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Tara
I stepped behind the cash register as a customer came in. He was a young guy, probably no older than twenty. He’d been in here a few times before. He always looked around furtively, and as long as no one else was around, he went straight to the LGBTQ fiction section.
“How’s it going today?” I asked, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“No,” he muttered, keeping his head low.
“If you need any advice or recommendations, I’m here for you.” I gave him a wink. “I’m very familiar with that section that you like.”
His cheeks pinked. “I don’t… I…”
“No need to be embarrassed. We have a book club, too. They read all types of romance.”
“I like romance,” he shyly admitted.
“Perfect.” I gave him an encouraging nod. “I’d love to see you there.”
“Okay…” He looked confused, then scurried to his usual section.
I rested my elbows on the counter, wondering if he’d actually show up. The book club would be good for him. His style and demeanor were a pretty big hint that he was gay, but whether or not he’d admitted that to himself, he wasn’t ready to tell other people. Being around other queer adults would help him to be comfortable with himself.
Flirting with gay guys now?my best friend’s voice echoed in my mind.
I shook my head at the thought of Trevor saying that. He had this thing about me being a flirt, and it just wasn’t true. I was friendly, not flirty. Whatever I said or did was about putting a smile on people’s faces—nothing more than that.
I’d love to see you there?Trevor asked.Really? How can you not know how someone would take that?
“But Iwouldlove to see him there,” I said to myself. “It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”
I missed hearing Trevor’s criticism in person. He and the rest of the group were all back at home in Boston. I hoped to see them for holidays and special occasions. They were the closest thing I had to a family, and I was still wondering if I’d made a mistake by leaving them behind.
Since there were no other customers, I flipped through a book of humor essays for a while. I had never been too interested in literature, but since I’d been working here, a few titles and covers had caught my attention. If I worked here long enough, who knew? Maybe I’d end up reading poetry.
I’d taken this job because I was desperate, to be honest. I would’ve taken whatever I could get. After moving into town, I’d struggled to find somewhere to work. Even finding my apartment had taken what felt like forever while I slept at a cheap, roach-infested motel.
My friends thought I was crazy for picking up and leaving for a place where I knew nobody. I just needed a fresh start. I wanted to be somewhere where nobody knew me, where I could leave the past behind and be true to myself. I wanted to live loud and proud and confident. I didn’t need anyone looking at me with disdain, or worse, pity.
Ironic, wasn’t it, that after all the pavements I pounded and the applications I sent out, I ended up getting this job because of a random conversation with an older woman who had a “soft spot” for former foster children. She was the first one in Burlington to actually give me an interview.
But I’d gotten the job on my own merits. I had to keep reminding myself of that. And showing up and working hard and kicking ass every day—that was all me. No one could take that away from me.
The door opened with the swoosh that meant someone had pressed the handicap button. Knowing what that meant, I raced to hold it open for Chelsea before it could close on her. I watched, impressed, as she pushed the first barrel of beer inside. For such a petite woman, she had some serious muscle. It had been over a week since I’d first met her, and I was still blown away.
“Hey, Tara,” she said. “Do you mind just…”
“I got you.” I stepped back from the door long enough to let her get past me.
That gave me a great view of her backside as she pushed the dolly toward the bar. Her yoga pants clung nicely to her curvy frame, and I ogled appreciatively.
“Busy day today?” I asked, hanging back in the entrance area.
“Same as always. The Gin Mill is going to be closed for a private party, so they took less beer and stocked up on liquor.”
“Someone having a birthday?”
“I think it’s a wedding, actually.” She gave the barrel a hard shove. “Seems like it’s wedding season lately.”
I wondered if there was anyone in her own life. She appeared very straight, but she’d never mentioned a man. It was hard to believe she hadn’t been snapped up. Then again, she was young—probably not much older than that customer earlier. Most likely, she wasn’t ready for anything serious. She did have a bit of a party-girl vibe about her.
