by Nia Arthurs
“I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes for some help,” a young teenager complained to her friend as she stood in front of the dressing rooms.
“Miss,” the woman to whom I’d just handed her purchase and her change pointed out, “I handed you a fifty. You gave me change for a twenty.”
Not caring if the woman was lying or not, I gave her the extra money and rushed to the back to pick out the style in a smaller size.
“That’s a completely different blouse!” The lady complained to me, as I sped toward the two teenagers.
I ran around like a chicken without a head for about half-an-hour. If my mind wasn’t so frenzied it would have been quite amusing to behold Estefan’s expression as two ladies argued over the last size nine leopard sandals available in the shop. Their quarrel escalated and things grew even more agitated when a woman called for her young children who were running through the store.
“Get back yah befoh I stin unu haad!” The tall dark woman, girthed with child, yelled after them. Before I could blink, a mannequin crashed to the floor, its poor plastic head rolling to rest before the Chuck Taylors of a new customer who had just entered the shop. Unaware of its landing place, I got on my hands and knees and searched for the decapitated head as the hefty mother attempted to right the assaulted plastic doll.
“Looking for this?” a head with unseeing eyes was shoved under my nose. My eyes trailed the black and white Chuck Taylors, up khaki covered legs with a smattering of curly brown hair, past the green Chambray cotton shirt to a pair of amused blue eyes. I got up, wiping my dirty hands on my jeans pants.
“Peyton, what are you doing here?” I exclaimed, accepting the oversized doll head from him. The incensed mother, unable to put the mannequin back to rights, aggressively spanked her child who then began to wail quite loudly and enthusiastically, drowning out the smooth jazz music streaming through the store.
“Melody called me and she suggested that you might need a hand,” Peyton shouted in my ear in order to be heard above the chaos.
I gazed at him as one does when her shop is falling apart and a man in Chuck Taylors has come to rescue her, “I could so totally kiss you again!”
“What?” he yelled, coming closer to my lips so he could hear me, “Repeat that?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head, “Could you fix the mannequin while I deal with the dressing room situation?”
“No problem.”
With one last grateful glance at him, I made my way through the crowd to the dressing room. The teenager had long since gotten her try, but her friend was standing impatiently near the second stall.
“Hey,” I greeted the girl in short shorts and a tank top revealing a tattoo on her collarbone. The defensive set to her face reminded me of myself not too long ago. “If you’d like to change, you could use the bathroom. It has a full length mirror.”
“Thanks,” She said and then trotted off to the room I’d indicated.
With three changing rooms in use, the blockage of customers waiting to try on an item was freed up and began to flow properly again. I recognized the moment when I could hear the calm music floating about the store and sought out the source of the quiet. I noticed Peyton on his knees playing peek-a-boo with the spanked child, using the mannequin’s hand as a blind fold. I grinned at his silliness, but didn’t have time to linger on the show as I rushed to the cash register and rang up the various purchases.
“Hey, is he your boyfriend?” The teenagers from earlier asked as they brought their clothes to be scanned and totaled.
“Who?” I asked. There were a few men littered about the store, mostly tailing behind their girlfriends.
“Him,” They pointed out the only white man in our throng of brown, black, and tan shades. I followed their line of sight and noticed Peyton helping an elderly woman select a blouse from the higher racks. The lady screwed her mouth and shook her head indicating that Peyton had picked the wrong shirt. Patiently and with an easy smile on his face, Peyton returned the previous item and reached for the new one. I watched the bulge of his biceps as he stretched, warmth infusing my cheeks at the charming way he offered the blouse to the grandmother.
“Oh, that’s definitely her boyfriend,” one teenager said to the other when I returned my attention to the two.
Wait, what?
“Oh, no. He’s just a friend.” I cleared up for them. “Yeah, it’s a phileo thing,” I said smartly, referring to the Greek form of brotherly love.
“Lady, Phileo is hot. If you two don’t work out, throw him my way, k?”
Arching an eyebrow at the conversation, I admit relief when the two young ladies danced out of the store, making sure they stopped to bid Peyton good afternoon as they did so.
As the afternoon progressed into evening, Peyton collected a lot more looks from the Belizean women. While I worked non-stop to keep up with the flow of people waiting to cash out their purchases, clarify pricing tags and locate the amended item sizes from the inventory in the back room, Peyton kept my female customers swooning and blushing. I noticed that even the children gravitated to his charm and sociability. He was soon the most sought after sales clerk in Mia’s Designs. A position further evidenced when, during a lull in the evening I stepped out to assist a customer and she pointedly stated that the nice young man was already helping her. Peyton only laughed at my glare.
I couldn’t stay mad at him. Honestly, I didn’t have enough energy to rub two thumbs together, much less hold on to anger. We worked at a mad rush for two more hours before I finally closed the store at eight. After I changed the sign and bid Estefan good night, we collapsed on the dirty tiled floor, side by side. His broad shoulders brushed my arm with each breath but I was too tired to roll away.
“How do you handle this kind of crowd all by yourself?” Peyton inquired with disbelief.
“Alexi normally helps me out but she had a school retreat this weekend. And, the store isn’t usually that busy all at once.” I rolled slowly to my side and propped myself up on my elbow, looking down into Peyton’s face. His eyes were closed and I could see the fatigue in the lines around his mouth.
“Hey, thank you… for today,”
Keeping his eyes closed, he grinned and replied, “It’s no problem. Melody said you needed my help.”
“You didn’t have to come,” I confessed softly.
“I did.” He opened his lids at half-cast and peered at me, “I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”
His promise made me uncomfortable for some reason. I dipped my nose to just above his chest and gagged, “You stink!” I complained to change the subject.
“I do not,” he defended and then sniffed his shirt, “Maybe I do, just a little.” With one swift movement, he grabbed me and rolled me unto his chest, his strong arm banding me in place.
“Hey,” I wriggled, “What are you doing?”
He sniffed me, “You don’t smell like a fresh spring rain or anything like that either,”
I laughed and punched his side, “I smell like eight hours of work. That’s what I smell like.”
He let me go when he was good and ready and rolled to his other side. It was his turn to prop himself up on an elbow and watch me.
“Would you have called me?”
I rolled to my side and used my bent elbow as a pillow, peering up at him as I asked, “Called you for what?”
“You know, eventually would it have crossed your mind to call me for help?”
I bit my lip guiltily. “Sure,”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
I caved, “Okay, no. I wouldn’t. I know you’re a busy guy and I don’t expect you to come running when I call. You have your own thing.”
He shifted closer, “I had an older sister. Did you know that?”
My eyes widened. I had no idea, “I didn’t. You had? As in…”
He looked away, “She passed away when I was sixteen.” He fisted his hands and admitted through clenched teeth, “She committed suicide.”
“It’s okay,” he intoned, “It was a long time ago. But we were very close. She knew she could have called me. She knew she should have called me when she got that way. And she always had the same excuse: she was burdening me; I was too busy with school and my friends; she really was feeling better. And you know…I bought it. I didn’t question her. I lost touch, did my own thing until one day I did get a call. Some random stranger told me my sister was dead.”
“Peyton,” I drew myself abreast to him and hugged him tight. He felt like steel in my arms. I backed away, “Her death is not your fault.”
“No, see it was my fault. I let her down. I shouldn’t have let her believe for one minute that I wouldn’t prioritize her if she needed me.” Peyton met my eyes and the fire burning in his blue gaze seared me, “No matter where I am and no matter where you are, don’t you ever hesitate to call me if you need my help.”
“I won’t,” I soothed, “I’ll call you, Peyton. I promise.”
That seemed to satisfy him. I snaked my arm out again and grasped his hands which were still balled into fists.
“But you need to let that guilt go,” I whispered, working his fingers free from their tense coil. “You were sixteen, Peyton and…” I confessed softly, “you’re a good man who deserves to be free of that kind of guilt.” I finally accomplished my task of de-fisting his hand and worked our fingers together in a sign of support.
He squeezed my hand once and rolled so that he was flat on his back and facing the ceiling. I could sense his discomfort and vulnerability. Before I could say something witty and fun, my belly let out the most intensely primal gurgle I have ever heard, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since the Pop-Tarts I’d consumed early this morning.
Peyton laughed, “What was that,”
“That,” I giggled, “was the official song of hunger. I skipped lunch.”
“Well tame that thing. It’s out of control.” He teased.
I got up stiffly, moaning as my back cracked with the movement. I felt more like an old woman than a twenty-four year old in the prime of her life. Peyton followed suit, his face wincing as he moved.
“Whew, you are seriously going to pay me for today.”
“I offer three bucks an hour. But since you have no experience you’re at a pay scale of two.”
“Are you kidding me?” he cried in mock outrage, “That’s a rip-off. I need at least $300 for a chiropractor.”
“My cousin Paco can walk on your back for free. Trust me, it works wonders.”
“I hope your cousin is a dwarf.”
I grinned at the expression on his face. “Hey, since you were so helpful today, dinner’s on me.”
“How about pizza?”
“Are you nuts? Belize isn’t like the States, the pizza here takes forever to be prepared and delivered. How about Chinese food?”
Peyton blew out a breath, “Nah. I’ve eaten more than my fair share of that.”
“Well, those are my main ideas right now. I just want to go home and crawl into my couch, probably watch a cheesy rom-com and then sleep.”
“Too bad you have to feed me,” Peyton said, his eyes glowing with mischief.
I groaned, closing my eyes, “Yeah, too bad.” I agreed.
He stood and offered an arm to help me up.
“So, pizza?”
CHAPTER TEN
Peyton ordered the pizza. He stopped by his house to grab a change of clothes so he could shower at my apartment while we waited. I used the bathroom after him, changing into a comfortable T-shirt and cotton shorts. My apartment did not have air conditioning and it was really hot in there since we weren’t anywhere near the sea breeze. Peyton’s sleeveless tank and jersey shorts were a good call.
After our shower, I hauled every fan that I owned into the hall and plugged them in, aiming them directly at our comatose figures on the couch in the living room.
“Hey,” I put in enough energy to turn my head to the right, “Did you order barbeque wings? I’m feeling some wings.”
“Are you kidding me? The way you eat… of course I ordered the wings.”
“Good, good,” I patted his cheek woodenly.
He grinned, “Are you deliriously happy or deliriously hungry?”
“Don’t use such big words while I’m starving,” I cautioned, “How much longer?”
He checked his Iphone, “Well, since we ordered the food about five minutes ago, I’d say we have about forty more minutes until it’s here.”
I moaned, “Why are you torturing me?”
“Come on, buck up. You can make it. We can watch T.V.” Peyton turned on the set and punched in the number for the Style Channel. “See, it’s your favorite program: Say Yes, Brides.”
The show went to commercial and immediately a sexy looking burger with bacon and cheese paraded on screen. I grabbed a pillow and moaned pathetically. Peyton chuckled and turned off the set, “Okay, maybe the television’s not the greatest idea.”
“You think?” I mumbled from behind the pillow.
“Well, we can talk instead.”
“About what?” I muttered with my shield firmly in place.
“I don’t know.” He began slowly, “We can talk about the other night at the Madison.”
“You want to talk about my date? Right now?”
“Yeah, why not.”
I lowered the pillow and faced him fully, “I can’t. Discussing Charles with you feels really weird.”
He gave me a charming smile, “Come on. Are you two serious? Will you go out again?”
“Whoa, whoa, what’s with the interrogation, James Bond? Charles is nice. I like him. Yes we are going out again. What about you, Mr. Nicolette? I guess our deal is off.”
“Nicolette and I are old friends. She used to live in L.A. before she moved here with her parents. We were just catching up.”
I pursed my lips, “Looked like a date to me,”
“It wasn’t a date.” He insisted.
“Whatever you say, Charming.”
“Aw,” Peyton crooned, “you think I’m charming?”
“Actually, I’m referring to the Charming in the Grim tales. He was a womanizer and a cheat.” I informed him smugly.
Peyton coughed, “Whoa, you have a way of tearing me down when I least expect it.”
I kicked up my foot and placed my feet in his lap, “That’s what I’m here for. Think of me as your ego-balancer.”
“I think we should watch T.V. until the food’s here. My ego needs some time to rebuild.”
I shrugged and turned my attention to my show, changing the channel whenever a food related commercial popped up.
“Ugh, when will the food be here?” I whined forty minutes later, “Because right now I’m so hungry, I could eat you.”
Peyton looked affronted, “I would taste horrible. Don’t even go there.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You are rather stocky.”
“I-”
A knock sounded at the door, cutting off whatever Peyton was going to say. The cannibalistic mood was broken when he returned with the food. I padded to my bedroom as he shared out the pizza and got my laptop and Bluetooth speakers. I booted up the computer and logged on to my favorite site with free movie options.
“Okay,” I muttered as I clicked the tract pad, “I’m feeling a Sandra Bullock or Reese Witherspoon tonight. You can choose: The Proposal or Sweet Home Alabama?”
“Really?” Peyton cocked a brow, “You want me to pick between vomit-inducing Cheesy flick number one and two? That’s not fair.”
“It is fair. I gave you a choice. I could have picked the movie myself.”
“Technicality,” he waved his pizza slice in the air and took a huge bite. A pepperoni slipped off and landed on his lap. He ate it anyway.
&nb
sp; “Gross.” I made a face.
“What? It didn’t fall on the floor.”
I laughed softly and returned my attention to the movie selections.
“Obviously, you are incapable of making this choice so I think we should watch… ‘The Proposal’.”
Peyton groaned, “Mia, no.”
“Shut up and be amazed,” I shot at him.
Peyton winced, “You’re cruel.”
“And you’re a romantic somewhere beneath all that testosterone.”
He pouted, “I highly doubt that.”
Unfortunately, Peyton was a terrible movie watcher. He was absolutely horrifying.
“Wait, so he’s risking jail time for a woman he hates? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Shut up, Peyton,”
A few minutes later, “So we’re supposed to just believe that everyone buys into the engagement?”
“Peyton, be quiet and just enjoy the movie.” I scolded.
But Peyton was incapable of keeping his comments to himself. He had a sarcastic remark for every scene of the movie. And worse, whenever the movie turned raunchy, he’d put his hand over my eyes.
“Hey!” I laughed, trying to get out from under his pepperoni-scented hands, “This part is the funniest.”
“This part is gross.” Peyton countered, “It’s almost done… now.” He lifted his hand and freed my vision.
“You’re such a lame-o.” I tossed the label at him and resettled into the couch to finish my wings and pizza.
When the end credits rolled up on screen Peyton remained unmoved. “So that’s it? He’s going to marry her so he can date her?”
“Yeah,”
“That’s so unrealistic!”
“It’s romantic.” I argued.
Peyton frowned, “Don’t tell me women actually believe this rubbish.”
“As a matter of fact we do, you hater. Andrew is hot and kind and smart. And he loves her so much he’ll marry her to save her. That’s very sexy. And you are acting so clueless, right now!”
Peyton grinned; my indignation never seemed to faze him. His amusement grew with my ire.
“Stop smiling at me!” I growled.
“I can’t. You’re so cute when you defend silly things.”
