then closed it back, turning the lock back to close. Yes, she saw the problem now, but that didn’t mean she was going to tell him that. If he kept pointing out everything that was wrong with her store she was going to need a mountain of paper for the list.
“And that’s your place up there,” once again he stated, not asked.
“Yes, that’s the door to my place.” She turned. “Are you ready to go back out front now?”
“No,” he said simply before walking up the stairs without her. If he jimmied the lock to her door she was going to flip the little light bulb he didn’t seem to like to the off position and leave him to find his way out of there on his own.
He looked back down at her before performing the same action on her house door that he had on the backdoor. It gave way and he pushed the door open. “Not even a squeak,” he said. “And this is a flat so there’s nowhere for you to run.”
“The bathroom,” she said without thinking.
“Let’s check it out.”
“No!” She ran up the stairs as she noticed he wasn’t listening to her. She didn’t stop until she caught up with him. He was already inside her bathroom. She felt her cheeks flush and she was sure she was at least five different shades of red. She had washed her underwear, panties, bras and stockings out by hand and they were hanging over her bath and in her shower to dry. She felt so embarrassed knowing her undies were out there for him to survey. Little peach, yellow, rose pink and fire red mixed with midnight blue lace, satin and cotton sweet nothings were just dangling there for him to see.
“I just washed those,” she said. “It doesn’t normally look like this,” she felt the need to explain that she was not a total mess when it came to her place. He just nodded and took one more look at her bathroom before looking at the lock.
“This lock isn’t going to keep anybody out,” he slapped his palm against the door. “Neither is this door. One kick and whoever wants in is getting in.”
“Great,” she mumbled as she tried to take any of the dry pieces of clothing down. She realized now that she was actually drawing attention to her underwear—more attention than she needed to—just by her own actions.
He walked back out into the main area. She had used decorative privacy divider screens to separate areas. She had an office where she balanced the books and paid bills, so she had a deep chocolate wood divider there with decorative lace-like cutouts at the top of the fixture. Then she had an area where she made her jewelry off to the other side of the kitchen area. She put another matching divider there so that her boxes and crates of materials weren’t an eyesore, or a constant reminder that she should be working. Owning Snowflakes in the Desert was wonderful—most times—but she had a bad habit of working seven days a week. When the store wasn’t open she was making new pieces. She needed to find some balance, to get out there and do something more than just work; but if she didn’t work then she didn’t pay the bills and if she didn’t pay the bills then she didn’t have a place to stay. That’s how she rationalized letting everything else fall by the wayside. She was so exhausted come Sundays that she just didn’t feel the need to get out and party. She shrugged, she really was too old for that lifestyle anyway…well, maybe not too old, she admitted to herself.
“I’m curious,” he looked over her place. She would swear he seemed to appreciate what she had done with it. The bedroom was closed off from the kitchen with the same privacy divider, only she had moved it farther away because she liked having more space in the bed area. “Why did you name your store Snowflakes in the Desert? It’s not a very…common name,” he said as if he were looking for the right word.
“No, it’s not. It’s long and not trendy at all, but I thought it was fitting. No two snowflakes are the same and no two of my jewelry pieces are the same. I make everything by hand and everything is different, even if it’s just moderately changed with stones or colors, or a slight fluctuation in the design, no two