Window Shopping(33)

“She’s going to mind.”

“Good.”

Laughing, they high five. “What store even is this?” They back up to read the decades old carving on the top of the building. “Vivant. I’ll swing by on my lunchbreak.”

I’m breathless by the time the women start running again. I never got past hoping for approval from Aiden, from the board. The fact that I just witnessed the effect of my window in action is such an unexpected miracle, my hand flies up to cover my mouth while the managers crowd around me, poking me in the shoulders and giving me hip bumps.

“Remember,” Shirley calls out while climbing into her limousine, interrupting our celebration. “When you’re in public, you’re representing Vivant. Please act accordingly.”

Everyone quiets down again.

Aiden is standing in the empty sidewalk space between us and his departing family, watching me. Torn between pride and disquiet. As if he already knows in advance what I decide two seconds later. No more touching. No more after hours alone time with this man. I’m officially an employee of his store, his family would obviously be horrified if our relationship developed into something serious—and who am I kidding even pondering such a thing? I’ve got a four-year delay in figuring out where I fit into this world, but I know definitively that he doesn’t fit with me. Not with his identity so authentically curated.

Aiden Cook is out of my league, might as well admit it. He’s a class act. He’s real and incredible and I blew my chance with someone so altruistic and wholesome the night I held up a restaurant at gunpoint. He’d give us a try—he’s said as much. But I’m even more positive now that he would stick with me, even if we weren’t the right fit. He’s a fixer. A loyalist. He’s already bandaged one of my broken wings. I can’t let him run around underneath me while I try to fly.

Right now, I need to focus on this miraculous opportunity I’ve been given and stop wishing for even more. Stop wishing for…him.





*



I’m sitting across from Jordyn on the rooftop of a hotel. In a bar called Monarch.

Plexiglass runs along most the perimeter of the space, attached to an overhead tent, keeping out the December cold while still allowing for a view. The fact that it’s after ten on a Friday night means the place is standing room only and it’s a wonder we managed to find a little corner of the lounge seating area to order drinks. Technically, I cannot afford this place—yet—and that is weighing pretty heavily on my mind, but Jordyn bought the first round and I can’t help but get absorbed in her story about the man who came into Vivant this afternoon and bought seven pairs of diamond studs to give his employees for Christmas.

Jordyn leans into our circle, her martini glass half full, a lemon twist floating on the clear surface. I would marvel over the fact that she can be so animated while telling a story and not spill a single drop, but her every movement is graceful and I’m no longer surprised. “First of all, that’s some spooky sister wives shit. If I get those earrings as a gift from my boss, I’m pawning those things before end of business day. Who wants the same jewelry as six co-workers? This man wouldn’t listen, of course. He knew best.” She takes a small sip, shivering as the vodka goes down. “Would you keep them, Stella?”

The bar might be way more upscale than I’m used to—and my night out hat hasn’t been worn in a while—but this isn’t a totally foreign setting to me. Sitting with people I half-know, drinking, letting myself slip into a slightly numb state where I don’t overthink every word out of my mouth. The vibe is completely different, however. We’re not trying to decide how we’re going to top the previous night or what wild stunt we can get away with. That lack of peer pressure is more intoxicating than the alcohol.

Is this what adulthood feels like? I could get used to it.

“No, I’d sell the earrings, too. But I would invest some of the profit and buy fakes. Maybe wear them to the office a few times to earn points.”

Everyone laughs, including Jordyn. “Did you hear that? This one is wise beyond her years. And that is why…” She raises her glass. “Our store was packed full of new customers today. They didn’t have black American Express cards, but dammit, we take Visa, too.”

We clink glasses, cheering. Someone starts a chant about having an ambition for commission, but the sound dies down abruptly when Seamus swaggers onto the scene. The saleswomen and managers gape at the custodian and his slightly sideways Yankees hat, but he only has eyes for Jordyn. I watch carefully for my friend’s reaction and notice the leap of pleasure on her face before she hides it behind a wall of irritation.

“What are you…following me now?”

“Nah, I was invited.” He scoots in between Jordyn and one of the perfume girls, grinning like a jack-o’-lantern. “Get you another one of those fancy drinks, Miss Jordyn?”

“I pay for my own drinks,” she snaps.

“I know.” He shakes his head slowly. “It’s a damn crime.”

Jordyn rolls her eyes, but she’s battling a smile. As someone who made fighting smiles into a lifestyle, I’m sure of it. “If I let you buy me a drink, you’re going to read something into it and there is nothing—let me say that again—nothing to read. This book is out of print, as far as you’re concerned.”