Window Shopping
I’d have to be dead not to feel the way his gaze has settled on me. It’s magnetic. Even more so when he continues to consider me in thoughtful silence for stretched out moments. “Thank you. I’m going to think about that for a while. Probably a long while.” A beat passes. “What’s your bad stuff, Stella? I know we didn’t even scratch the surface the other night.”
“Mmmm.” I hum into a small sip of bourbon, the liquor burning a path down to my stomach. “We’re talking about you now, not me.”
He’s undeterred and I need to stop drinking this bourbon because his body warmth is beginning to suck me in. A few more sips and I won’t see anything wrong with laying my head on his sturdy shoulder or pressing the sides of our thighs together. “Your application said you went to high school in Pennsylvania,” he says, drawing me out of my dangerous thoughts. “Are your parents still there?”
Discomfort packs in tight below my neck. “Yes.”
“Are you going home to them for Christmas?”
“No,” I say on a forced laugh. “No, I’m not.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Seconds tick by as he waits for me to fill the silence.
And suddenly, there I am doing it. Knowing he is going to be kind and non-judgmental about this particularly messy subject makes me feel like I’m rock climbing, but at least I’ve got a sturdy harness. “My parents didn’t want me living at home after release. I stayed one night before my father drove me here.” I avoid looking at him. “I don’t blame them. They were pretty good parents, even if we never really related to each other and I took them for granted. Now…they’ve had just enough time to get back on solid ground with their friends and community after…everything. I can’t show up and disrupt their lives again. My presence alone would do that. It doesn’t matter if I’ve…”
“Changed?” He’s doing that intense concentration thing again. “Have you? Are you different than you were before?”
I take a moment to think. “In some ways, maybe. But it’s harder than people think. To just change. To stop being the kind of girl who steals her parents’ car in the middle of the night to joyride. Or spray paints her name in neon orange on the side of the town water tower. Worse things when I got older. And it’s like…the insecurities that drive someone to do those things? They don’t just erase themselves.” I roll a shoulder. “Change is hard.”
He tilts his head, prompting me to look over. “This trouble you got into…” he starts, cautiously. “You couldn’t have gotten into it alone.”
Nicole’s face materializes in my mind. She could be right there in front of me, reaching for the bottle of bourbon. Even imagining my ex-best friend here makes me feel like a fraud. Like I’m pretending to be something I’m not.
Oh, you’re having a heart-to-heart with this guy? Baring your soul? Poor little Stella.
Gut churning, I push off the table, banishing her voice with determination.
I don’t want Nicole here. There’s no room for her around the campfire.
Boundaries.
This man—my boss—he gave me a chance to fulfill a dream I never thought I’d ever have a shot at. He’s inherently good. I can’t say that about many people I’ve met in my life. Maybe I can’t even say it about anyone. And I just want to make his night slightly better after he’s given me this chance to…do something. Make a mark.
Okay, I don’t even need Nicole here to call me out on that being corny. But screw it.
“I have an idea.”
He sits up straighter. “Yeah?”
What am I doing? I don’t know. Flying by the seat of my tights, I guess. Just trying to distract him, take his mind off the unwarranted guilt of being slightly less than happy for a while. “We have fifteen minutes to find the perfect Christmas gift for each other. We’re not really buying them, of course. We’ll put them back afterwards. It’s just an exercise. You can choose it from anywhere in the store.” I pull my phone out and check the time, laughing inwardly at the way Aiden has come to his feet and started to rub his hands together, completely game for this spontaneous idea. “It’s ten forty. We have until ten fifty-five. Meet in the first-floor break room. Go.”
The man takes off running.
He runs like an athlete, no dorkiness detected.
It’s in that moment that I discover something I’d missed. Something monumental.
Aiden Cook has a firm, thick bubble butt.
My jaw unhinges and I have no choice but to let it hang there, the time ticking away on my own challenge just so I can watch those gorgeous buns move until he disappears around the corner. Not before they engrave themselves on my brain, though. Holy. Cakes.