Window Shopping(30)

Up ahead, some of the upper management employees are gathered at the window. Jordyn is there, along with Mrs. Bunting, the head of human resources who I met on my first day. I notice she seems to be on familiar terms with Aiden’s grandmother, who is skeptical of me right off the bat. She watches me approach the way a house cat behaves when their owner brings home a puppy. Can’t say I blame her. I’m probably younger than she was expecting, went a little heavy on the eyeliner this morning—an attempt to keep Aiden at arm’s length that clearly didn’t work—and now I’m exiting a foggy-windowed vehicle with her grandson. Not to mention, my eyes are still crossed from…whatever just happened.

What did just happen?

I think Aiden and I almost skipped kissing and went right to the main event. In a parked car on one of the busiest avenues in the world. I’ve never lost myself like that with a member of the opposite sex. Granted, I haven’t even breathed on a member of the male species in four years, probably longer, but I would remember the feeling of having my stomach levitate, my intimate flesh squeezing, heart going bananas beside my eardrums. I definitely would recall feeling safe and cherished and required.

Unable to stop myself, I turn and glance at Aiden over my shoulder. I’m not the only one who is shaken up. Little sweat speckles soak through the front of his white dress shirt, his bow tie a touch off-center and that curl graces the center of his forehead. His gaze travels from me to his family ahead and darkens with…I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. Worry, yes. But there’s a sort of fierce protectiveness in those depths, too, that gives my knees the consistency of wet paste.

When he returns his attention to me, I lift one corner of my mouth to let him know I’m good to handle whatever his family throws at me. Even though I’m not exactly sure of that fact. All I know is I’ve already gotten too much special treatment recently. From the judge, the prison system itself and now Aiden.

If my window isn’t a success, I need to take that result on the chin. And if I don’t get another chance to prove myself, well most people don’t even get a first one, right?

I just really, really hope they like it, because this has been the best week of my life. I spent the last four days decorating a Vivant window—for Christmas, no less. And it was a constant rush. Hours sped past in colorful blurs of enjoyment and creative impulses. Not only that, I had the means to follow those urges and watch them come to life. There is nothing, no job in this world, I want to do more. But as I come to a stop about ten feet from the glass, forcing a smile for Jordyn, that nervous PTA art show feeling has me convinced the paper will be torn down and there will be a pile of dirt sitting on a plate.

What if the last four days was a hallucination?

Something warm and solid brushes against the back of my fingers and I realize Aiden is standing next to me, his hand grazing mine in secret. His jaw is bunched up tight, but his eyes are reassuring. Confident in me. But they turn wary when his father and grandmother darken the sidewalk in front of us.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Aiden?” says the grandmother, her sharp attention zipping upward from my second-hand combat boots to my cat-eye makeup.

“Shirley, Brad, I’d like you to meet Stella Schmidt. Stella, this is my grandmother and father, Shirley and Brad Cook.”

I hold out my hand and they stare at it for a moment, before Bradley does a shoulder roll and we shake, followed by the same from Shirley, though she more or less just drapes her limp hand into mine and suffers through the handshake like it’s an indignity. I start to marvel over the fact that these two people are related to Aiden, but then I remember Aunt Edna.

God bless Aunt Edna, wherever she is.

“I’m definitely unfamiliar with your name, as I suspected I would be,” Shirley says, her warm breath clouding in the December air. She pulls her ankle-length coat tighter. “Where exactly have you worked prior to this?”

I can practically feel Aiden coiling like a spring beside me.

My own palms are growing damp in the laser sights of this woman. She’d make a good prison guard. None of us would cross her. Here comes Hawk Eyes, hide the nail polish. It has been a long time since I needed to impress someone. Most of my teenage years into my early twenties was about not caring if I impressed people. “I have a background in fashion merchandising, but this is my first time dressing a window.” I force a smile onto my face that comes suspiciously easy, probably thanks to the amount of smiling I’ve been doing with Aiden. “I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

“Yes.” Her gaze ticks from me, back to Aiden’s town car. “How grateful is the question,” she mutters dryly, the words meant for my ears alone.

At least I think I’m the only one who hears Shirley’s comment until I turn around to find Aiden looking pale. Jaw bunched. His gaze tracks over my features and I can tell he’s not going to let that comment go unaddressed. Quickly, I shake my head at him, reminding him to let me handle whatever is leveled at me this morning. I meant it when I said I don’t want any more special treatment. Even if everyone hates this window, at least I’ll have earned the outcome by myself, whether it’s good or bad.

Aiden remains poised on the edge of irritation for another moment, then swallows hard and quickly lifts his phone to his ear. “Seamus, you can start taking the paper down.” He listens. “Thank you.”