Page 15 of The HalloQueen

I stepped to the kitchen island, a beautiful antique butcher block, and put the wine down, then turned to get a few glasses out of the rack, “do you like red?” I asked.

He nodded, “anything is fine.”

My hands were shaking by the time I got the corkscrew inside the bottle. It was like all the peace I’d felt had evaporated and my to-do list was choosing the worst possible time to come crashing back down onto me. I had my stress managed when Shannon and I went out earlier, but now it felt like I would have to play catch up for the few hours of fun we’d had, making me worry twice as much as I would have if I'd just stayed home and worked.

Thomas leaned against the island about a foot from me and ducked so he was in my line of sight, “Annabel, do you want me to leave?”

“No!” I said hurriedly, “No, I’m sorry, I just suddenly got really stressed out about my to-do list. You own a shop, I’m sure you know how the little things haunt you at all hours of the day.”

He took the bottle from me and steadily poured it into our two glasses, “I have a store, yes, but I am positive that my stress level owning a costume shop is substantially less than yours when you’re trying to build a brand.”

I sighed and turned around, placing my butt against the counter, “I feel like there’s not enough hours in the day and that I never get to turn off. Someone’s always watching me and it feels like someone is always waiting for me to fail. I get home and tend to just…crash”

He took a sip of wine, “why do you say that?”

I shrugged and felt myself shrink a little under the weight of my emotional exhaustion, “there’s always another beautiful girl in the wings waiting to go viral; there’s always another small boutique trying to make it big. There’s enough room for all of us at the table, but a lot of people feel like they need a monopoly on something for it to be special.”

“Do you go viral often? You good at those lip-syncing videos or something?” he asked.

“Umm…no… if I go viral it is usually because I’m half naked and dancing.” I blushed, feeling unusually embarrassed about my work. I never felt ashamed of what I did - I used what I had to make my living, there was nothing wrong with that, but for some reason telling Thomas that I monetized my appearance felt dirty. I hadn’t felt a connection with someone in so long that being the sexy girl online was just a part of who I was, if anything it was a confidence booster, but now I found myself nervous about his reaction.

He laughed, “Well look at you,ma chérie. Of course, everyone wants to see that. In fact, I might have some internet stalking to do when I get home.”

I smiled and put my wine glass down, stepping to my sink to poke at the dirt in a couple of my plants to make sure they weren't thirsty.

“You like plants?”

Shrugging, I poured a little water into one of the pots, “I find them peaceful. I'm not very good at it, but my mom has a green thumb. Though you do get to put them in cute shit and they make the air cleaner, so I feel like tending to them is worth a try.” I picked up my desert rose and showed him the black glitter skull that it currently inhabited and he chuckled.

“Where on earth did you find that monstrosity?”

I feigned offense, “Hey! Shannon and I made a lot of them. Why should they live in boring terra cotta? I know I wouldn’t enjoy that.” I gestured around the room. I hadn’t had a lot of time to decorate, but the few things I have put up clearly showed that I leaned towards Dark Edwardian Maximalism. I wanted all the cool photos in gilded oval frames and the overstuffed velour wingback chairs and the piles and piles of books that I may or may not ever have time to read.

He turned to lean against the counter across from me so we were facing each other, “Annabel, why are you so stressed all of a sudden? We don’t need to do anything. I’m not going to force you. We really can just watch a movie.”

“No,” I sighed, “it’s not that. I’m just a worry wart around launch times. I’m sorry, I get home and I deflate a little bit, I totally get it if you’d rather hang out with the exuberant girl from the bar. We can try again another night when I’m not so frazzled?”

He smiled and gestured for me to come into his arms, “come here.” I happily followed his direction and almost immediately felt some of the worry melting away at his touch.

“How do you do that?” I asked amazed.

“Do what?” He leaned his head atop mine and tightened his grip around me

“I was like two seconds from an existential crisis and you just… poofed it.”

A small snort and contemplative noise reverberated through his chest, “I poof it?”

“Poofed.”

“I don’t…”

“You made it disappear. Poof.” I said, snuggling in deeper, “Jesus, I’m sorry, I probably sound like a fucking crazy woman. Should we make some popcorn and watch someone bake a cake or something?” I pulled back and tried to make light of the sudden stress that almost crippled me, but he didn't loosen his embrace.

“You don’t sound crazy. I’m glad I can make the bad feelings poofed.”

“You’d use poof there.”

He rolled his eyes and his french accent got exaggeratedly thicker, “wellpardonez-moifor not knowing the conjugation of your silly ‘poof’ word.”

---