Chapter 8

Across the street, the man with dark, curly hair leaned against the boutique's white brick wall. He held his skateboard in one hand while his other hand remained casually tucked into his pocket. He didn't seem to notice me as I strolled over to him. He was too busy surveying the people passing by.

When he finally saw me, his brow furrowed. His lips didn't lift into a smile.

In fact, his lips might have even turned down slightly.

"I see you brought the culprit with you today," I pointed to his skateboard.

He shrugged.

Was a pair of sunglasses worth this?

I extended my hand to him. "Hi, I'm—"

"We don't need to do introductions," he rudely interrupted me. "In ten minutes, we'll be strangers again."

"Strangers can still know each other's names," I said. "I meet plenty of strangers and always ask for their names."

He lifted his chin, and his gaze slowly traveled down my body. Heat prickled my cheeks, and I shifted uneasily as he continued to stare.

"I bet you do," he finally said.

"That is not what I meant!"

He ignored me and started to head for the boutique's front door.

"Are we doing this or what?" he asked, reaching for the metal handle on the door and pulling it towards him, waiting for me to walk through first.

"I'm a real estate agent," I explained as I walked through the front door. "I meet people all the time to sell them houses. That's what I meant."

"Got it," he said.

"Did you need to bring that thing in here with you?" I asked.

"That thing?" He glanced down at the skateboard in his hand. "What am I supposed to do? Chain it up outside?"

I nodded, "That's a stellar idea."

"I don't need to be in here," he said. "You can shout out to me when you're ready for me to pay."

"Can't handle a few minutes in a boutique?" I asked him with a smirk, challenging him.

His eyes narrowed at me, but he didn't make any moves to leave.

"That's what I thought," I said under my breath.

He stepped an inch closer. "What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing," I smiled at him, and he mumbled something.

I slid on a pair of oversized, yellow sunglasses.

"What do you think of these?" I asked the skater boy, ignoring his foul attitude.

He barely looked my way. "They look great," he said. "Pick those."

I shook my head and put them back on the rack. "You can't go with the first few options. The best one is always around try-on six or seven."

"Right," he huffed.

"What about these?" I asked while I modeled a pair of tortoise cat-eyed sunglasses for him.

"Just put on a few more pairs, and then you'll have your finalist," he told me.

"You don't like how these look?" I asked.

"I didn't say that," he wiped his hand over his face. "You love putting words in other people's mouths, don't you?"

"I do not," I said.

"You said you had to try on at least six or seven to find the right one," he explained. "So, I was merely suggesting you stop modeling them and get to it."

"Why are you in such a rush?" I asked.

"I'm not in a rush," he said, tapping the wheel of his skateboard. "I just have better things to do."

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from your better things. I'll be quick," I promised. "I have plans to attend anyway."

"I'm sure you do," he said.

"Are you implying that I don't?" I asked.

"No," he said as he brushed by me. "You don't seem to be in a hurry though."

I watched as he adjusted the sunglasses on the display case. With a single, long finger, he carefully traced the edges of the frames.

"Ten minutes in a store isn't slowing down my day," I explained. "What about these?"

I turned to him, a pair of burgundy sunglasses perched halfway down my nose, my green eyes peeking at him.

"Perfect," he said. "You need to get those immediately."

"You're just saying that so we can be done here," I pouted.

"So?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're no fun to be around?" I asked.

"A few people, actually," he said. "Should I add your name to the list?"

"I guess so," I said. "That's hard to do when you don't know my name."

He stared at me for a moment, "Fine. What is your name?"

"Kenna Porter," I offered him a sweet smile.

"Okay, Kenna Porter. You are added to the list."

"Are you going to tell me your name now?"

"Why do you want to know my name?" he asked.

"A stranger is spending nearly a hundred dollars on me," I told him. "I think I should know his name."

"First off, you have a spending limit of twenty dollars."

"That's not how much the glasses you destroyed cost," I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I'm just messing with you, Kenna," he said. "Cool your jets."

"My jets are icy cold, thank you very much," I said. "Name?"

He leaned down and whispered, "Mason Drury."

"Great, Mason Drury. It's such a pleasure to meet you," I sarcastically batted my eyes at him.

He rolled his own in response.

"I like these," I said, sliding the same burgundy pair on again. "They're cute, right?"

"So cute," he mimicked my tone.

I ignored him and headed straight for the sales associate at the counter. He trailed behind me, the skateboard still clutched in his hand.

The young girl at the counter sat with her head down, engrossed in her phone. When she heard us approaching, she slowly looked up. Her eyes widened when they fell on the man standing behind me. Her cheeks bloomed a bright shade of pink. She ducked her head, ashamed of her reaction.

I glanced behind me, and Mason stared into the distance, seemingly unaware of his effect on the girl.

"Just a pair of sunglasses," I told her as I sat them on the counter. "Is Laney in today?"

"No," she spoke so softly I could barely hear her. "I'm sorry. Laney isn't in on Saturdays."

"Oh, that's okay!" I told her. "Laney is the owner," I explained to Mason, who merely nodded at me.

"The total is sixty-two dollars and forty-eight cents," the girl said.

"That's a steal," I informed Mason. "The pair you broke was over eighty."

His brow furrowed slightly, "For heart-shaped sunglasses?"

"Mm-hmm," I said.

He pulled out a wad of cash and began to stack bills on the counter.

"What, are you some kind of drug dealer or something?" I joked.

He pushed the stack of bills towards the girl before turning to me and asking, "Are we done here?"

He stormed out of the store before I could say anything.

"Would you like a bag?" the girl asked.

"Sure, sure," I said as I rushed her along. "Thanks so much!"

My feet pounded against the pavement as I raced out of the store, desperate to catch up with Mason. But when I reached the street corner, all I saw was a figure skateboarding down the road.