This is a throwback Love, February from 2019. I’d thought I’d share it again because there’s this sportsball something happening today and it reminded me of one of my greatest social missteps.

I’ve enjoyed everyone’s posts this year, and maybe next year I’ll have the words to play along. But in the meantime, enjoy this epic love story again.

A True Story
The manager hired a handsome boy. We sold men’s clothing, from casual to formal, and his off-season minor league baseball form was sleek in that suit. “Good marketing,” said the manager. The both of us were shy. I tried to hide my red face while I marked up the suit for the tailor. His athletic frame did not have the soft waist of suburban dad customer, and the handsome boy’s neck was pink when I reached up to adjust the jacket shoulders.

For weeks we barely spoke. Just furtive looks and sometimes catching eyes in a mirror. Folding a table of shirts from opposite ends to meet in the middle, or accidentally brushing together in the tight space behind the cash register. Glances, smiles, stuttered questions, switched shifts (oh everyone knew, watched, conspired).

End of the day. Everything folded, straightened, tidied, counted, put away. Our coats were on, and he adjusted his gloves only to pull them off again. We stopped just outside the storefront. Twisting his gloves, he asked, “Would you… ”

I looked up. He was so tall. The mall lights were dimming, and only the echo of workers eager to go home lingered after a busy day. The pause went on forever. My hands clenched hard around the strap of my bag, but I wanted to reach up and push that fall of hair from his eyes. Then I heard him exhale. “Would you like to go to a Super Bowl party with me?”

“Can I bring a book?” The gate fell with clang.

The End
Love, February