasing. The corners of his mouth quirk a little, but they don’t rise. This man is obviously made of stone. I am about to formally introduce myself and broach the subject of our lease when we get interrupted.
“Hey, mister, can you play with me?” one of our regular kids, Jimmy, asks him.
“No. Thank you.” His formality is back, his body stiff as he looks down at Jimmy.
“Come on, never played laser tag before?” I ask, seeing if he budges.
“Time doesn’t allow it.” Glancing at his watch, he straightens, his face back to being unreadable.
“Come on, I'll play, Jimmy,” I say as the kid does a fist bump with me and hands me a gun, shooting me almost immediately.
“Hey, not fair!” I say, walking away to start playing with him toward the back of the store, but not before I look back.
“Just let us know if you need anything…”
“Alexander,” he finishes for me quickly, confirming that he is exactly who Jillian and I think he is.
“Cool. Shout out if you need anything, Alex,” I say, trying to ensure I keep the peace and not make matters any worse, before Jimmy shoots me again, and now it is game on.
Maybe Alex and I have come to a small truce. But a “sorry” for calling him a dickwad still tastes too bitter on my tongue.