Page 9 of A Man for the Holidays

“Different? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, you look… happy.”

His cheeks go a bright red color, and he avoids eye contact with me. He lowers his head and places a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“How’s your breakfast?” I ask Spencer.

“Great,” he replies.

“So, you’re a model?” Paige asks.

“Used to be. Yeah, I got sick and tired of standing around like a statue, so I’ve decided to try my luck at snow shoveling for the holidays.”

“Snow shoveling? Wow. I never would have pictured you as the physical type.”

“I see it every day, people buying men’s clothes for their husbands, boyfriends, best-friends. They’re always wandering around the store looking at the latest trend. I’m always hearing, ‘eww, that’s so ugly,’ ‘not a chance in hell I’m going to be seen in public with that.’ ‘How old do you think I am?’ Half the time I have to wonder why they even bother, just let them buy it themselves.”

“I see,” Paige says, before taking another spoonful of soup.

She then goes back to looking at her phone––that’s something I recognize because everyone comes into my window display, and I hear them say to their friends that they want a photo of the sexy mannequin. You learn interesting things as a statue, and even more so when you have the opportunity to move around the store and try on new outfits. I take a quick look at my watch and gasp when I realize the time.

“Spencer, do you want to walk to work together? I thought I’d shovel snow on the sidewalk outside the mall for my first day.”

“Sure,” he says.

He gets to his feet and places his dishes in the dishwasher, then makes his way out of the kitchen.

“You two have fun,” Paige yells from across the kitchen.

I walk to my room and grab my jacket and scarf, then head into the bathroom and give myself a quick once over in the mirror. I notice Spencer standing outside the door, a bag over his shoulder, phone in one hand and a small leather looking case in the other.

“Oh, Jesus. Look at my hair. It’s such a mess,” I say, flicking it back.

“Your hair is fine,” I hear Spencer say.

I give him a smile and then look down at the vanity unit in front of me. Now, I’ve seen one of these before. I remember watching whenever Olivia took me out back into the storeroom to wash me whenever I gathered piles of dust. Although, I can’t quite recall how to use it. I quickly turn to Spencer and ask, “Would you mind showing me how this works?”

“The faucet?” he asks.

I nod.

He wanders over to me and I watch as he places both hands on the snowflake looking mechanisms on either side of the faucet. He then turns them counterclockwise, and water begins to pour out of the faucet.

“Thank you,” I acknowledge with a smile, as I place my hands under the warm water. “You know, skin is so, delicate. It’s so difficult to do anything with it. It’s all wrinkly and all you want to do is iron it.”

He lets out a laugh, and looks at me awkwardly, but says nothing. I dry my hands on the towel hanging on the rack, then join him in the foyer. He opens the door and the two of us step outside into the freezing cold air. I zip up my jacket, throw the scarf around my neck and follow Spencer as he leads the way.

“It’s great to finally be able to walk outside,” I say, as I stroll along the sidewalk with Spencer. “Are you sure I look, okay?” I ask.

“You look fine. Perfect actually. It’s, just snow shoveling, not a photo shoot,” he says.

We continue to walk a little farther, and a man dressed in a grey suit with a red scarf walks past us.

“Excuse me, sir, but you know that the scarf you’re wearing really doesn’t suit that outfit.”

“And who are you? The fashion police? Why don’t you mind your own business!”

“I’m just––”

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