Page 89 of Skalterra By Nightmare
22. Basics of Barbering
Liam’s bedside note and glass of water had been a sweet gesture, but his darkened brow and matching scowl when he arrived for work told me he wasn’t exactly happy at having to carry me to bed again. He hunted me down where I was restocking the canned goods shelves near the back of the store.
“Have you talked to a doctor?” he demanded.
“Good morning to you too.” I glared up at him from where I crouched on the floor, pushing around chili cans to make room for pinto beans. “Where’s breakfast?”
He scowled, then jammed his hand into a paper bag to procure an avocado and bacon sandwich on an asiago bagel.
“I found you on the stairs.”
“Is the bacon crispy this time?” I ignored him as I bit into my sandwich.
“Wren.”
I stalked back towards the register.
“Liam.” I mimicked his tone back at him.
“I’m serious. I’ve got half a mind to tell Ethel—”
I spun around, and he bumped to a stop when I jammed a threatening finger into his chest.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asked. I rolled my eyes and slipped behind the register counter. “I thought it had to be narcolepsy, but I was searching some things on the internet. Have you heard of POTS? I can’t remember what it stands for, but—”
“I don’t have POTS,” I said through a mouthful of bagel, “but I’m wondering what the diagnosis code is for overly-involved friend.”
“Friend?” he repeated with a coy smile.
“Don’t push your luck,” I warned. “I’ll revoke my friendship faster than I can fall asleep.”
“That’s not funny.”
I leaned against the back wall and raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s kind of funny.”
“You were sleeping on the stairs, Wren! And you bruised your cheek!”
I rubbed the sore spot below my right eye. I’d spent a good portion of the morning covering the fresh bruise there with make-up.
“I’m fine,” I insisted again. “Really. I’m just tired and stressed out with all the Von Leer things.”
Liam sighed heavily and ran his hands through his curls.
“When’s the phone interview?” he asked, finally giving in on the issue of my apparent fainting spells.
“Next week. Wednesday morning.”
“So I have to open all by myself?” He retreated back to the ice-cream station to grab his apron.
“Not if you’d rather do the phone interview for me. Can you do a girl voice?”
He cleared his throat and flashed me his favorite jaunty smile.
“Hello, Von Leer,” he said in an over-the-top falsetto, “I’m Wren, and my favorite things include volcanoes, extreme sleeping, and scaring the crap out of my friends by pretending to be dead in the stairwell.”
