Page 24 of Love and Pumpkins
I need to see whether Chloe left me any surprises to deal with tomorrow.
Overall, the store looks good—no clutter on the checkout counter, the shelves are in order, and nothing seems out of place. There are three boxes of new products by the back door that need to be processed, priced, and shelved. I can see that they are from a new supplier, and I can’t wait to open them and check out the quality.
But not tonight. I’m tired, a little achy, and I want to focus on Hunter, not housewares.
He arrives promptly at six. His shadow, cast by the streetlights, creates movement that I catch out of the corner of my eye. I hurry to the front door, unlocking it to let him enter.
“Hi,” he says with a grin. The shelves stocked with colorful wares do not attract his gaze; his eyes stay locked on mine.
“Hello and welcome,” I say, inviting him in with a flourish of my hand.
He steps towards me and holds up his arms for a hug. I eagerly step into them. He’s showered as well, and he smells like pine and musk, my favorite scents on a man.
I’m thankful that the front of the store is in the dark; the large windows would put us on display if anyone walked by at this moment. Though, frankly, on second thought, I don’t care.
He kisses the top of my head and releases me. “Show me around. I’m excited to see your place.”
I relock the front door, then lead Hunter through the aisles, pointing locally made products. I share some artisans’ stories, and Hunter asks questions about the people, sales, growth, and inventory shrinkage.
“I didn’t know you were familiar with those concepts,” I say when he asks about shrink. We’ve stopped by a display of leather handbags and belts with beautiful details, made by Steve, the older gentleman I worry about the most.
“I told you I’m a data analyst. I work for a large retailer, and I study those numbers all the time. If you need help with projections, I’m your man.”
I sigh inwardly. I love the thought of him being “my man.” Hunter would be a trustworthy, kind, and funny man to date. “I haven’t had much luck with forecasting.”Or with men, I think to myself. “I just have historical information and no clue how to predict the future. I’m no Nostradamus.”
“I’m here.” He leans towards me and widens his eyes. “I’d be happy to review your accounts and see if there are any insights that I can glean. Maybe looking at the numbers from a different angle. You never know.”
He doesn’t presume that I’m overlooking something; he’s not trying to make me feel dumb. I’m thankful for that.
I think about the large repair bill. I need to make more cash. Fast. “What do you know about building e-commerce websites?” I’ve put that side project off for long enough. It might pull in enough additional revenue for me to get the furnace fixed before winter.
“Only a bit, but I’ll get it done for you. No problem. We’ll need to look at your inventory-management system and figure out how to integrate it; I’m sure there are solutions for that. It might take a couple of evenings this week, but I imagine we can get a working site up and running by this weekend.”
“Really?” That would be a dream.
“Really.” He laughs, and his stomach growls. My eyes grow wide. He pats his stomach. “Maybe we should order that pizza.”
“Yes, we should. I order from Wendy Thorndill. It might take an hour. She makes them at her house—we don’t have ten choices for delivery here. There’s no Hub Group delivery.”
“You’re referring to Grubhub, and I know it’s not here. I’ve been moaning about that for years.”
“You city people get used to all the conveniences and then come home and put our little town down.” I move to the counter, pull out Wendy’s menu, and hand it to Hunter.
“I don’t do that. Besides, my mom’s cooking is excellent, and I prefer that when I’m home.”
“Do you cook?”
“Do hamburgers and steaks count?”
“Sure. It’s warm. It’s food. It counts. Oh, I have some cheese and crackers or veggies and dip upstairs. We can eat something to tide us over.”
He suggests a ham and pineapple pizza, which is my favorite, too! I call and place the order. Sometimes the orders are pick-up only, but luckily, her son Jack is doingdeliveries tonight. Sometimes we must run to her house to pick it up.
We finish the tour of the store and head upstairs to my apartment.
Opening the door, we find Chloe sitting at my kitchen table, working on her laptop and eating ice cream out of the container.
“Chloe, use a bowl!” I yell.
