Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Two?” she exclaims. “Willow, I like to think that I’m pretty understanding, but this is unusual for you. Should I be worried? Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, no! I just…I need some time, Lou Ann. This is more for my mental health than anything, really.” I know that’ll get her. Lou Ann had a panic attack several months before hiring me. Apparently, she’d agreed to help with an event that was on a tight budget and had given her a short time frame to organize things. She couldn’t handle the workload alone and was extremely stressed, hardly sleeping, and completely overwhelmed by it all. When she realized how much she had to tackle, she broke down in the bathroom of the event. Since then, she’s hired a therapist to discuss the issue with. She takes mental health very seriously, and I feel bad for using that as a cop out…but it’s also true. Being with Caz, despite the dangers, has improved my mental health significantly. I don’t think about harming myself or wallowing in bed anymore. I have a reason to keep moving—a reason to live—and that’s because of him and our Tether.
“Sure, all right.” Lou Ann chomps some more from her end. “But when you feel better, we really have to get planning. You’re my best asset. I can’t do this without you. We also have to send the attendees those invites for RSVPs.” By we she means me.
“Right. I’ll do that.” I watch Caz walk toward a mannequin. He studies it a moment, eyeing it up and down, then grabs the whole mannequin off the stand to set it on the floor. He takes the black trench coat off of it, then slips his arms into the jacket. The same employee who was staring moments ago has his focus on Caz again with a look of pure shock on his face. When he stops what he’s doing to walk in Caz’s direction, my heart sinks.
Oh God. “Thanks so much, Lou Ann. I’ll email you soon.” I hang up before she can speak again and rush toward Caz.
“—that you like it, but you can’t take the display clothes off the mannequins, dude.” The employee is speaking to Caz with a deep frown. His name tag says Jake.
“You’re the man who was staring at me,” Caz says, bridging the gap between them, and Jake flinches. “Why are you watching me?”
“Caz. No.” I press a hand to his chest while putting my attention on Jake. “I’m really sorry—he’s not from around here. All of this is very new to him.”
Jake looks Caz up and down with a continued frown. “Yeah, clearly,” he scoffs. “Can you at least put the jacket back on the mannequin? I literally dressed it today.”
“Nah, I think I’ll keep it.” Caz studies the sleeves of the coat. “Nice quality. Fits me well. Black material. It’s mine now.”
“Dude! It doesn’t even have a price tag!” Jake argues, his face reddening. “Just put it back!”
Caz’s brows dip. “Jake, I suggest you run along before I shove a bullet up your—”
“All right, let’s go. Take the coat off,” I insist, already tugging at the sleeve. “We’ll find another one. With a price tag.”
Caz grimaces at Jake while I pull the hem of the sleeve. Jake, to my surprise, doesn’t back down, but in his world, he’s privileged and safe. He doesn’t know that Caz really will shove a bullet up his…whatever he was going to say.
I place the jacket on the mannequin’s shoulders, smile at Jake, then hook my arm through Caz’s so I can lead him away.
“Can you please try to behave?”
“Behave? I didn’t do anything wrong, Willow. That man was the one staring at me like I had two heads.”
I sigh as I stop in front of a row of coats. “Look—here’s a whole rack of coats. You don’t have to take the one off the mannequin.”
Caz studies the coats with an inclined brow. “I don’t understand why it’s up there if it’s not for taking.”
“That one is just for display, so that if a person likes it, they can come back here to find one on the rack to take home.”
“In Vakeeli, if it’s on display, we just request it and they give it to us.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, this is not Vakeeli.”
He still appears confused, but he doesn’t argue. He reaches for one of the coats, slides into it, then fixes the lapels and the collar. “I’ll take this one.”
I release an unsteady breath. “Okay, so I got you a few shirts, and you might have to try these pants on because I don’t know your size, but they look like they can fit.”
I lead him to the dressing room and have him try all the clothes on, and fortunately, they do fit. The pants are a little loose around the waist, but that’s nothing a belt can’t fix. When I find a decent belt, we head to checkout, and relief sinks in when I realize we’ll be going back home. This man cannot be in public for long.