We made the labels simple—100 hours.That’s it. That’s the label, along with some fine print on the bottom.
Skye and I started making them after acustomer came in, complaining about how pointless candles were—“because they don’t even last that long.” Surprisingly, she never ended up buying anything.
I know; we were shocked too.
“Those are our hundred-hour candles,” I inform her.
She sighs like I’m the one who doesn’t understand. “I know that. I’m asking how long they burn for.”
She’s still not looking at me. I keep my smile up anyway.
You do not know what other people are going through. This isn’t personal. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.
“They last one hundred hours. Give or take.”
“Are you sure?”
Areyou? I hold my tongue.
“Mmhmm. Tested them myself.”
She hums, unimpressed, and places the candle back down. In the fifteen minutes that follows, she picks up everything, smells it, makes a face, but buys nothing. It’s fine. She’s not the first, and I sell seventeen candles to other customers in the time it takes her to leave.
She doesn’t saythank you. Or wish me a good day.
Over in Benji’s shop, a guy with pink streaks in his hair is throwing his head back on a laugh. Benji has his hands buried in his pockets and a hint of a smile on his face. His customers seem lovely, always smiling or gushing over his pieces.
Fuck it. I send the text I’ve been debating and turn away from the window. If Benji can put himself out there, so can I.
* **
The shop is empty when the scuff of Benji’s boots sets my heart off.
“Yo.”
I spare a glance toward the studio, where I know Skye will be listening to every word.
Benji crosses the room until we’re sharing the same square foot of concrete. Doesn’t seem to have any concept of personal space when it comes to me. I haven’t complained yet. I should, but I don’t want him to stop.
“You smell good,” he says, low.
I duck to hide my blush. “That’s the shop, not me.”
He grunts his disagreement. “Got your text. What’s wrong?”
I needed to see you.
“There’s a fly.”
“A fly.”
From this angle, his shoulders almost block out the light. I’ve always loved how much of the room he encompassed, beyond the physical. He walks in, and my whole world fills up.
I bite down on my lip and then give in, pulling on his shirt, which is exactly as soft as I remember. “He followed us inside this morning, and he won’t leave. I’m worried he’ll fly into the wax and hurt himself.”
“And you want me to …”
My gaze is trapped on his chest, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
