I had not expected to see him again so soon.
This was also because my excuse to my mom had been so convincing. I had explained to her that Josh was an acquaintance of Audrey's who had kindly given me a ride home. Audrey always provided a useful alibi in that regard—she knew lots of people because she went out so much. My mom lost interest in the stranger in the car almost instantly.
Josh may have said he would visit Harrison Sports, but people said a lot of things to end conversations pleasantly. I didn't get my hopes up, because all this seemed simply too unrealistic. A stranger I met twice by chance and who would buy a pair of shoes to see me again?
I had to admit that something about him fascinated me. Not only his eyes, but also his attentive, cautious manner. However, I didn't even know how many years older he was or if he had a girlfriend. So I did what any women's magazine in the country would have advised me to do: I decided not to think about him any further.
When Josh appeared in the sports shop a week later, I could hardly believe my eyes.
I was in the process of building a pyramid of tennis ball packages, but they were proving to be more than stubborn. That day I must have been especially lacking in skill, because the pyramid either kept collapsing or it stood too crooked and seemed to chase away the customers rather than invite them. Even Mr. Harrison noticed when my structure toppled and asked from the storage room if I needed help. It was so dark in there that his face floated in the air like a will-o'-the-wisp. I always wondered how he saw anything at all under the dim old lamp.
"No thanks," I called back, not wanting to trouble him any further. "Just tripped."
While I hurried to catch the parcels rolling away, the doors opened behind me. I gave the customer a glance—the same one I always gave customers—and when Josh's gaze and my gaze met, something sparked between them. The sudden heat was so intense that I reflexively turned my head away and dropped the tennis balls again.
I couldn't believe it.
He had obviously not been to the hairdresser for a while, because his black hair stuck out rebelliously. It was long enough to fall a little into his forehead, but that probably suited him much better than a normal brush cut would. My gaze flitted over his jeans, the dark shirt, and the sleeveless vest he wore over it. Then, embarrassed, I turned back to my task.
Josh stopped.
"Oh." He'd just noticed the rolling tennis balls. "Let me help you."
It was the worst thing he could have done. Instead of showing him, as a long-established cashier, how professional I was in my little job, I stumbled over the goods and let him pick them up. My face had to be bright red. Fortunately, Josh didn't notice, or maybe he was just polite.
"Thank you," I said after he had collected all the surrounding parcels and placed them on the edge. "I can do the rest myself."
"You're welcome." His voice was light, but his smile was open and warm. And although I tried to fight it with every fiber of my body, my heart suddenly began to beat faster.
Damn.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, while stacking the packages cautiously. I didn't care anymore what the result looked like.
He seemed a bit confused.
"I told you I needed shoes," he reminded me with a grin. "Well, here I am."
"Oh." Now I was the one who made that surprised sound. I couldn't hide my astonishment. Did he really mean it? "The sale shelf is back there."
My hand pointed mechanically over his shoulder and to the left wall of the shop. "Shall I advise you?"
"Gladly," Josh said happily.
Even before I followed Josh to the shoe rack, I knew Mr. Harrison was watching us. He liked to spend half the day in his storeroom like a mole, but whenever something interesting happened in his store, his sixth sense activated. I didn't bother to hope that today might be an exception. More importantly, how would I explain this to my parents the next time they saw Mr. Harrison at the grocery store?
"What size do you need?" Someone had mixed up the boxes with the numbers, so I had to re-sort them. "The ones on sale are from one brand and only in blue or red."
"I'm size eleven." He had dropped to the small chair that stood in front of the shelf, ready to try on the shoes. "And blue is good."
He watched me pick out the right sizes. That wasn't unusual, but since it was him, I was nervous all over. I was far too happy that he had found his way here.
Josh was an easy customer. I had seen the strangest people when it came to choosing a pair of shoes—from people who didn't know their size to people who spent hours taking selfies with the shoes and then not buying anything. Josh, on the other hand, was a salesperson's dream. He only had to try on one of the two shoe models to find a suitable one and then immediately decided to buy it.
"Do you want to keep them on?" I asked while typing the price in the cash register.
I noticed as he nodded and let his old sneakers disappear into the box where the new ones had been. I was holding the lid in my hand, and I accidentally got a glimpse of Josh's previous shoes before closing the box. I had seldom in my life seen such damaged sneakers. The fabric on top seemed like it had been scraped with something sharp, and the shoelaces were fraying. I couldn't see the bottom, but I bet the soles had to be completely blank, the treads worn away. How old were these shoes?
Josh watched at me as he handed me the money.
"You're only here on Saturdays?" He leaned against the counter as if he had no intention of leaving. It filled me with excitement and unease at the same time.
"Yes," I replied. "I'm still in school."
"I see." He pondered for a second. "How old are you?"
My God. Was he actually interested in me? Until today it had been easy not to further interpret his behavior, but if all he wanted to do was buy shoes, he'd have left already, right? I felt my ears burning because he was looking at me so frankly. The blue of his eyes made a unique contrast against his dark hair. I was so engrossed in the colors, I almost forgot my answer.
"Eighteen. And you?" Now at least I had a reason to ask him.
"I'm twenty-one." Josh flashed a crooked smile.
"Oh," I said. "So you're working already? Or what do you do?"
"I'm working." He scratched his head as if the words made him uncomfortable. "At the sawmill."
That probably explained the condition of his sneakers. At least that's what I thought. Or were they supposed to wear protective clothing there? I'd have to ask Dad.
"Seems like it would be tough," I said.
Josh made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Actually, it's quite okay. And they pay well."
I couldn't help laughing. "What we gotta do for money, right?"
Josh opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Harrison beat him to it.
"Ruby!"
His deep voice almost made me jump out of my skin, and I visibly cringed. My boss's gaze focused on the image of me and Josh. I could imagine what it must have looked—me behind the counter and Josh leaning up on it with both arms. I saw it not only in Mr. Harrison's eyes but also in the way his lips suddenly curled up in delight.
"Time for a break."
With his words, I realized that the shop had been empty for the last few minutes. My attention had been so taken up by Josh that I probably wouldn't have noticed a line of customers behind him. This was not only extremely embarrassing, but also very unprofessional. However, Mr. Harrison didn't look like he cared.
"But . . ." I started. I had already finished my lunch break. Mr. Harrison knew that and still ignored my objection.
"You've been standing in here all day," he said. "I'll finish the pyramid and you go get some air." His tone was abrupt, and so was the nod he gave Josh. It actually seemed to intimidate Josh for a moment. I was afraid that Mr. Harrison would have chased him away for good, but Josh finally gave me a happy look.
"Shall we go out for a snack?" he asked. "I'm hungry."
"Yes." My answer was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. Had my boss just helped me flirt?
I felt his look on my neck as Josh and I left the store, and I deliberately avoided turning around again. Just in case Mr. Harrison would give me a thumbs-up or some other type of silent support.