Chaos and Control(17)
An off switch for compulsion
In my system of disorder
- Preston
Chapter Six
At Last!
“I’m bored.”
Bennie closes the register and turns to face me.
“You could go help those customers,” she offers, motioning to a couple inspecting some furniture pieces.
Preston approaches the couple and gives them a cautious, practiced smile. I can’t hear what they say, but the woman giggles and takes a step toward Preston. The guy holds his hand out to shake, and there is a fleeting look of panic before Preston holds up his palms and flips them back and forth as if offering them up for inspection. The guy nods and tucks his hands into his pockets.
“Maybe you need to find a job or something to fill your time,” Bennie says, interrupting my observation.
“Preston has my job. And my apartment.”
“Bitter, party of one,” she points out with a raised eyebrow. I’ve been calling it the bitch brow ever since I learned that word. “You’re the one who left, Wren. Speaking of Preston, did you say something to him? He’s awfully quiet today.”
“He’s always quiet. Why do you assume I did something to offend him?” Another sideways glance from Bennie, and I offer my best innocent smile. “We kissed last night. I think he’s still processing.”
Bennie’s eyes widen, and she slumps into her chair behind the front counter.
“Wren,” she starts, but doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. I know she’s concerned, about him, about me, about how messy this could get.
“It’s cool, Bennie. We’re both adults. Now, what can I do in this town to earn some money?”
The couple leaves without buying anything. I watch Preston sort through a new box of inventory for the third time this morning. He’s wearing another plaid shirt with pearl snaps, and instantly, my mind goes to how easy it would be to peel that thing from his body. One hard tug and it would open right up.
“What about Millie’s?”
“What? No. I can’t deal with smelling like french fries.”
“Coach is looking for part-time help at The Haystack. The kids in Franklin like to come party here during the summer, so he’ll need backup.”
“A bartender? That seems right up my alley.”
“Unless you drink all the profits. What about bar tending is right up your alley?”
“I did it a few times over the years while traveling.”
“Who would let an underage girl tend bar?” Bennie asks, seeming offended.
“You’d be surprised,” I answer. “I mean, I wasn’t employed at the fanciest places. It’s a great way to meet new people, and you get paid in cash every night. What’s not to love?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Coming home smelling like skunky beer and cigarettes?” Bennie says, throwing a crumpled up paper at my head.
I hop off the counter and pick it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. “What is this?”
“Coffee Call started doing an open mic night for poets and musicians. I don’t think it’s very popular.”
I laugh and study the paper. “Mrs. Lovett still own the place?”
“Yep.”
“Can you imagine the old bag reciting poetry? Roses are red, violets are blue…”
“I fart in church and stink up the pew,” Bennie finishes.
I burst into a fit of giggles and fold myself over, hands on my knees.
“Is that true? Please, tell me that’s true,” I ask when I get my breath back.
Bennie mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“What’s so funny?”
I spin to find Preston standing on the other side of the counter. He looks from Bennie to me and back to her.
“Old ladies passing gas in church,” I say.
He looks horrified and turns away. “Sorry I asked.”
I follow him down the aisle and fall in step beside him. “I’m going to cook dinner for us tonight. Come over.”
Preston stops and turns away. “It’s Wednesday,” he says with his back to me.
“Do you not eat dinner on Wednesday?” I put my hand on his shoulder, but his muscles stiffen. I retreat, tucking both hands into my pockets.
“I eat.”
“So what’s the problem?” I wait patiently as he blows out a breath and turns to face me. His slate eyes seem to glow in the sunlight that filters through the front windows. Preston’s gaze drifts to my mouth and stays there. It makes me a bit paranoid that I’ve got something on my face. I lift my fingers to my lips and swipe at them.
He clears his throat. “I eat breakfast for dinner on Wednesdays.”
“So, I’ll cook pancakes. I love breakfast for dinner. We’ll have bacon, well probably turkey bacon, and fruit, and lots and lots of syrup.”
“I can’t make it. Sorry.” His words are cold and forced.
“What? Why? Are you mad at me?”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Of course not.”
I know Preston lives by routine, but I want to urge him out of his comfort zone just enough to let him see that he can be flexible.
“Can’t you change your schedule just for one night?”