Faye makes a run to the closest department store and ends up snagging a jogger suit for me and a black hoodie for Caz.
“How the hell do you put this thing on?” Caz grumbles. I look over, and his arms are tangled in one of the sleeves and opening for the head.
Laughing, I tug my shirt down then make my way over to assist him. “This part goes over your head.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” He watches me pull the hem down to his waist. “Hmm. It’s comfortable.”
“I’m glad you like it, and that it fits.” I turn to Faye, who stands near the stairs with the empty Marshall’s bag. “You guys nearly gave me a heart attack. I mean, here I am alone in the shop about to close, and I hear people down here talking. I thought the place was haunted or that someone broke in!”
“So, you come down the stairs with that club of a weapon?” Caz asks with utter disbelief. “What was that gonna do for you?”
“Well, I didn’t expect you to have a gun, sir, or for it to be pointed at me,” she counters, rolling her eyes.
He quirks a brow, shifting his gaze to me.
“What time is it?” I ask her.
“It’s nearing nine.”
“Think you can give us a ride home?”
“Sure.” She walks up the stairs and I follow after her, Caz hot on my trail. We weave our way through the bookstore, past endless shelves and display tables. The café is closed for the night, but it still smells like coffee and the lingering scent of toasted pastries. Faye collects her keys from the front counter then jogs across the store to set the alarm.
As she does, I look back at Caz who is scanning one of the shelves with his brows stitched together. “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck,” he reads aloud. “Is this an actual book?”
“It’s a bestseller!” Faye sings, swinging the front door open as the alarm beeps to set.
“That’s not a suitable title for literature,” he informs us. “It’s far too crass.”
“Yeah, well, literature is different here,” I tell him, following Faye out of the shop. “It’s not all about farming, horses, and trading, like the books you own.”
Caz makes a “psh” noise, watching as Faye stuffs the key into the lock and twists. We follow her around the building to get to the employee parking lot. Her burgundy Honda chirps when she unlocks it, and Caz stops dead in his tracks with a scowl.
“Hold on. We’re traveling in this?” he asks with wide eyes.
“Yep.” I open the passenger door.
“This won’t protect us. And look—there are dents and scratches all over it. How are we supposed to get around in this thing? What if it doesn’t work or the engine blows? Are your windows even bullet proof? I literally can see right through them. Why aren’t they tinted?”
“Excuse me?” Faye’s eyes flicker from me, her mouth gaping in pure shock. Then she straightens her back, locking on Caz. “Okay, look, rich man from another universe. Don’t talk shit about my car, okay?” She sets a hand on her hip. “I worked hard for it. And sure, it has a couple of dings and dents, but it gets me where I need to be and it’ll get you where you need to be tonight, so get in the car and be grateful for the ride, or you can walk your ass to your destination.” She curses beneath her breath as she pulls the door open and climbs into the driver’s seat.
Caz continues a frown that’s mixed with confusion before focusing on me. I fight a laugh, offering a hand to him.
“It’ll be fine,” I assure him, trying to be serious. But inside, I’m still laughing because he has no idea what he’s in for.
