Page 6 of Hello Stranger

I guarantee this guy got every woman he ever wanted.

But that was his business.

I had a forgotten-wallet situation to deal with. And a last-minute party to host.

“It’s fine,” I said, waving my hands at him and rejecting his offer to pay for my stuff.

“I don’t mind,” he said, pulling his wallet out of his jeans.

“I don’t need your help,” I said, and it came out a little harsher-sounding than I meant.

He looked from me—purseless—to the counter of stuff I had yet to pay for. “I think maybe you do.”

But I wasn’t having it. “I can just run home for my purse,” I said. “It’s no problem.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

What part ofI don’t need your helpdid this guy not understand?

“I appreciate the gesture, sir,” I said then. “But I’m fine.”

“Why are you calling mesir? We’re, like, the same age.”

“Siris not an age thing.”

“It absolutely is.Siris for old men. And butlers.”

“Siris also for strangers.”

“But we’re not strangers.”

“Gotta disagree with you there, sir.”

“But I’m rescuing you,” he said, like that made us friends.

I wrinkled my nose. “I prefer to rescue myself.”

For the record, I recognized that he was trying to do something nice. I also recognized that most of humanity would’ve let him do it, thanked him gratefully, and called it a day. This is the kind of moment that could wind up on the internet, getting passed around with captions likeSee? People aren’t so terrible after all!

But I wasn’t like most of humanity. I didn’t like being helped. Is that a crime?

Surely I’m not the only person on this planet who prefers to handle things on her own.

It wasn’thimI was opposed to. He was appealing. Strongly, viscerally appealing.

But the helping—including his pushiness about it—was not.

We stared at each other for a second—at an impasse. And then, for no reason, he said, “That’s a great dress, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I said suspiciously, like he might be using a complimentto lower my defenses. Then without really meaning to, I said, “It was my mother’s.”

“And you do a great Smokey Robinson, by the way.”

Oh god. He’d heard me. I lowered my eyes to half-mast, displeased. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said.

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