I’m shoulder bumped, cut in front of and side swiped as I make my way toward one of my beloved stores. I have every intention of getting what I need and getting the hell out of Dodge. I’m no match for these mothers and their battle for holiday shopping greatness.
It’s been a few days since I arrived back in town. I was foolish to think everyone would drop what they’re doing to entertain me, forgetting people have lives here. Jobs, families, bills to pay, all while I’m on vacation and already bored out of my mind. I know I should use the time to relax, maybe catch up on some reading, and learn to just be me again without having my name attached to a project or whomever I’m dating. I should find myself and go back to my roots, and that’s what I’m goin
g to do.
With my hair tucked under my beanie, I meander in and out of stores. Even though I have a list, I’ve already veered off and bought a few things at Guess, Burberry, Anthropologie, and Calvin Klein, realizing I need Christmas presents for everyone.
For the past two stores though, I feel like someone has been following me. Normally, said person would have a camera stuck to their face, but not here, and each time I look over my shoulder, they turn away. I’m not naïve enough to think I won’t be noticed, but the thought did cross my mind that I’d be able to get my shopping done without anyone recognizing me.
Apparently, that’s not the case as the person has followed me out of the store. My steps become a bit faster and my head feels as if it’s on a swivel as I try to find a security guard, but the only people I spot are a group of women, both young and old, with their cell phones out and poised for action. Turning around, I realize I’m trapped and have unfortunately found myself cornered in by nothing but walls. I can’t even escape into a store to ask for help.
The women surround me, saying my name and asking me to look their way. They’ve seen one too many Entertainment Weekly red carpet broadcasts in my opinion. I frantically look everywhere but at them, hoping they comprehend that they’re scaring me, and this isn’t the way to get me, let alone anyone, to do as they demand.
Questions are tossed at me, asking me why Trey and I broke up, did I know about the baby, am I jealous, am I pregnant, and what am I doing here. Some tell me they’re my biggest fans while trying to get me to pose for a selfie. If the onslaught wasn’t so pushy, I may oblige them, but my fight or flight is kicking in and everything within is telling me to run.
They’re closing in, making their semi-circle around me even smaller and pushing me into the wall as much as possible. I don’t think I’d be able to escape, even if I tried. The mob mentality right now is ridiculous, and the people walking by have joined in.
“Please, if you’ll back up, I’ll answer questions.” My plea falls on deaf ears. The questions come faster and are more personal. Clearly, whatever they read about me in the tabloids isn’t enough and they want more.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” a voice breaks through the crowd. It’s loud and forceful. Finally, security has seen the gang of shoppers crowding me. “Back up. There’s nothing to see here. Get moving.” The phrases this man uses as he pushes through the crowd slightly put me at ease. It isn’t until I look up that I see the well-known face of Fish, pulling people out of his way and shoving through others who won’t budge.
When his eyes land on mine, the familiar gaze he’s always given me provides me with a bit of hope in this situation. “Laney,” he says my name almost as if he hasn’t seen me in years, rather than days. I nod. It’s an automatic response. He turns and holds something in his hand above the crowd. I believe it’s his badge, but I’m not certain. Does he have any authority here? “All right folks, get moving.” He holds his other arm out in an effort to protect me while I cower behind him.
From what I can tell, pictures are still snapped or at least a video or two is being made. I have no doubt I’ll be all over social media in a matter of seconds, which will send my public relations team into a frantic mode of ‘what the hell is she doing without Calvin?’. It’s my fault for thinking I could duck in and out without being detected. Lesson learned, the hard way.
“Thank you, Fish,” I say, as my arms wrap around his waist and my head rests on his back. I don’t know what has spurred me to show this type of affection. Maybe it’s because I’m grateful he’s saved my life.
He taps my hand. I take this as a sign he’d like me to remove the vise-like grip I have on him right now. I do and he turns around. His smile is soft, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re cold, and scary and similar to the way Dominic looks when he’s angry. I chalk this up to Aiden being a police officer. I caress the rough stubble of his cheek with the back of my fingers, watching as his blue eyes soften from my touch.
“Thank you, Aiden.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve used his name. In fact, I can’t recall a time when I ever have. He’s always been Fish to me and I was his Laney. He’s the only one I ever allowed to call me by a shortened version of my name.
“I’m glad I was here to help.”
I take a small step back and look at his attire. He’s in jeans, a flannel shirt and his snow boots are unlaced, giving off a sex appeal that I haven’t seen in a long time. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”
Fish runs his hand over his short hair. He looks left, then right before focusing his attention on me. “I’m supposed to be shopping for Holly, but as you can see I haven’t been doing very well.” He holds up his empty hands.
I think back to the other day when my mother was filling me in on Aiden’s life. Holly is his daughter. I believe she’s seven. I don’t remember what I liked when I was seven, and can’t imagine how hard it is for him to shop for her. But I do know what’s popular among girls now. “Tell you what. Since you helped me, I’ll help you shop.”
His eyes go wide and he nods rapidly.
“But… first we have lunch because I’m starving.” I link my arm inside of his and pull him along, only to disengage out of fear. Not for me, but for Aiden. The last thing he probably wants is to have his face splattered all over the rag mags being labeled as my next boyfriend. Honestly, having the press invade my life while I’m home would be very upsetting. If this mall excursion isn’t enough to keep me indoors until I leave, I don’t know what else is.
Aiden and I stop at one of the many restaurants in the mall. The hostess recognizes me immediately and fumbles over her words as she tries to find out how many people are in our party.
“Only two, and someplace with a bit of privacy and away from the windows, please.” I know it’s an oxymoron to ask for privacy in a mall, but I’m hoping the message is sent loud and clear – we don’t want to be bothered. I motion Aiden to lead while I follow closely behind with my head down. As long as I watch his feet, I shouldn’t stumble. I’m tempted to reach out and hold onto the back of his shirt or even his belt loop, but don’t want to send the wrong message.
“Will this work, Miss Du Luca?”
I look up and nod. “Yes, thank you.” The hostess hands us our menus after we’ve taken our seats. I peruse it briefly, figuring out that a salad is really the only option for me and close it. I use this time to study Aiden, and the fine lines he’s developed in the last ten years. His brows furrow as he reads over the menu and his forehead is wrinkled. He focuses hard, his lips purse and he lets out random sighs until he closes it. “Did you find something?”
“Yes, I’m going to get the chip appetizer,” he says without making eye contact. I grab the menu and flip it open. Not because I want the same thing, but because I want to see the price. Maybe I’m over thinking, but why would anyone eat chips for lunch, unless he’s already eaten.
“Have you had lunch?”
He shakes his head no.
“So why the chips?”