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Lumi
I’ve been avoiding the guys. It’s been over a week since the disaster on the ice, and I know Yas said to take as much time as I need, but I don’t know how to reach out now. I’m scared to contact them. What if they reject me? Ade’s already half in love with all three of them. How do I explain to her that it’s over before it’s really even begun?
Ade’s been complaining about not being able to skate, or Sacha has taken her a few times so that I can continue avoiding the guys. Although Ade said she only sees Quilo at the rink.
I sigh and start setting up for the day. I really need to do something. Ade asks about the guys all the time. She misses them. So do I, if I’m honest.
“Hello? Erm, hi? Is anyone in h—OH!”
“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” I cry.
“It’s...o...okay,” the girl in front of me pants, clutching her chest like she’s having a heart attack.
The girl is really young looking. Her appearance is scruffy and kind of neglected, but there’s no denying that she’s beautiful too.
“I’m Lumi. Can I help you?”
“Oh. I, erm, saw the advert? In the paper? For an assistant?” Every sentence comes out as a question and her voice trembles with nerves. “I’m sure the position’s been filled already, I should go.”
“No! Wait!”
She pauses and looks back at me over her shoulder. The hope on her face kills me.
“What’s your name?”
“Lyrical.” She cringes. “But I hate it.”
“I like it, but if you have a nickname you want me to call you, I’m happy to?”
She blinks at me and doesn’t reply.
“I need to think about it,” she eventually says.
“Okay. So have you done any work like this before?”
She hesitates. “No.”
“Okay. I can show you, it’s pretty simple. The merchandise is just like a shop, the coffee machine is like a cafe. That’s more or less it—you just need to smile and greet people and be friendly.”
“I can do that.” She smiles tentatively and I grin back at her.
“You’ll be fine. The job’s yours if you want it and we can sort out hours and stuff later. I was just about to have a latte, would you like one?” Again, the girl doesn’t answer, but she eyes the coffee machine hungrily. “Workers drink for free. I have snacks too, so help yourself.”
She relaxes and her hand darts out to take an organic granola bar off the counter. She looks half starved, and I wonder what her story is. I guess I have time to get to know her.
“Do I need...like a uniform or anything?” she asks.
“It’s up to you. There isn’t a uniform requirement,” I say. She looks disappointed. “But if you want an outfit or two from the shop, help yourself and we can sort it out later from your wages. Whatever. Just be comfortable.”
It probably doesn’t make sound business advice to invite a total stranger in, to offer her food and drink and clothing that I have no intention of charging her for, but this kid—and she does look like a kid—looks like she needs a helping hand. And I’ve been there. I know exactly what it’s like to be alone and struggling, so smart business move or not, I’m going to help her. I have a good feeling about her anyway.
I’m just making the two of us a latte, which is always how I try to start my morning right, when the door to the studio opens and Quilo walks in. He looks mouth wateringly good in a band tee—someone obscure that I’ve not heard of—and his signature ripped jeans and baseball cap.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d come to a class. Whit said how good it was.”
“But you don’t have a dog.” And you’re not dressed for yoga. Although my mind quickly conjures up memories of Whit in his jeans, effortlessly copying my poses, and looking damn sexy while doing it.
