“Oh bloody hell,” I said in horror.
A little fluffy chick with stick legs and an exorbitant price tag.
“I didn’t—I would never,” I sputtered.
I looked up and around, trying to collect my thoughts. Was this a prank? Was there a hidden cameraman? The clickbait headline unfurled in my mind, “Intrepid Trio heartthrob Harrison Evans secret kleptomaniac?”
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” the woman who was most certainlynota fan said.
She went to pluck the little chick from where it sat in my hand, trembling slightly. Before she could take it, I closed my fingers around it. Our hands brushed, and she pulled back like she’d been zapped. I tucked it away as I reached for my wallet instead.
“I’m mortified,” I admitted. “But I’d like to keep it.”
I thrust twice the price tag in cash at her, but she didn’t check. Her mouth pulled in an indulgent, albeit pitiful smile as she pocketed the cash.
“I know you didn’t mean to. I was watching you in the shop. You seemed distracted,” she said. “I was kidding about calling the authorities. I’ll let you off with a warning. This time.”
I ran a hand over my face. “I should go apologize …”
“It’s okay. Really.” She reached for my arm before dropping it awkwardly. I wish she’d have completed the gesture. It might have helped keep me from melting from embarrassment. “It’s my friend’s shop. She’s the one who sent me after you. You were talking to her. Well, she was talking at you. She’s not concerned about it. Actually, she thought it was funny. Do you know her? She seemed to know you.”
“I didn’t … no. I was distracted.”
She lowered her head until my gaze found hers again. “Really. It’s not a big deal. We won’t put your picture by the register.”
“Ha.” Only a moment ago, I had been expecting a picture. Just not that kind. “Right.” I nodded as I ran my hand over my stupid beard. I was suddenly keenly aware of how much I wished she recognized me or at least saw me at my best and not like this. A hairy, self-absorbed, shoplifter.
“Are you okay?” she asked carefully.
I scoffed. “You shouldn’t be worried about the criminal. You would make a terrible copper.”
She laughed softly. “For many reasons. But are you?”
I didn’t feel okay. Hearing her gentle question seemed to unlock this intense pressure in my chest.
I felt absurd and somehow like a child who had no idea what they were doing trapped in an aging man’s body. Time passed too fast. People I cared about got older. My youth felt like a lifetime away. My two best friends were creating their own families away from me. It was like I was dunked in the undertow of life, and nothing I could do would get my head above water.
I couldn’t say any of that. Basking in the focus of those compassionate green-brown eyes—I hadn’t noticed the little flecks of green before—all the thousand swirling thoughts calmed down to one distinct longing.
I swallowed. “Have we met?” I asked without meaning to, avoiding the complicated answer to her simple question. There was something about her. A rising need that almost felt like panic to figure out what this connection was flowing between us. Like a magnetic pulse that couldn’t be seen but only felt. “I feel like I’ve known you,” I added, breathless, with my throat too tight.
She hesitated, probably because of my awkward phrasing.
“You know, I thought you looked familiar too,” she said after a moment. “Are you a local? Sometimes I help out at my friend’s shop, Brooks’ Baubles and Books.” She gestured back toward the shop I’d visited.
“No. That’s not it.” I couldn’t stop memorizing the details of her face. The swoop of her lashes. The curve of her neck. Time raced by. This odd interaction would end too fast.
She shrugged. “Maybe just one of those faces.” She glanced back in the direction of the shop. “I better get back. Just in case she really does call the police.”
My eyes widened.
“I’m teasing,” she said with a laugh. She reached for me again, looking at her own hand like it was a stranger. When she dropped her arm, still not making contact, I reached out without thinking to hold her sleeve.
“Wait,” I said.
Her full lips parted in surprise but not fear. Hopefully.
I couldn’t let her go. This couldn’t be the end. I felt a frantic desire to get more information and learn something about her. This brief, terrible interaction could not be her only impression of me.
