Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

19. Sensors and Sensitivity

19

Sensors and Sensitivity

I gave him the drive-by tour of Fancee’s. “Your manager should’ve shown you this stuff,” I said.

“It’s still early.” He shrugged and lifted the long-sleeved shirt draped over his forearm. “I’m guessing he’ll tell me where to put my clothes once I report back.”

“We have coat hooks, but your stuff would probably be safer in the break room lockers,” I said.

“Where are those?”

I vaguely gestured as we marched back to the warehouse. “Coat hooks are on the second floor. Around the corner, there’s a double door that leads behind the other shops. You’ll pass the break room on your way to the employee exit.”

He frowned. “We share a break room with the whole mall?”

“That’s how Shelby and I met, remember?”

He rubbed his earlobe. “Oh yeah.”

He probably didn’t care.

I rolled my eyes and opened the drawer full of security sensors recovered from the main cashiers’ station. “Anyway, I have to get back to work. So do you. Good luck with your first day.”

His knee brushed the side of my leg as he stretched. “Can I text you?”

Instead of scooping up sensors with the bin, I almost flung them out of the drawer when I whipped around to him. “Why would you do that?”

“If I have questions.” He frowned. “I can ask my manager, first, but I figured—”

“That’s fine, yeah.” I let out a breath. Of course he meant for work stuff. I held up one of the sensors. “Try to keep your clothes on for the rest of the shift. Otherwise, I’ll use this to pin your shirt to your pants.”

“Thanks for the threat.” He smirked.

Thanks. For a threat.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, tossing a closed sensor at him.

He snorted and bumped the sensor with his chest so it’d fall into his hands. “You’ve gotta stop throwing stuff, or I’ll start thinking you’re the one who played football in high school.”

“Yeah, right.” There was no mistaking me for any of his giant friends. Or someone with one iota of athletic talent, even if I did have decent calves. I strutted to the shoe counter with more than one set of eyes on my backside.

Cassandra raised her thin brows at me. “That took a minute. Everything okay?”

“I…went to the washroom,” I said. It wasn’t a lie.

She wagged her brows. “Oh, I know how that can be. Especially after my first morning coffee.” She patted her stomach and chuckled.

I tried to school my expression. Was she so eager to talk she’d actually tell me about her bathroom visits?

I flagged down the closest customer, some grumpy pregnant lady with a ponytail. “Hi, can we help you with anything?”

Please?

“No,” she snapped.

“Actually, yes.” A woman with thick mascara pageant-walked to our desk, sort of gliding as she towed Miss Preggo by the elbow. “My daughter needs some new shoes.”

I glanced at her daughter’s feet and smothered an audible gasp of horror. Socks and sandals. She was wearing fuzzy woolen socks and open-toed sandals. How did she make it across the frozen parking lot in those without wiping out or spontaneously combusting from lack of fashion sense?

Cassandra didn’t even look at her feet. She just smiled at the mom. “Ooh, new shoes, how exciting.”

“My shoes and feet are fine.” The daughter glared at us while hugging her belly as if she was preparing to launch a baby at us like a T-shirt at a concert.

“You can’t go anywhere if your shoes don’t fit,” her mother said through her teeth.

“So what? Where am I going, exactly? Unless you plan on dragging me out here again–”

“You were all too happy to come out at the prospect of Cake Warehouse,” the grandmother-to-be said, rummaging through her purse.

Miss Preggo scowled. “This is stupid. Can’t we just go eat?”

“Only if you behave.” She offered her daughter a granola bar.

Miss Preggo snatched the bar. “These are disgusting.” She stormed off to our clearance shelving to unwrap the crinkly, crumbly snack and stuff it in her face.

She was in her twenties, way too old for temper tantrums about free shoes, especially if a baby was on its way. Maybe she was just hangry.

I guessed I’d kinda had a tantrum over ‘free’ Zeezy’s. But that was a different scenario. Totally. After all, I’d thrown things. Fighting a smile, I shook my head. That memory shouldn’t be amusing to me.

Cassandra gave me a funny look, then addressed our customers. ”You know, my feet swell based on the weather.”

I almost laughed at her lack of subtlety. This girl bloated because she got pregnant, not because it was cold. We could ignore the figurative elephant in the room if it meant a quick sale, though.

I threaded a sensor through a designer sneaker. “Are you looking for house shoes, winter boots, or heels for a special event?”

“Something she can use for running errands like grocery shopping,” Miss Mascara said, walking closer.

Miss Preggo called to us from afar. “I can order delivery.”

Her mom glared over her shoulder. “Those fees add up quickly.”

“We have to eat,” Preggo said snidely. “Someone could also pick it up for me.”

“Jen…”

From their glowering standoff and huffy sighs, I got the impression her mom was paying for most things lately. No wonder they needed some cake.

I gestured to one of our displays. “I suggest the Victory Air line. They have stretchy, breathable fabric, but they’re still hardy enough for long walks on regular terrain.”

“Thank you. We’ll need a size eight.” She glanced at her daughter. “Eight and a half, maybe.” Miss Mascara batted her eyelashes at me and smiled with her head on a tilt, all pageantry once again.

They ended up with some size nines and two more spats by the time they left.

Later, I couldn’t help imitating Miss Preggo when it was time for my lunch break. “We have to eat,” I sassed, popping a hip.

Cassandra laughed and waved me off. “Go eat your cake. I hope she enjoyed hers.”

“She needed it.” Although she probably hated everything at the moment. The woman couldn’t get comfortable or touch her toes. Plus, she lived with her mom. I hoped she had two slices of cake today.

In the break room, I grabbed my pre-prepped chicken salad from the fridge and secured one of the two-person side tables. I popped in my earbuds and propped my feet on the opposite chair before digging in. My playlist automatically queued up Theo’s latest mix.

I groaned and hit the back button. My algorithms were going to be crap because of him. I started deleting the songs from my favorites, jabbing each heart icon so it disappeared under my fingerprint. Stupid, Zeezy-loving, selfish…

A huge shadow loomed over the table. “Mind if I sit?”

Before I could respond, a big guy slid into the seat opposite me, nudging my feet aside with his hip. “Thanks,” Zack said.

I flexed my toes. “I didn’t say yes.”

“I guess you’re right.” He chuckled and slung a wrinkled paper bag onto the table, dumping out three tuna sandwiches and an apple. “ Is it okay if I sit? Or were you saving someone’s place?”

I furrowed my brow. This was probably only for today. Once he made friends, I’d be nothing again.

People in the cafeteria looked at us. Zack waited for my answer, pinning me to the chair with a flat look. I guessed he still had time to bond with the warehouse bros, and it wasn’t like I had a new playlist to enjoy today.

“Fine. As long as you eat quietly,” I said.

Zack smirked and grabbed a sandwich. “No promises.”

At least he was within kicking distance.