29. Open Up
29
Open Up
I only had a minute to spare for my break, but that was long enough to ask him a question. I had to know if we could be more than friends, or at least let him know I wanted that before he went off with someone else.
I went into Geppetto’s Workshop. Little tinkling bells accompanied a bubbly voice. “I think your grandfather might’ve made my favorite toy.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. He always loved you,” Sal said warmly.
“Aw, I loved him too. And all the toys.” The bell girl giggled. “Now, I can tell everyone to get them from you.”
“You’re so sweet. Seriously. Thanks for thinking of me. By the way, that outfit’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“Thanks,” she enthused, setting the bells off again. “This is pretty cute too.”
What was with all the niceties? I spotted Sal’s khakis and her peppermint-striped leggings through the shelves. Who was this girl? A customer? An ex-girlfriend? I surreptitiously rearranged a board game box to get a better view of her.
The girl was a fucking mall elf, all sparkly reddish-brown hair and rosy cheeks in a shiny red-and-green uniform with pointy bell-shoes to match. He was into that ?
Cute? More like childish.
I wrinkled my brow, but my heart stopped when I realized what she was holding up as one of the cutest things she’d ever seen: Tom.
My turkey, Tom.
She hugged him and looked up at Sal from under her lashes.
What the fuck? Did he just let random girls pick up my favorite stuffed animal? Oh my god, not that I had a claim to him, but he knew that was mine, in theory.
My insides wound tighter at the way he leaned closer, his smile soft and teasing, showing off those dimples.
“I can hook you up with a discount on select items. What do you like?” he teased.
Was he offering her my turkey or his dick?
She widened her eyes, scandalized, and stuffed Tom back on the shelf. “I can’t.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Why not? My stuff’s not as good as Papa G’s?”
“No, it’s not that.” She eyed the merchandise, and I ducked behind the board games in case she saw me spying.
Hopefully, she’d think I was just a browsing customer.
He sniffed, then chuckled. “I’ve been trying to keep his touch intact, but I’m not doing a great job of it. I don’t hand-make any of the items. I never put on the apron. I don’t know. Maybe once we lost him, we lost the magic.”
My pulse throbbed in my ears, my whole body ice. The one time he’d tried to make something, even digitally, it’d blown up in his face. Maybe that was why he was depressed. And all it took was this random girl to get it out of him. Why didn’t he open up to me? I was his friend…with benefits. Did that make me less of a friend ?
“I think everyone has a little magic in them,” the girl said. “Plus, I’ve heard how great some of the demonstrations have been. You’re inspiring purchases, curiosity, and playfulness. People will remember how you make them feel, and that’s what’s important.”
How did Sal feel around me? Was he inspired, curious, and happy? Or was he just passing time with me?
My phone buzzed with a reminder my time was up. Sal and the girl glanced in my direction, but I hurried out and tugged my cap before they could make eye contact.
This was so stupid, catching feelings. We’d agreed we weren’t looking for anything serious.
Was it worth it to ask him for more when he was friendlier with some random mall employee who knew his grandfather?
I flopped into my roller chair and sighed, the armrest ricocheting against the desk.
Ash furrowed her brow. “You okay?”
“Yes.” I dragged myself to the keyboard using my heels.
“I saw you over at The Workshop.”
I hunched over and logged in. “For a minute.”
“How’s Sal?”
“Busy. Like me.” I flashed her a stiff smile and popped my headphones on. Electronic pulsing rewired my brain. My fingertips flew across the keys. I was a conduit of energy. Focus. Productivity.
Nothing could bother me, not until Ash flashed the overhead lights. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”
“Right.” I finished my notes, then stood to stretch. My spine cracked and popped. It was time to talk to Sal, get it over with. One more thing off the checklist .
I walked over to The Workshop only to find the grates down. Had he closed early? I peered through the dimmed window, my stomach twisting in knots.
Something was wrong. Off. I furrowed my brow and scanned the shelves.
Oh my god. I was too late.
My turkey–and Sal–were gone.
Static filled my mind. Any calm I’d had before short-circuited with adrenaline.
I had to fix this. Or pull the plug. Right now.
I drove to the bar on autopilot, then marched up to the bouncer, gripping my license so hard it hurt the creases in my hand.
The burly guy barely glanced at it this time. He jerked his chin. “Go ahead.”
I was hardly a regular, but I beelined for the part of the bar I knew best. That’s where I found Sal, huddled over a few beers, with Janice.
Everything in me tightened. It wasn’t because he was with his ex. It was because they were close together, hands on each other’s forearms, having some kind of heart-to-heart. They hugged, holding each other for a few agonizingly sentimental seconds.
His heart was never mine to begin with.
And yet, I wanted it.
I blinked, wet heat blurring the bar patrons into dirty streaks.
I made him a promise.
No more running. No more hiding.
I’d shown him the most intimate parts of me. I wasn’t going to leave without confronting an unfixable problem: unrequited love.
I adjusted my cap and strode up to the bar. I never drank, never allowed myself to be vulnerable after those pieces of shit in my program tried to coax me into bars after-hours. Only a coward relied on a drink. I downed a glass of water, then slammed the cup on the counter so hard the ice rattled. That was all the liquid courage I’d need.
Striding up to the chummy exes, I raised my chin. “Excuse me, Janice, may I have a word with your ex?”
Sal started.
Janice furrowed her perfectly manicured brows and backed up. “Uh, sure?”
He widened his eyes, glancing between us. “Hey, Z. I didn’t think you were coming.”
I grit my teeth. “Where is the turkey?”
Do you care about me?
“Where’s the what?” He set his beer on a coaster.
“The turkey plushie. You said it’d be there for me. Then, you closed early, and the plush was missing.”
Janice eyed me and slowly backed away.
We weren’t really arguing about a plushie. I scowled. Why couldn’t she just leave?
Sal cleared his throat and looked away. “I had to meet somebody.”
“Yes, your ex.” I crossed my arms, every fine hair prickling with static. “Was my turkey a makeup birthday present? Or did you give it to the mall elf you were oh-so-chummy with?”
The bouncer glanced over, and Sal scratched the back of his head, flushing. What, was I too loud? Too emotional again?
My throat tightened with the effort to control myself, to be kind. “I said I’d be back. I thought you cared about your customers.”
“You don’t own the turkey. You never bought it.” He frowned. “And I can close my shop whenever I want. You can’t expect me to hang around to let you in whenever you feel like it.”
“You don’t let me in at all,” I snapped. “You’d rather talk to your ex or some random girl who knew your grandfather. ”
“We talk,” he protested, gesturing between us.
“Yeah, about Space Spies 3009, but anything else…” I tugged my sleeves down over my sweaty palms. “It’s like you don’t want to share anything ugly with me.”
He placed his hand on my mid-back and led me to a more private corner of the bar. “You always seem to have a lot going on,” he said softly. “I don’t want to put more on you.”
“You have a lot going on too.” I laid my fingertips over the center of his chest and met his gaze, my pulse thrumming in time with his. “You wear your heart on your sleeve. I was hoping you’d share it with me.”
This was a dark corner. Maybe he could kiss me. Publicly.
He furrowed his brow and gripped my hand. “You said you wanted something casual.”
“I did. And now, I want more.”
“With me? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I gripped the front of his shirt and tugged him closer.
His nose brushed mine, his breath warm and wheaty as he asked, “What about Ash?”
I smirked. “Well, I know she thinks I’d suck as a girlfriend, but maybe we can prove her wrong.”
He backed up so fast he had to brace my elbow so I didn’t topple over. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I’m done being a distraction.”
I faltered and frowned. “What are you talking about?”
He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “Well, for one thing, you prefer women.”
“For what?” Management? Friends?
He cleared his throat and looked away. “Bedroom stuff.”
“What?” I laughed. Was he serious? I popped the collar of my fleece. “I’m not a lesbian. I’m sure there are some women I’d be compatible with, but the only ones I’ve liked have been in various RPG scenarios designed to make the player root for them. I fell for you in reality.”
Wasn’t that obvious?
His jaw hung ajar and he glanced about the room, the natural light in his eyes sparking with confusion. “You said you hated men.”
“That’s a generalization born from years of sexual harassment. You were the first guy to treat me like a friend. Or at least I thought you did.” I crossed my arms.
Maybe he was only nice and respectful because he was in a relationship, and in his mind, I could never love him. No stakes. Nothing real could come from this. Maybe he’d even gotten a kick out of imagining me and Ash together.
“We are friends,” he said.
I shook my head. Friendship wasn’t like this. I wanted him.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Maybe you just have a hard time recognizing it, since you don’t seem to have a ton of them," he said.
I snorted and clenched my fists. So much for Mr. Nice Guy.
“I’m not scared of being alone, Sal. I keep my circle small to protect myself,” I snapped. “I'm not some desperate people-pleaser who'd hook up with someone just to make them happy.”
He blinked and staggered as if I’d slapped him. “I didn’t.”
He could be lying. Or maybe, like me, he’d been lonely.
I gripped the brim of my hat, something in my chest twisting painfully tight. “Sorry. It’s hard for me to believe…in people. Or systems. Or anything.”
Why should love be any different?
And yet, I wanted it to be. Even if he wasn’t the guy for me. Or more likely, I wasn’t the one for anybody. But with him, there’d been hope that one day I could be.
Sal’s searing gaze branded my chest. “You can believe in me. ”
I wished I could. I lowered my head. “So, do you want to date me or not?”
He gestured widely and paced. “I don't know. I want someone who actually appreciates me, Z. Someone to laugh with, someone who keeps things exciting, but doesn’t need to make a scene or expect me to buy them extravagant things. Hopefully, someone who values family. And friends. Someone who's actively rooting for happiness. Marriage. Kids. The whole thing…with me.”
“And that isn’t me?”
He shrugged and gripped his beer to take another swig.
No, it wasn’t me. I was a clingy, misanthropic shut-in. I burrowed farther into my damaged fleece.
Our relationship was almost like the drone incident: unexpected sparks turned to dumpster flames. He threw it away as a lost cause. I clung to the stupid idea that everything was fine, including this ratty jacket. At least now, I could recognize when something was worth salvaging. Like a friendship. Or pride.
My heart thrashed like a rogue limb. I trained my gaze on his wild shirt and steadied my voice to stop myself from crying or running off again. “I came here to ask you on a date to the arcade, but maybe I need to get some actual therapy, and you…well, I won’t presume what you need to do.”
He had a life. Friends. Family. Exes. He could ask any of them for advice. He didn’t need me.
I tipped my cap to him and tweaked my cheeks. “Thanks for letting me hug your turkey.”
Maybe one day, I’d be strong enough to open my heart to someone without it breaking.