“Oh,” Jordyn whispers. “Wow. I was bracing myself just in case it sucked, but you went the hell off. It’s beautiful, Stella. If you don’t get hired full time, I’ll wear elf ears until January.”
The manager of the lingerie department turns with a thumbs up, swiveling back around quickly so she doesn’t miss the next length of paper coming down. And then it’s completely revealed, for everyone to see. Somehow I know without looking that Aiden is standing beside me and I flex my fingers, brushing them up against his bigger ones. Briefly, his middle finger snags around mine and holds, before we drop our hands away.
I gather my courage and look up and over at his face, finding him transfixed by the window, but saying nothing. Holding my breath, I follow his line of vision to the bold, copper-colored stenciled lettering on the glass. Give them a new beginning.
An odd sound reaches my ears and I realize everyone is clapping for me.
Oh God.
There’s a rise of pressure under my breastbone that I don’t know how to handle. Hot moisture pushing on the backs of my eyes, threatening to come out. Blinking rapidly, I swallow hard and say thank you, my face flushing when I clearly sound like I’m trying not to cry.
Why? Because you designed one good window?
Nicole’s voice filters in through everyone’s hushed chatter and makes a roost in my head. Maybe this time I even invited her voice, needing it to bring me back down to earth before I get carried away. That’s what my best friend always used to do. She’d remind me how fleeting the high from an achievement could be, while our friendship was forever. It’s hard to allow myself the moment. It’s hard not to temper this rush of satisfaction with a reminder like, yes, but your next window could be terrible. But when I look back at Aiden and find him smiling down at me with untampered pride, I shut out the negative voices, including the loudest one. For now. And I let myself coast on this wave of happiness. Relief.
“I don’t get speechless very often, Stella,” he says, shaking his head. “But damn. I don’t have the words to do it justice.”
“This calls for vodka,” Jordyn stage whispers to the group, garnering their attention. “Happy hour drinks after work.”
“Done.”
“I’m in.”
“Coffeeeee.”
Jordyn gives my arm a final pat, then joins the rest of the managers. I’m left standing beside Aiden, and I savor the next few seconds. The dash of cabs racing down the avenue behind us. The icy wind on my cheeks. The smell of bagels and garlic and perfume and gasoline that seems to forever linger in the atmosphere of the city. I savor the momentary lack of imposter syndrome and marvel over the giant opening it leaves behind. The endless possibilities of what I could fit inside of that unoccupied gap.
Until Shirley and Bradley block my view of the store window, I honestly forget that they are still here. Shirley’s features are no less pinched than they were before, but Bradley’s expression is utterly blank. At least until he looks at Aiden and his eyes widen a little. Probably because Aiden is giving off serious don’t fuck with her vibes that are trying really hard to turn me on, despite the fact that I asked him to remain neutral. The vagina wants what it wants.
Still, I raise my eyebrow at him and he lets out a very long breath.
“It’s…flashy. I’ll say that. But is it really in line with the class and sophistication of Vivant, Aiden?” Shirley asks, turning slightly to regard the window. “I worry this feels like a desperate grab for attention.”
Aiden’s smiles with teeth. “I think we can all agree that store windows are supposed to be an attention grab. They exist for that very purpose.”
Bradley clears his throat. “We’ve always done well with the subtle message that we don’t need anyone’s business. That we’re allowing it.”
Somewhere close by, Jordyn makes a gagging sound.
Aiden still manages to hold on to his affable expression. “Now, I’m not sure anyone is buying that message anymore. Not when they walk into an empty store.” On the surface, Aiden seems like his usual positive self, but upon closer inspection, his bow tie is literally quivering. He’s having a harder time with the criticism of my window than he’s letting on, but he’s respecting my wishes to let it be voiced out in the open where I can hear it. He’s not shutting it down, though I suspect he wants to. And this isn’t unusual for him, is it? To be suppressing his feelings for the greater good. I still remember the night we shared that bottle of bourbon in the cookware department. What he confided in me.
“I’m impatient and irritated around my family. And that makes me feel guilty.”