Window Shopping

And I’m trying really, really hard not to think about Aiden.

Where has he been for the last two days? I mean, it stands to reason that the general manager of a department store would be a tad swamped with nine days left until Christmas. It also stands to reason that he has taken the hint I delivered and no longer plans to bother with me. As a friend, as an acquaintance. As anything. Which was exactly what I wanted.

I just wouldn’t mind seeing him around once in a while.

I don’t even know what kind of bow tie he wore yesterday.

Or today.

“Oh my God, listen to yourself,” I mutter, rounding the corner out of the luggage section into cookware. If Nicole could hear me obsessing over a full-fledged nice guy, she would never stop ridiculing me. I can hear her voice in my head right now. I always can.

Stop trying to be something that you’re not, Stella.

We’re the same, you and me.

You think you can change, but you can’t. People don’t change.

Your parents don’t understand you.

You said you’d always have my back. Prove it.

I come to an abrupt halt when I hear a clink. Was that in my head?

It sounded like a glass being set down on the ground.

Suddenly, the cookware section is a lot less soothing and a whole lot more haunted, the spookiness exacerbated by the life-sized Victorian-style Santa Claus positioned beside the register. Did he just wink at me?

I should probably just turn tail and sprint for the elevators. Collect my things and come back when it’s daylight, like the more sensible employees of Vivant. And that’s exactly what I’m about to do—until I see two shiny black wingtip shoes sticking out from behind a display of Le Creuset Dutch ovens. In between the polished shoes and the pant leg, there is a section of red and green socks peeking out, and somehow, I know who is attached to those feet.

“Aiden?”

That clink sound is louder than the first time. A beat passes. “Stella?”

Oh dear. It’s impossible to pretend that deep voice didn’t send a tremor straight through me. I’m still catching my breath from it when Aiden stands behind the display, towering over it—holding a bottle of liquor in his right hand.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he says, openly chagrined.

My mouth is already threatening to smile. “Really? Because it looks like you’re getting sloshed by yourself, in the dark, in the cookware department.”

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Keeping my laughter contained is near impossible, but I button my lips and keep them sealed. I don’t know why. Maybe because laughing at this man and his unique sense of humor is too much of a privilege when I’ve spent a long time stripped of so many. Laughing with him feels like something a girl with a blow-out and peep-toe pumps should be doing. Not me.

Nicole is in my head again telling me I don’t share his sense of humor. I’m not like him. I’m unique. Born with a wild streak. I’m like her.

With a swallow, I approach my boss and lean back against the table display, holding my hand out for the bottle. Lips twitching, he hands it over and takes the spot beside me, leaving our hips less than an inch apart. When I tip the bottle to my mouth for a medium sized sip, I glance over and find him looking at my black-stocking-covered legs, but he quickly glances away, a muscle popping in his cheek.

“Rough day?” I ask, sounding a little breathless. At least I can blame it on the liquor.

“Nah, it was just fine,” he says, his tone warm and reassuring.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“All right.” He takes a breath, rolls his shoulders back. “It wasn’t what I would call ideal.”

“Try again,” I say, bumping him lightly with my shoulder.

His laughter makes my pulse skitter. “Okay, you win. It was more messed up than Uncle Hank on New Year’s during a full moon. Is that better?”

“Much.” I hand him the bottle, trying not to watch too closely at the way he wraps his lips around the rim and gulps without reservation. It’s not what I would have expected of him. It’s better. He’s got a five o’clock shadow all over his jaw, his hair is finger messy. And his bow tie is just a bit off-center. It’s crocodiles today. Dressed in Santa hats. “What made it bad?”

He starts to blow it off. I can see that’s his impulse and I wonder why. It’s like he’s allergic to being anything less than positive at all times.

“There was a board meeting today,” he says finally. “My father, grandmother and cousin. You could say the family dynamic is on the complicated side.” Until he says this to me, I don’t realize how starved I am for information about this man. I am literally holding my breath and hoping he continues, only letting it seep out when he does. “I did most of my growing up with Aunt Edna and Uncle Hank. The rodeo clown, too, but like I said, he didn’t last long.” Aiden crosses himself. “Edna never planned on having kids. She’s a free spirit. Shocked the hell out of me when I first arrived. There I was, coming from this…tense and sterile environment and suddenly I’m in the care of this woman who collects wind chimes, embraces nudity and laughs at inappropriate moments, like when we’re passing a fender bender on the highway. But she never gave me anything but her best.”