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He’s not used to people talking to him unless they need help around the store.
"Are you doing anything later?”
He shifts nervously on his feet. He blinks a couple of times. I don’t think anyone has ever asked him to go anywhere. A girl even less with the way he is looking at me. Nervous and indecisive.
“No.”
“My brother sent me two tickets to the Ohio football game, and I was wondering if you want to go with me.”
He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his stonewashed jeans and looks at his dirty work boots. “You want to go with me?”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I thought you had a boyfriend. The one that sent you food.”
I can understand why he would think that. Also, the car that waits for me after work.
Valen has a driver wait for me until I get home. I tried to ignore it and thought it would stop after a few days, but it hasn’t. I also thought if I ignored him in class, he would get the hint that I wasn’t interested.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He looks up. “You're not seeing anyone?” He shakes his head. “I don’t want any problems.”
I give him a reassuring smile. “I’m not, and it’s not a problem. I don’t want to go alone, but if you don’t want to go, I understand.”
His eyes widen. “I do,” he rushes out. “I’ll go.”
“Alright,” I say with a smile.
After taking a shower, I meet Ariel back at the hardware store. I’m surprised when he pulls in the lot in a brand-new black Raptor. It looks pricey and not something he could easily afford working at the hardware store. I didn’t see it in the parking lot, or it must be new.
“Nice truck,” I point out after closing the door.
His hand grips the steering wheel, looking out the windshield. "Thanks," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of pride and a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
There's a subtle scent that seems uniquely his, comforting and inviting. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a gray sweater, he has a flush to his cheeks, a rosy hue suggesting he was trying his best to fix his complexion.
“To be honest, I'm not into football. I'm here for my brother—he's playing," I explain, hoping to make him feel more at ease with the situation.
"That makes sense," he responds, with a note of relief.
We fall into a brief silence, the kind that feels like it's waiting to be broken.
"So..." I begin, unsure of where to steer our conversation next.
"My name isn't actually Ariel," he admits.
"Oh?" Of all the things he could have said, this was the last I anticipated. "Why does everyone call you Ariel, then?" I ask, curiosity piqued.
He chuckles lightly. "Well, when I started working at the hardware store after school, Mr. Crosby had trouble pronouncing my real name. He started calling me Ariel instead, and it just stuck. I've been working there since I was fifteen, so after a while, I just got used to it," he explains.
"My real name is Azriel," he reveals.
“Azriel,” I say, testing it out. The name rolls off my tongue with a sense of familiarity and identity that Ariel never quite captured.
It is an unusual name. Mr. Crosby is an old-timer, so it would make sense for him to have a bit of trouble pronouncing it. I like it.
“I like Azriel better.”
