Page 28 of The Love Haters

“I’m notafraidof color,” I said. “I just don’t wear it. Or enjoy it. Or have it in my house. Disliking something is not the same thing as being afraid of it.”

Rue nodded like she was more of a lover than a fighter. “Maybe we should get you a bite to eat,” she said. Then she snipped the tags off the caftan and dropped some rhinestone flip-flops at my feet.

“I’ve got my sneakers—” I started to protest, but Rue was already gathering them, along with everything else, into her arms.

“I’m just going to pop itallin the wash,” she said, disappearing toward a back room and leaving me alone in the store.

Alone, with Bob Marley still slow-jamming on the speakers.

Not to mention braless and underwearless, with a silk hibiscus in my hair.

We were not in Dallas anymore, so to speak.

As I waited for Rue to come back, I let myself float around the merchandise, idly touching the fabrics as my silky caftan tickled the skin of my calves, with nothing else to do but experience my body in a whole new way. Beanie would hear a lot about this later—if I survived to tell the tale.

At least, thank god, there was no one else in the store.

And then, as if I’d given a cue: the shop door opened with a jangle of its handle bells.

And in walked a man.

A man that I could tell—before I’d even fully seen him—was very… tall.

Six-two, I decided on the spot. I’d put money on it.

Six-two, with big buzz-cut energy, and… manly.

Had I ever used the wordmanlyto describe anyone before? Did people even still use that word? And yet there it was. I felt it the way you feel heat from a fire.

How tall—andmanly—exactly did this guy have to be for me to sense all thatwithout even looking directly at him?

Disaster! Right? I mean, could there be a worse person to have walked in at this moment? I would’ve happily traded him for any other kind of interloper. A blind grandmother would have worked great! A distracted mom on her cell phone! A myopic child with very thick glasses!

Anything but this guy!

Oh, god! And I didn’t have any underwear on!

I held very still. Maybe the bright colors could function as camouflage?

Or maybe, if I got really lucky, he’d think I was a mannequin.

And—hey—that wasn’t the worst idea in the world. I kept my eyes on the floor and stiffened my joints. I was standing right next to the register, by the jewelry counter. A perfect spot for a mannequin. People don’t pay attention in stores, anyway, I told myself. This manly man surely had his own urgent island-wear shopping to do.

I tried not to breathe.Be the mannequin.

What was this guy doing here?

Didn’t matter—didn’t matter!Just stay still.

And then, just as I was daring to hope for the best, he took a step closer to me, peered over, and said, “Hey there.”

His voice had just the slightest roughness to it. Kind of sandpapery.

As if listening to enough of it might smooth you down.

In a really good way.

That settled it. I’d have to start moving my limbs. But I drew the line at eye contact. “Hello,” I said to the floor.

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