Jenni Mojaverian

     A week later, Lottie was self-medicating with iced coffee and retail therapy at her favorite vintage store when she felt someone staring at her two racks over. She turned to give the stranger her best nothing-to-lose glare, but her expression landed somewhere between surprise and confusion instead.
“Dude, what the f—Why are you at all my favorite places?”
“Why are you at all my favorite places?” Cam retorted.
“I’m here all the time.”
“So am I.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I could say the same.”
She couldn’t recall ever seeing him, or anyone as handsome as him at Honey’s before. Would she have noticed though? This was a place she came to turn her brain off and rifle through the racks of pastel shift dresses and overpriced tees. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly registered the faces of the other customers around her when she was debating between the Formula One shirt with visible pit stains and the literally holy Prayer Works shirt.
“Well, since you’re here. What do you think of this?” Lottie held up the mini dress she’d been debating. It was royal blue, with a pleated, tennis-style skirt.
Cam twisted his mouth, considering it. “Do you wear clothes on this end of the color spectrum?”
Lottie rolled her eyes. “Occasionally, yes. I’ve been known to break out an actual color now and again.”
“Depends on the shoes, I think.”
“Chucks, probably.”
“Well, Chucks go with everything.”
Lottie nodded. “What about you? Anything good?”
“Just this,” he said, holding up a canvas jacket that said Year of the Snake across the back in loopy, chain-stitched script. 
“Nice. Green looks good with your hair.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to hold back a smile. Something about his amused eyes behind his glasses, directed at her, made her stomach do a nervous little swoop. She diligently tried to ignored it as she turned back to rifle through the rack of dresses.
“Aha! A black tank dress. Back in my comfort zone.”
“You do look incredible in black.”
“Please.”
“Really.”
“I think you mean I look normal in black. It’s just weird to see me not in black.”
“Lottie,” Cam said, propping his forearms on the chrome rack in front of him. “Do I strike you as someone that says things they don’t mean?”