Window Shopping

A job I barely qualify for to begin with.

All of this is at the forefront of my mind, yet when Aiden stands, his height forcing my head back, I can’t move away.

Slowly, smoothly, he closes most of the distance between us, stopping when there is half a foot of space between us. His gaze slides down the slope of my cheekbone, landing on my mouth. It dawdles there, heats, traces down to the hollow of my throat, leaving electrified skin in its wake. Then it falls away with a curse. “What would these two people want? I can’t answer that for you.” He releases an expulsion of breath. “I only know I think about you to the point of distraction. The board meeting wasn’t the only reason I was drinking tonight. I had to stop myself from going downstairs. I knew I’d end up here again, feeling like I’d melt unless I kiss you.”

Oh boy. How am I supposed to keep from collapsing into a puddle of goo let alone continue to keep the barrier between us up when he goes around saying things so baldly honest and romantic? “But the rule,” I whisper lamely.

“Yeah. The rule.” A line snaps in his cheek, thought churning behind his eyes. “I need to be extra vigilant about that rule with you, Stella. There’s already an imbalance of power. Boss. Employee. Then you throw in the fact that I hired you with what some people might call a black spot on your résumé. Whether you’re qualified or not—and I believe you are—I have to worry that maybe on some level, you feel indebted to me. You shouldn’t. But if I took advantage of that, of you in any way…I feel sick just thinking about it.”

My knee-jerk reaction is to reassure him that I don’t feel indebted. It would be a lie, though. There isn’t a single other department store in Manhattan that would have hired me straight out of prison. None but this man with his optimism and willingness to look at the person, not the paperwork. But my attraction—which, I’m very worried could extend beyond a chemical reaction—has nothing to do with gratitude. I’m earning the chance he gave me. I’m working myself to the bone for it and hopefully, that will become obvious tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t let him down.

But the tug and ripple in my belly is separate.

It’s chemical. Organic. Not bred of any thankfulness or sense of obligation.

No, it might be the purest thing I’ve ever experienced.

What worries me more is the squeeze in my chest when we’re close.

I need to back away now. Make some excuse to go home, cut off the magic that is brewing around us relentlessly, making the red garland sparkle where it hangs above the coffee maker. Giving the Christmas lights a more romantic twinkling glow. My feet don’t even feel like they’re touching the floor. I knew I’d end up here again, feeling like I’d melt unless I kiss you.

“You have to say something, Stella,” he laughs softly, his eyes concerned. “Feels a lot like that first day of school, no clothes dream.”

He’s so vulnerable, standing there, having taken a leap and bared himself to me. I want nothing more than to reward him for that courage. I want to reward myself with him. But for what? I’m not right for this happy-go-lucky man. God, I’m all kinds of wrong. When I walk through the main floor of Vivant to use the bathroom or break room, the jewelry saleswomen guard the cabinets. They eye me up and down. They either know about my prison stint or they’ve decided there is something undeserving about me.

I’m barely out of Bedford Hills a month and I’m trying—I’m trying so hard to be a good person. The kind of person I always scoffed about growing up. I’ve gone straight. But I haven’t even proven to myself than I can do it yet. What if I’m fooling myself? What if I backslide? How many women did I meet while serving my time that were released, then ended up back inside? I’m not better than them. I’m one of them. I was there for a reason.

And now I’m out for a reason. One I haven’t had time to grasp yet.

Why does none of this seem to matter when he’s looking at me with his heart in his eyes? It takes me a moment to speak. To get enough air into my lungs to respond. “Paperwork…” I push through stiff lips. “I mean, that feels like a big step. Feels…official.”

He’s already nodding. “I know. If there was another way to try this, try us—”

“I know.”

“It’s more than making sure you’re not seeing me out of some misplaced sense of gratitude, Stella, even if that’s my main concern.” He gestures to himself in kind of an exasperated way. “I’m a rule follower, you know?”