"Creative how?" Maisie asked.
Now that I'd started, I might as well finish. Reluctantly, I said, "The loser had to go away for a while."
"And you picked here?"
Nowthatwas funny. But I didn't laugh. "Hell no."
She frowned. "What's wrong with here?"
"Nothing. But I didn't get to choose."
The frown was still there. "But I don't get it. You're saying you were able to just pick up and leave your normal life? Just like that? For a whole month?"
I shrugged. "Pretty much."
"But what about your job?"
"I don't have one."
She looked stunned. "At all? So you're what? Unemployed?"
That was one way to put it. With a scoff, I replied, "Yeah, that's me…livin' the dream."
"But…howdoyou live?"
"Right now?" I said. "On as little as possible."Ten bucks a day to be exact.In Chicago, it was a different story, but I saw no reason to muddy the waters with details she didn't need.
"Oh." A light flush settled across her cheeks. "The first time I saw you, I figured you had a really great job."
"Nope. Never had one." It wasn't that I had never worked. It was just that I had never worked for anyone else. And the reason for this was simple.I didn't like anyone else calling the shots.
"But that's not true," Maisie said. "I mean, you workhere."
I grinned. "Hey, don't holdthatagainst me."
She looked more pensive than amused. "And you seriously don't want to get paid?"
"What I want is to keep it simple. No cash, no paperwork."
She shifted her weight, uncertainty flickering across her face. "What youreallymean is no name, no address, no background information."
"Why bother?" I said. "I'll be gone before you know it." And yet, even as the words left my lips, I wasn't so sure.
The place was growing on me. Or maybe it wasn't the place. Maybe it was the person – the girl standing in front of me looking more troubled than relieved.
Even so, she gave me a tentative smile. "Alright…well…just let me know if you change your mind."
And with that, she grabbed the papers and turned toward the front of the shop. She took two steps, then paused like she might turn back.
But she didn't. Instead, she picked up the pace and kept going.
I watched her go, wondering why I didn't like it. Hell, I didn't likeanyof it – the disappointment in her voice, the set of her shoulders, and the feeling that I'd failed some sort of test.
And I liked things even less later that week, when a certain blast from her past blew into the shop looking for the wrong kind of trouble.
Yeah, I meant her ex.And, coward that he was, he'd done it when I wasn't there.
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