Page 16 of Tight Spot

“Who is that?” I peered closer, so close I could practically inhale what would have to be an incredibly masculine scent.

He even had a nose ring. Not the kind of piercing I’d expected and yet with that square-cut jaw, minimal scruff, he totally worked it. He worked everything. A tattoo was barely visible on his forearm, and that hair…long, thick, and with a slight wave to it and strips of a lighter caramel through it.

He was perfection. Absolutely, manly perfection.

“This is your guy.”

Oh, she had to be freaking kidding me.

* * *

Voted one of America’s favorite Main Street districts, my store was busy from open to close every Friday night, Saturday and Sunday, especially during the spring and fall when Tennessee was alive with tourists. Most weekends had festivals, and every Saturday morning there was a farmers’ market that brought people from hours away to explore.

I’d splurged two years ago, taking a massive risk when there was an open building. The cost had been outside my budget, and I’d eaten so much ramen and Campbell’s chicken noodle soup that first year to make ends meet the smell of chicken broth now made me nauseous. Fortunately with the help of loans for women-owned businesses, my savings I’d been diligent in growing since my first babysitting job when I was twelve, and a little bit of help from my parents, I was able to swing it.

The gamble paid off in ways larger than I could have predicted. I received rent income from the upstairs apartment, currently rented to Isaac. Isaac was a single guy in his early twenties and had two Siamese cats. I was pretty certain Peanut Butter and Jelly the Cat—and Isaac did not like when you shortened it—peered straight into my soul with those eyes of theirs every time I saw Isaac walking them on the street.

Yes, he took his cats for walks.

He was a character, but he was quiet, paid his rent on time, and made it a point to stop into my store at least once a week to see how things were going. I returned the favor by ensuring I ended my workdays by eight at night so the sounds of sanders and other tools I used in the workshop at the back of the building didn’t bother him when he got home from work.

Isaac paid a third of the total mortgage on the building, making it easier for me to make ends meet and since I took the risk to open my own store instead of only seeing items I refinished on Facebook or through my own website and advertising, my income had quadrupled. Once Isaac moved in, I was also able to buy my own home, a small bungalow a five-minute walk away from my store and the same home Darrick was supposed to move into once we got married.

Regardless, today, neither Isaac’s company nor the sight of Peanut Butter and Jelly the Cat on a leash in my store or the constant activity in and out of it could erase the vision of the man on the phone screen from brunch.

“Is this new?” Isaac held up a small handheld vintage mirror. I’d had to refinish the silver polish on it and now it shone as bright as the many overhead chandeliers.

“Finished it last week.”

He set it back down as gentle as could be and nodded. “My mom would like something like that.”

“You know the rule,” I sang.

“Don’t need your friends and family discount.”

I didn’t quite know what Isaac did for a living, but outside his cats with the goofy names and the penchant for taking them both on walks, he traveled frequently during the fall and winter. This spring, he purchased a Maserati he had no problems keeping parked out back in the private lot. Never even seemed concerned it would get stolen. Occasionally, I bumped into a female guest leaving his apartment when I showed up to work early, but even that wasn’t often. He was a mystery to me, but a good renter and I enjoyed his occasional company.

“Miss Parillo?”

“Yes, Grace?”

One of my high school employees, my favorite one, came to me and smiled at Isaac. “Excuse me for interrupting.”

“No problem, Grace. Gotta get Peanut Butter and Jelly the Cat back home anyway. See you two around.”

“Bye, Isaac.”

We both waited until he left the store and Grace turned to me, giggling like the sixteen-year-old she was. “He’s so weird, but so cute.”

He was definitely a different one.

“What’d you need?”

“Oh. Right. You have a phone call.”

The prickling sensation slipping down my spine that had been there since lunch returned in full force.

“Did they say who it was?”

---