Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
FREYA
“Thank you. That’ll be forty-six seventy.” I smile at the woman as I bag up the set of craft kits she bought for her grandchildren. It’s Monday afternoon, which is usually pretty quiet, but there’s been a gentle stream of customers in and out for most of the day.
“Thanks so much.” She taps her card against the reader. “Give my best to your mom, alright?”
Crap, what was she called again? I recognize her face, I think maybe she had a kid in my class at school, but the name’s gone.
“Will do.” At least it’ll give us something else to talk about.
Now that the store’s empty, I head into the stockroom to grab supplies for making up a few more kits. I didn’t realize how popular they would be, I would have prepped way more. I have to move a few delivery crates around to get at the stepladder. Of course, everything I need is on the top shelf.
I’m just stretching to grab the last box when a voice from the front shocks me almost enough to knock me off the rung I’m standing on.
“Freya? You around?”
I remember that voice, I just don’t know what on earth it’s doing here. “Oscar?” I blow a strand of hair off my forehead. “I’m in the back.”
“You okay up there?” he asks as he slides through the half open door. He’s wearing his uniform, the dark shirt fitting snugly across his chest.
“Just sorting through some things,” I reply, taking a step down.
Oscar grips the side of the ladder, steadying it until I reach the bottom rung, making sure my skirt doesn’t catch.
A full circle skirt maybe isn’t the smartest thing to wear to work, but I’m prepared to sacrifice practicality for whimsy.
“Thanks.” I brush my hands off and shoot him a half smile.
“What can I do for you? Here to lay waste to my displays?” I wasn’t expecting to see him so soon after last time.
“Not this time.” He gives me a wry twist of the lips. “You mind if I put a flyer in your window?” He’s holding a slip of paper, the edges a little crumpled, like it’s been shoved in a pocket.
“What is it?” I ask, gesturing for him to hand it over.
“The station’s Open House.”
I take a closer look at the paper as I herd the two of us back into the main shop. “People just come look around?” I ask, taking a seat behind my desk.
“Yeah, but there’s other stuff too,” he explains. “There’s a bake sale, games, and a cat competition.”
A giggle escapes me. “A cat competition?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, a long-suffering smile creeping over his mouth. “My captain has a three-year-old, Birdie. A while back she pitched a fit until he agreed to include it.”
“What do the cats do?”
“Show up.” He chuckles. “Birdie looks at them all, listens to them meow, and picks a winner.”
“Just picks one?”
“Just like that.” His expression is almost as bemused as I feel.
“There’s no official judging guidelines?” I raise an eyebrow. “Surely that’s a recipe for corruption. What if somebody slips her a fifty before the judging?”
He gasps, clutching a hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you’d question her integrity. I tried to sneak in my rabbit once and she wouldn’t speak to me for a month.”
I’m curious despite my better judgment. “You have a rabbit?”
“Yeah. Harvey.”
“You have a rabbit called Harvey.”
“Yup.” He crosses his arms over his chest as if daring me to say a bad word about it. “I wanted a pet to keep me company when I’m not working, but I needed something my mom could watch when I’m on shift.”
“You didn’t want a cat? Or something less… fluffy?”
“Mom’s allergic,” he replies, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “And don’t talk shit about my boy.” His fingers tap across his screen and he flips it around to me, revealing a picture of him holding a ball of ginger fluff about the size of his head.
“He’s huge!” I exclaim.
Oscar grins proudly. “Yeah, he’s a big guy.”
I take the phone from his hand and study the picture more closely. “I take back what I said, though, he’s definitely cuter than a cat.”
“I knew I had a good feeling about you.”
My cheeks warm and I want to steer us into safer territory. “Why Harvey?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Thought he looked like one.”
“I like it.” I hand his phone back to him. “It’s very dignified.”
“He’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
I smile up at him, not quite sure what to say next.
The silence holds for a long beat, the two of us staring at each other before Oscar clears his throat, snapping the moment like the breaking of a taut string.
I blink rapidly, looking down at the paper.
“Did you want the flyer in the window or on the desk?”
“Uh, maybe the desk?” he says, looking around, his voice a touch thicker than it was. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want to get tape on your glass.”
“No problem.” I smooth it out and tape it to the corner of the desk.
“Thanks, Freya.” He knocks on the desk before turning to the door. Just before he pushes out into the street, he stops short. “You should, uh… you should come.”
“To the Open House?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun, most of the town will be there.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Seeing people in big groups isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse. I do better one on one, when I have a chance to figure out what I’m expected to say.
“It’s pretty relaxed, and maybe… maybe I could show you the station.” A hint of redness creeps onto his cheeks.
I unstick the flyer and look at it, curling the corner over with the edge of my nail.
Would it be so bad? I study it, my thoughts bouncing too fast for me to get a real read on them.
I know I should try, should make more of an effort to get back in touch with the town, but there’s a part of me that’s agitated already at the thought of heading into an event like this.
In the end, I realize the decision is out of my hands, which is its own relief.
“I have the store open on Saturdays,” I say, trying to seem suitably regretful. “But I’m sure it’ll be great!”
“Oh. Okay, yeah. No worries.” A crease appears between his brows and for one reckless second, I want to smooth it out with the tip of my finger.
“Maybe next time, though?” I joke weakly.
“Sure.” He seems disappointed, and I hate myself a little. Here he is, going out of his way to be welcoming and I’m just throwing it back in his face. Even if he probably just feels bad about our first encounter.
There’s a curious weight on my chest when the door swings closed that leaves me questioning why I ever liked the quiet so much.
It isn’t until later that I realize he’d only brought one flyer with him.
“You’ve already got one!” a voice chirps brightly as a whoosh of cold air sweeps into the shop entrance. “Where did you get that?”
I startle at the interruption. I’ve been replying to customer emails for the last hour, lost in my own world.
“Get what?” I ask with a frown, looking up to see a young man with thick, dark hair combed neatly back. He’s wearing the same uniform as Oscar’s, but has a taller, slightly leaner build.
“The flyer?” He laughs like I’m missing something hilarious. “I haven’t been here yet. Unless I did, and I forgot?”
What is he talking about? Better yet, who even is he? “Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m Ryan.” He grins. “Is Malcolm here?”
He’s really not making this easier. I know that I’m not the most conversationally agile, but I don’t think I’m the one making this weird.
“Who’s Malcolm?”
“The store owner?” he asks. “I’m meant to put these flyers in store windows, and I wanted to ask if that was okay.”
“I’m the store owner.”
“You’re Malcolm?”
I finally catch up with what he’s saying. “It’s my last name. I’m Freya Malcolm.”
“You’re Freya?” he exclaims, looking so boyish in his excitement that I don’t quite know what to make of him.
“Yes?”
“Shit, well, now I get it.” He looks me up and down in a move that might make me uncomfortable if there were anything in his gaze other than a kind of delighted curiosity.
I sigh, shaking my head. “Get what?”
“Did Murphy drop that here?”
“Oscar? Yeah, he did.”
At that, Ryan bursts into laughter. “Jesus Christ, I gotta go tell the crew about this.” He turns on his heel and bursts out into the street, calling his goodbye as he goes. The whole interaction took less than a minute, but it’s left me in a tailspin.
What the hell was that?