Page 12 of Scrooge

“Nothing. Just you use less muscles when you smile, you know.” I watch for this man's stance to soften at all. It doesn’t. But as a quiet settles over us, he looks around the store at all the product and displays once more. Almost like he’s taking it all in, and that’s when I see it, a glimmer of recognition in his gaze that I want to know more about. I wait for him to comment, feeling oddly at ease in the silence.

“This shop hasn’t changed in years,” he murmurs. “I used to come here as a kid.” There it is. This isn’t his first time here. For most people who’ve traveled to the city even once, they’ve been here before. So it doesn’t surprise me.

“You would probably remember my dad, then. He was always here when I was younger. Christmas is his favorite. He took a lot of pride in chatting with all the customers, big and small,” I tell him, my smile instant as I think about my father and how much joy he has had through the years.

“Is the short balding man who always dressed as Santa for the holidays your father?” he asks, and my smile widens as pride pulsates in my chest.

“The one and only,” I say, feeling almost breathless for some reason. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me.

“Explains a lot.” He says my own words back to me. I raise an eyebrow, but I smile at his attempt at teasing. The corners of his mouth quirk a little, but they don’t rise. This man is obviously made of stone. I am about to formally introduce myself and broach the subject of our lease when we get interrupted.

“Hey, mister, can you play with me?” one of our regular kids, Jimmy, asks him.

“No. Thank you.” His formality is back, his body stiff as he looks down at Jimmy.

“Come on, never played laser tag before?” I ask, seeing if he budges.

“Time doesn’t allow it.” Glancing at his watch, he straightens, his face back to being unreadable.

“Come on, I'll play, Jimmy,” I say as the kid does a fist bump with me and hands me a gun, shooting me almost immediately.

“Hey, not fair!” I say, walking away to start playing with him toward the back of the store, but not before I look back.

“Just let us know if you need anything…”

“Alexander,” he finishes for me quickly, confirming that he is exactly who Jillian and I think he is.

“Cool. Shout out if you need anything, Alex,” I say, trying to ensure I keep the peace and not make matters any worse, before Jimmy shoots me again, and now it is game on.

Maybe Alex and I have come to a small truce. But a “sorry” for calling him a dickwad still tastes too bitter on my tongue.

7

ALEXANDER

Alex. I hate it when people call me Alex, but my body doesn't shudder like it normally does as I watch her being led away by a kid who looks to be about eight, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. In fact, my body hums as my eyes remain glued to her, watching her laugh and play with the kids. She is about to be annihilated in that laser tag game, but she still goes with him willingly.

I look around the shop and see the abundance of children, yet it doesn’t feel busy, not like it did when I came here as a kid. Some children run around the back, livening up the place. Stupid games, though. This business must be hemorrhaging money with all their try-before-you-buy bullshit.

I am not even sure how I ended up here. It was almost like my feet brought me automatically. When the window caught my eye as I was walking past, I remembered her running into me the other night, and I had to come inside. I like her spunk and her confidence. It is refreshing as hell. Again, I look for the woman who riles me up and spot her at the back, still laughing with the kids. She is a natural, chatty, giggly, like she has not a care in the world. I wonder what that would be like.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She is beautiful, if not totally annoying. I huff at myself before I turn and walk out of the store, and I stop on the sidewalk to admire the window again. It is Thanksgiving themed, pumpkins and toys everywhere, yet even I can admit, it looks amazing. But it is the train set circling on the floor that has my attention. It is red, with black accents, and exactly like the one my father bought me as a kid. I stare at it so long my eyes start to water, my vibrating cell the only thing to break my stare.

“Alexander,” I answer quickly as I start to pace down the street.

“You’re late. You’re never late,” Logan, my friend, says. I look at my watch to see he’s right and lengthen my strides. I hate being late. It is one of the reasons I chose to walk to the bar today to meet my friend Logan instead of getting my driver. I didn’t factor in the small stop at Tucker Toys or seeing that fiery woman again. I meet women all the time. Through work, mostly, or on days like today when I join Logan for dinner and drinks at the business lounge bar at the end of the street. But the woman at the toy shop is different.

“I’m on my way,” I tell him, hanging up immediately. There’s no need to hear his reply as I am already pushing my way through the door of the bar.

“You’re late,” Logan says again, standing to greet me. We shake hands, and he smiles as we take a seat at the table he has garnered at the back of the bar.

“Got caught up,” I tell him, removing my jacket and reaching for the three fingers of Whiteman’s Whiskey already set before me.

“Not like you. Everything alright?” he asks, watching me, and I roll my shoulders, feeling out of sorts. I blame Sheridan. She made me late for my shower and breakfast this morning, which put me behind schedule all day with that stupid proposal idea.

“Fine. Just work,” I lie to him as I lift the whiskey. It is much needed as all I can see is big bright-brown eyes looking up at me, with flushed cheeks, and that laugh that bounces around the room. I realize then I didn’t even ask her name, so clearly my game is a bit off these days. Not that I usually care for names. In fact, the blonde behind the bar is already making eyes at me, even though I have been here mere minutes.

“Cheers, then.” Logan’s glass clinks with mine before he’s swinging the whiskey straight back, taking the entire shot. I have known Logan for a long time. We went to Yale together. I graduated summa cum laude, and he barely passed. I then went straight to Europe, and we only caught up whenever I was back in town, which was rare. We have absolutely nothing in common, yet all these years later, he is still a friend.

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