The Cuffing Season (The Anti-Cinderella Chronicles)

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Yeah.” To say that this kid was unenthused would be an understatement.

  “Okay. Well…” I gestured toward our wall of shelved jeans. “Let’s head over there, and we’ll see what we can do to fix you up.” I had just begun pulling down pants for my customer to try on when the chime rang again. Working hard to keep that pleasant expression on my face, I glanced toward the doorway. And then I froze.

  The woman who was wandering across her threshold was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. A yee of mythic proportions. Blonde hair cascaded down her back in waves, and the short dress that she wore showed off miles of leg.

  “I said, is there a key or something for the dressing room?” The mother of my current customer was tapping her foot and glaring at me. Clearly, I was about to join the ranks of sons who dragged their mothers out on a school night to search for jeans.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” I reached for the clip on my belt loop. “Sure, I’ll fix you right up. Follow me this way.”

  Dammit. Had she left already? Without being too obvious, I tried to look over my shoulder to see whether she was checking out our merchandise or if she had exited. Absently, I opened up a dressing room and ushered the sullen teenager inside

  “Okay, how about you tried these on and see if they work. I need to check on something in the front of the store, and then I’ll be right back to see how you’re doing.” I offered the mom a bright smile before I headed toward the entrance with what I would probably have to term alacrity. Let’s just say I didn’t run, but I might have qualified for the mall speed walker team that met here every morning. Just when I spotted my quarry – I mean, my customer – Dora appeared at my side.

  “Hey.” She was sipping a drink from the Smoothie Hut. “I’m back from break. I can handle this one in the front if you want me to.”

  “No.” I almost barked out the word and then quickly softened my answer. “Sorry. Actually, there’s a boy in the back who’s here with his mother. He’s in dressing room three, trying on jeans. Could you take over for them?”

  Dora narrowed her eyes at me. “Is there something wrong with them? Are they pain in the neck customers?”

  I tried to look innocent. “Of course not. He just needs some jeans. His mom is helping him, and I already set him up with stuff to try on. I’m sure that they’ll find something in what I gave them, and all you’re gonna have to do is check them out.” I shrugged. “And I’ll give you the commission for it, too.”

  Dora wasn’t convinced. “Why would you just . . .”

  At that moment, the yee wandered into sight again. Dora watched her for a moment, and then begin to laugh.

  “Ohhhhhh, okay. I get it now. You’re planning to make time with the hottie over there.”

  I gave a long-suffering sigh. “Dora, I’m at work. I’m offering you the chance to make some decent money on a pretty easy sale. Don’t look for ulterior motives when there are none.”

  “Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s what it is. The goodness of your heart, blah, blah, blah. Okay, Harry. Go ahead. Go check out the chick, and I’ll take care of the two in the back.”

  I thought about getting on her case a little bit more, just to make the point that I wasn’t, in fact, being unprofessional, but in the end, I decided that I’d better not press my luck. Besides, the woman who I wanted to talk to was now standing closer to the exit, looking around with a fair amount of indecision.

  “Hey, there.” I used my best customer voice. “Welcome to Allister’s. How can I help you?”

  She turned eyes on me that were, I kid you not, violet. I was so surprised by the color that for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

  That was okay, because she did. “Hey.” She gave a little giggle. “I was beginning to think that nobody was working here.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I shook my head. “I mean, yeah, I’m working here. I’m the manager actually. I was just—” I waved vaguely in the direction that Dora had walked. “The associate working tonight was on break, so I was covering her customers. But she’s got it now. So, is there something I can do for you?”

  She sighed and twisted her hair around one finger. “I don’t know. I just . . .” She bit her lip in that way that some girls seemed to do. I guess they’d all read somewhere that it was supposed to be adorable. And while everything else about this woman was fairly perfect, for some reason, that move took me back a bit. It made her face look cockeyed. I tried to ignore that as she went on talking.

  “It’s just that I, uh . . .” She was still twirling. “I work in the bookstore downstairs? You know, the one on the first floor?” She seemed to be unsure about this, and she kept asking me instead of telling me.

  “Sure.” I nodded. “Braxton’s.”

  “Yeah, exactly.” She giggled again. “And it’s like, so cold in there? I always try to bring a sweater or a sweatshirt or something, but I forgot today, and somebody told me that your store carries the best ones?”

  “We do.” This was easy, although the way she turned every statement into a question was more than a little unsettling. “Absolutely. Well, we have some of the newer hoodies here in the front.” I guided her toward a rack of soft, multicolored sweatshirts. “And in the back, we have some others that are on sale. That’s where all of our clearance stuff is. Oh, and there’re some sweaters over here, if that was more what you were looking for.”

  She glanced around as though I’d given her way too many options. “Okay, cool.” She ran a hand down her short skirt. “Do you think would be okay to wear a hoodie with this kind of dress? I mean, do you think it would look funny?”

  She was asking me for style advice. This had to be a good sign. “Oh, yeah.” I nodded vigorously. “I see lots of women who—I mean, it seems to be kind of a popular look, so yeah. Absolutely.”

  “Great, then. I guess I’ll just check.” She waved her hand. “You know, like the colors and whatever.”

  “I’d be happy to help you with that.” I followed her over, hoping that she didn’t feel as though I was stalking her or was worried that she was a shoplifter. She began flipping through the hangers, and I realize she was humming softly to herself.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m Harry—” I began.

  “Oh, I love that name.” She grinned, and I was pretty sure the angels sang. “My name is Faith.”

  I’d never met a girl with that name before, but I liked it. I liked it a lot.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand, and giggling yet again, she shook it. “Have you worked for Braxton’s for long?”

  She shook her head. “No. This is my first week.”

  “I figured.” And then, in case she thought I really was a creepy stalker, I added hastily, “I mean, I go down there quite a bit on my breaks to get a snack at the little shop inside the store, and I hadn’t seen you before.”

  She laughed. “Oh, really? And do you know everybody who works there, then?”

  “Pretty much.” I shrugged. “Is this your first time working at the mall? You’ll find out pretty fast that most of us who do get to know each other. You know, you pass the same people every day when you’re going in or out, and you run into each other at the food court… It’s like anything else, I guess.”

  “One big happy mall family,” she teased.

  “Not quite that.” I grimaced. “But you recognize the regulars.”

  Faith glanced at her phone. “Oh, shoot. I need to get back. Where do I pay for this?”

  I led her to the register stand, rang her up and clipped the tags from the hoodie. “I assume you want to wear this.”

  “Of course.” She smiled at me, tilting her head. “Thanks. It was good to meet you. When you come down to get a snack next time, look for me. I’ll give you a discount . . . on anything you want.”

  And then she winked at me, turned around and left the store. I stared after her, and in my mind, I’d already begun my next column for The Cuffing Season . . .

  Today I met the perfect yee.

/>   “She’s a junior in college—she’s originally from Minnesota, but she came down here for school because she was tired of winter in the north. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. And she works in a bookstore—how perfect is that?” I thumped one hand on the counter as I grinned at Sophia. “I mean, I’m a writer, and she works with books. Isn’t it perfect?”

  “Uh . . . sure.” Sophia spared me a quick glance and went back to creating the coffee art for the waiting customer. She mumbled something else, but I couldn’t understand what she’d said.

  “I’ve been talking to her for a little over a week, on my breaks from work and at lunch. We’re going out tomorrow night.” I shoved the rest of the pastry into my mouth. “And if it goes well—and how could it not? Then I might ask her to come with us for Halloween.”

  Sophia turned toward me, dismay etched on her face. “Are you serious? But I thought it was just the three of us going out that night.”

  I shifted on my stool. I’d had an uncomfortable feeling this might be an issue. “Well . . . does it really matter?”

  “Yes, it does.” She stood before me, her hands on her hips, a frown on her pouty lips. “It’s supposed to be fun for you, me and Preston, not . . . icky make-out time with you and some skank you want to grope.”

  “Nice talk, Soph.” I rolled my eyes. “Faith isn’t a skank. And it wouldn’t be like that. I promise.”

  “Sure.” She leaned her elbows on the bar, ducking her head. A strand of her dark hair had come free from the band holding it away from her face, and it fell over her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

  The bell over the door rang, and a couple strolled inside. Sophia pushed off the counter and headed over to wait on them without another word to me. I wasn’t a rocket scientist, but I sensed she was unhappy with me. I wasn’t certain why, though. I thought that Sophia would be psyched to have another girl to balance out our group.

  Although I’d never say it out loud, chicks were a mystery I was pretty sure I’d never solve.

  Still, I tried to be smarter than the average bear. Teachable, at least. So when Sophia finally deigned to come back to my end of the bar, I tactfully changed the subject.

  “Have you talked to Preston lately? He’s been working so much that I haven’t seen him all week.”

  Sophia shrugged. “I stopped at the juice bar on the way to yoga the other day. But they were hopping in there, so we didn’t get much chance to chat.” She hesitated. “He did, however, tell me that he had his eye on a yee.”

  “No way.” I sat up straighter. “He hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “I think this is fairly recent.” She reached for a towel to wipe off the counter, though as far as I could tell, the Formica was spotless. “So, how is the writing going? I saw the introduction Vivian posted this week. You go live on Friday?”

  I nodded. “Turned in my first one on Tuesday. I didn’t have much to say, so it’s just a general commentary on what dating is like for a guy in the early twenty-first century.” I grinned wryly. “You know, real hard-hitting stuff. I’m expecting the call from The New York Times any day now.”

  “But you’re not looking to hook a journalist gig, right?” Sophia argued. “You want to write fiction. This column has the potential to get you some visibility so that when you do write your masterpiece, you already have a platform. You’ll have an audience.”

  “Yeah, exactly.” I nodded, and then frowning, I cocked my head. “Hey, I thought you were against me doing this. When Vivian was here, I felt like you were saying I didn’t have the talent to handle writing the column.”

  “That was never it.” Sophia pointed at me, her expression serious. “I never doubted your ability to write it. I just . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for you to go looking for girls to date. I thought you and Preston were supposed to be focused on other stuff. Preston wants to get a sponsorship for his climbing, so he can get into some competitions. And you want to write your novel. Women—relationships—could be distractions.”

  “Yeah, I know we used to say that, but maybe it’s time to rethink the idea.” I stared down at the bar between us. “We’re adults now, Soph. We’re supposed to be able to handle multiple focus points. Lots of people have successful careers and relationships, too. It’s not like when we were still in college, and everyone told us we needed to concentrate on our education instead of hooking up.”

  “Are we adults?” Sophia rested her elbow on the ledge in front of her. “It’s only been five months since we graduated. I don’t feel any different than I did a year ago, except that I get up to go to work instead of going to class.” Her bottom lip pouted out adorably, and suddenly I remembered Faith and how weird her face had looked when she’d been nibbling her lip. Sophia didn’t have that problem. She was naturally expressive, and she didn’t play games the way other women did.

  With more than a little discomfort, I tried to put that thought out of my mind. Faith was great. I liked her. If it seemed like she was a little more assertive, a little flirtier than someone like Sophia was . . . well, I should be flattered, right? She was trying to get my attention.

  “Ah.” I cleared my throat and glanced away from Sophia’s face so I didn’t have to notice how cute she looked. “Have you picked up any photography jobs lately? Weren’t you supposed to shoot a wedding last weekend?”

  She grimaced. “I did. And it paid okay. But I remembered why I hate doing event photography. No one’s ever one hundred percent happy with the pictures, and it’s not because of my work. It’s because they have unrealistic expectations of both themselves and me. I can shoot a bride in the best light, in the best pose possible, with the perfect filters, but it’s not going to make her look thirty pounds skinnier or take away the size of her nose. I hate that kind of atmosphere, you know?”

  “Yeah, I get that. But I guess sometimes we have to do the shit that pays the bills, right?”

  “Maybe.” Sophia stretched her back, rolling her shoulders. I knew that the long hours on her feet at the coffee shop made her backache sometimes.

  “Hey, you need a shoulder rub?” I lifted my hands. “I’m here taking up space and drinking coffee on your discount. I might as well make myself useful.”

  For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her eyes held mine, but I couldn’t discern the expression there.

  Finally, she nodded. “Okay, if you don’t mind.”

  “When have I ever minded? What are friends for?” I stood up and came around to meet her at the opening in the counter. “You give me plenty of shoulder massages.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat as she turned her back to me. I swept the dark hair of her ponytail away from her neck, doing my level best not to notice the enticing curve there.

  When my thumbs dug into the tight muscles of her shoulders, she began to relax, sighing. “Oh, that feels so good. Right . . . there.”

  Her head bowed, her words barely audible on the slight moan. It was—I swallowed hard. It was almost erotic, and a disturbing response was churning inside me. My mind darted about in panic, searching for anything to talk about, anything that might make me stop thinking those thoughts.

  “So!” I spoke louder than I’d intended, and Sophia startled a little under my hands. “Uh, the wedding gig wasn’t fun, but do you have anything else coming up?”

  “Um . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “Actually, I picked up another job at the wedding, so it wasn’t a total bust. One of the bridesmaids hired me to shoot some promotional photos for her new business.”

  “Aw, that’s great.” I massaged her neck. “See, sometimes we don’t know where things lead. I’m doing this column with the hopes that it might open doors for a publishing contract. And the dating—even if Faith doesn’t turn out to be the perfect woman for me, she might be fun for the holidays, and maybe I’ll meet someone else through her.”

  “That’s kind of a crappy deal for her.” Sophia turned her head to
glare at me. “No woman wants to be the interim relationship, just like no one in the world likes to be the rebound or the consolation prize.”

  “I’m not saying that’s what I’m planning,” I countered. “I’m just saying, we never know. Maybe she’s the one, but if she isn’t, that doesn’t mean this is wasted time.”

  “You, Harry Davis, have a very skewed view on dating and relationships.” Sophia shook off my hands and turned around to face me, her hands on her hips. “And are you even planning to tell these women that they’re fodder for your column?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “Of course, I’ll either change their names or not use names at all. But I’m not the first person to write about my dating experiences. There was even an entire television show based on that woman from New York’s books—and no one accused her of taking advantage of the men she talked about. And then there’s Vivian—she told all her stories, didn’t she? And she even referred to her dates as frogs. Talk about demeaning.”

  Sophia frowned. “Yes, but that was different.”

  “Why? Because she’s a woman, and I’m a man?” I smirked. “Are we dealing with reverse sexism here, Soph?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m looking out for your best interests, Harry? Did you ever think that I’m trying to keep you from—” She broke off, glancing away from me. “You really are completely clueless, aren’t you?”

  I scowled. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that—”

  The bell over the door rang again, and this time, a crowd of men and women poured into the coffee shop, probably having just come from the movie theater across the street.

  Sophia pressed her lips together. “I need to get back to work. I’ll see you later, Harry. Thanks for the shoulder rub.” She slipped back through the swinging half door and resumed her spot behind the counter.

  Did I mention that chicks are an enigma wrapped in a riddle?