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“I could use an assistant, yes.”
“Faye here could use a paycheck,” Zeke says.
The woman smiles and we both flinch. Because behind her petite mouth lies the largest set of teeth I’ve ever seen. They are straight and large and look like they’d glow under a blacklight.
“I am Lule,” she says, pressing her long fingers to her chest.
“Loo-luh?” I say, trying to get it just right.
“Yes, Lew-luh,” she says, pointing to her mouth, which is unnecessary because I was already looking at her mouth.
It’s… odd. I mean, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it. She has a broad forehead, high, full cheeks, and a narrow chin. But her teeth literally don’t fit her mouth. It’s a little Stephen Tyler and a little Mister Ed, but not unattractive. She tries to close her lips over her teeth, and they get stuck.
“You admire my teeth?” She points at them and then clacks them together three times. It’s hard not to stare.
“They’re very… straight,” I say, not sure whether she’s looking for a denial or a compliment.
“So white,” Zeke says, shoving a cool white skein of yarn in the dead center of a bin of warm neutrals.
My eye twitches.
“So, you want a job?” Lule asks.
I hesitate. I don’t really want to work here, do I? Zeke nudges me and arches his eyebrows as if to saywhat do you have to lose?
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Do not think,” she says, shaking her head. “Know.”
“Do not think, know,” Zeke repeats.
“Okay, yes. I would like a job,” I say.
Zeke grins and presses his hand into the small of my back. His touch is warm and encouraging, and almost distracting enough to make me forget Lule is waiting.
“Please?” I add.
“You have cash register experience?”
“Uh, not actually.”
“You are a knitting fan?”
“Not really, but I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“Hmm.” She frowns and studies me. “What can you do?”
That’s the question of the year. I’m about to shake my head in defeat when Zeke steps a little closer.
“She’s incredibly detail-oriented and always on time. I guarantee you she’s already considered six ways to reorganize your stock.”
“This is true?” Lule tilts her head as if considering this seriously.
“I mean, sure,” I say with a shrug. “By fiber, weight, or color, just off the top of my head. And there are a litany of permutations and variations from there.”
“Are you a mathematician?”
“No, but I’m in—” I stop, before I can tell her I’m in med school. I clear my throat with an awkward smile. “I studied biology in college.”
