Read My Lips

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READ MY LIPS

Rene checked himself out in Cafe Bien’s glass windows. He touched the mask he’d just finished last night, made from an old thrift shop find. The vintage women’s shirt had been way too small, but Rene had bought it years ago, just knowing there would come its time and place.

He just hadn’t thought it would come during a pandemic, but Fate worked funny sometimes. And the print on this shirt, full of vintage-styled state flower stamps, worked perfectly as a mask. The flash and mix of color complimented his deep brown skin tone well. The delicate designs of the various blooms, each encased in the rigid cookie-cutter stamp shape, looked dynamic yet classic. As a shirt, the print was too much but, as a sweep of life-saving cloth across his face, it felt like a breath of fresh air during this nerve-wracking time.

Rene walked into the cafe and stood in line, six feet away from his fellow customers. The scent of coffee was so strong he could still smell it through the cotton blend.

He’d decided to incorporate the button-down design into this mask, the trail of buttons down the middle a nice break in the pattern, but also a subtle nod to the sudden taboo attributed to faces. Even though it was all sewn up securely, to stop the spread of the disease, the tease of unbuttoning it and letting it all hang out was temptingly there. And it made Rene smile and that was what truly mattered.

Well, that and…

“Hi, Rene.”

Rene looked up at the smiling barista and stepped up to the counter.

David.

“What can I get you?”

His smile made Rene’s heart skip.

Not that Rene could see his smile beneath David’s disposable mask right now. But he knew that smile. In his soul. And it, as much as the coffee, made his mornings. It made his Intro to Algebra II class bearable, if he had the caffeine buzzing in his blood and thoughts of those firm lips and that striking jawline on his mind. Thoughts of those deep brown eyes, that rich brown complexion, and the way David would sometimes sing along to the songs over the speaker while he mixed drinks were a much more pleasant thought than solving for x.

“An iced cinnamon soy latte, please.” Rene didn’t need to even look at the menu. Which was good, since, even covered in the cafe apron, David looked too amazing in his snuggly fit Henley shirt and black jeans to look away.

“Sounds good.” David nodded before telling him how much the latte was.

You are so beautiful. As Rene rooted around in his wallet, he mouthed the words he’d never have the courage to say out loud against the layered fabric of his mask, safe in the knowledge that, in addition to keeping those around him safe from contagion, it kept his secrets safely contained too. You are the highlight of my every morning. Rene handed over his credit card.

“Thank you!” David smiled, while Rene felt his face flush.

It was a small, ridiculous crush. Rene knew that. He’d seen David’s girlfriend come into the coffee shop occasionally, even though he was also pretty sure he’d overheard David tell his coworker that they’d broken up a while ago. Not that it changed anything. It was still just a harmless, hopeless crush.

Rene held back a sigh as David turned to begin mixing his drink. You move like a dancer, gliding behind that counter while you work. Biting his lip, Rene watched David pour this and that into a plastic cup. Your hands look so strong and capable. I want to know what it’s like to have them wrapped around me instead of a coffee cup. He licked his lips, imagining the sugared brew David was concocting and the sweeter sip of a more tempting taste. You have the shoulders of a god and the arch of your back makes me want to trace it with my tongue.

“Nice mask.”

The harsh words cut through Rene’s daydream. He turned around. And instantly wished he hadn’t. Three unmasked guys stood snickering behind him.

“Are those flowers?” one of them with a blond buzz cut scoffed. “Dude, seriously?”

The taller brown-haired guy elbowed his friend. “You should ask him where he got it. Then you could be so pretty too, just like him.”

Rene reflexively took a step back. It was so strange to see their unmasked faces. It was almost obscene. It would have been less jarring, less offensive, if they’d been naked. Rene cringed away and imagined viral loads and droplet spread with their every gusting guffaw.

The black-haired guy burst out laughing. “Can you imagine being so gullible you not only buy all the hype over basically getting the flu but you think wearing a doily on your face is going to help?”

Doilies are made of lace, you fashion-illiterate lackwits. Rene wished he could say that aloud, but he knew he was safer just ignoring them. A statement like that could start a fight he—with his much smaller frame and penchant for creation rather than violence—had no hope of winning and might cause trouble for David. So, resisting the urge to self-consciously touch his mask, he turned around and stewed.

Which only made the three chuckleheads snort louder. Rene closed his eyes, resolutely ignoring them. Until he felt one of them reach up to tug at his mask’s ties at the back of his head.

Rene whipped around and slapped his hand against the crown of head, catching the ties before they came completely undone. “What are you doing?”

The blond just shrugged. “Helping you take that useless, frilly thing off your face.”

The black-haired guy nodded. “You should thank us.”

For putting him at risk? Were they kidding? Rene felt his other hand tighten into a fist. And those numbskulls wouldn’t know a frill from an overlocked hem.

“Here’s your iced cinnamon soy latte, Rene.”

He turned toward David, who held his drink out to him, his beautiful brown eyes worried and his shoulders stiff.

Rene sighed and retied his mask before stepping closer to the counter to grab his drink. “Thank you.”

But, as he took it, he heard the guys behind him whoop with laughter. “Of course! He’s an honest-to-God soy boy!”

“It all makes so much sense now!”

Rene felt his jaw tense beneath his mask. He just wanted to take his drink and leave, his lovely morning ritual ruined.

But, when he turned, the brown-haired guy was right behind him, causing him to trip and spill the brew all over the both of them.

“Watch it, soy boy!” the brown-haired guy roared as he shoved Rene back into the counter. Rene winced as his back hit the edge.

About to apologize for the accident, Rene couldn’t do much more than open his mouth before the brown-haired guy reached up and ripped Rene’s mask off of his face. His face red, the guy threw it onto the floor and ground his dirty shoe into it, each twist of the rubber sole dragging dirt across the floral pattern.

Horrified, Rene just gaped at the guy. “It was an accident.” Why would he react like that to an innocent accident. If anything, it’d been his fault for standing so close to Rene. Whatever happened to social distancing?

Glaring at Rene, his nostrils flaring furiously, the guy picked up his foot only to hock a loogie down at Rene’s mask. Smirking cruelly, he picked up the now ruined cloth and threw it at Rene. “Hope you get the virus.”

Rene jumped out of the flung fabric’s way, letting it hit the floor in front of the counter.

“Get out!”

Rene looked up from his mask, sad and sullied on the scrubbed tile. David, leaning over the counter with one strong arm thrust out at the three guys, looked absolutely livid. “Get out right now!”

“Hey, I want my coffee!” the blond yelled.

“We have every right to be here.” The black-haired guy stepped closer to the counter. “It’s a free country and we’re paying customers.”

“You haven’t paid for anything,” David pointed out. “And you’re disturbing my customers, messing up my shop, and in violation of the cafe’s clearly posted mask policy.” He pointed at the policy’s sign on the door. “No shirt, no shoes, no mask, no service. So leave. Now.”

“That’s no way to treat prospective customers, you know!” The blond sniffed, offended. “I’m just trying to spend good money for your shitty coffee; whatever happened to customer service?”

David stood up straight, his spine stiffening and his muscles bulging. In a tight, angry voice, he said, “Leave. Now. Please.”

The brown-haired guy huffed and tugged at his friends. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. The coffee here sucks anyway.”

Rene watched the three guys leave, knocking over a canister of straws as they went, the colored tubes of paper exploding into a mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry about that.” Rene turned to see David, holding out a disposable mask to him. David shrugged. “It’s not as nice as yours, but it’s better than nothing.”

Rene took it and put it on. “Thanks.” He leaned down to pick up his own handmade cloth mask off the floor. He winced at the wet, dirty mess all over his creation.

David handed him a pair of keys. When Rene looked at him curiously, David nodded toward the back. “Since quarantine, we’ve closed off the bathrooms for customers, but we can make an exception this time, if you want to wash up.”

Rene felt like he wanted to cry. “Thank you.” You are the kindness the world needs right now.

David nodded as he reached for the mop in the corner. “Take your time; I’ve got to close down the shop for cleaning, since that guy spat on the floor.” He shook his head. “Who does that? Especially during a pandemic?”

Right?

David shooed him. “Go get cleaned up; you’ll feel better.”

Rene nodded and thanked him again.

After locking himself in the bathroom, Rene turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was messed up from the guy pulling his mask off and the disposable mask looked so drab and sad on his face.

He’d deliberately worn more neutral colors today, to bring out the vibrancy of his mask. But now he just looked like one of the accounting students from across the campus.

Oh well. There wasn’t anything to be done about it now. He looked at the cloth mask in his hands. He didn’t know if it could be saved, but he wanted to try.

After all, David did say to take his time.

So he dunked the mask in the warm water and scrubbed at the dirt and grim with hand soap from the dispenser. At least cotton blends were pretty resilient.

By the time he was done, his fingers were pruny but he’d gotten the worst stains out of it. If anything, it made the fabric look more vintage. Or so Rene tried to tell himself. He’d throw it in the wash again when he got home and wear it again someday. Because he’d be damned if he let those ignorant assholes take anything away from him.

But, for now, he wrung out the mask as much as he could before tucking it into his back pocket and doing his best to fix his hair. He took one more look at himself in the mirror and sighed. Well, that was the best he could do right now.

When he walked out of the bathroom, the cafe looked spotless and smelled as strongly of disinfectant as coffee. Rene looked around, shocked. How long had he been in there, that David had gotten this whole place so clean?

“I had some help cleaning up.”

Rene turned and saw David out of his apron, but still in his mask and work clothes. He even had his name tag on still, while his coworker, a red-headed girl who was now wiping down the counter, waved. Rene waved back awkwardly.

David held out a newly made iced cinnamon soy latte and a small paper bag. Rene took both before peeking in the bag. “A croissant?”

David shrugged. “An almond croissant. You know, to make up for before.” He shook his head and frowned, his whole face scrunching. “That should never have happened. I’m sorry.”

Rene smiled. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.” David shoved his hands in his pockets. “I saw those guys loitering outside the shop, while you were cleaning up. I told them to leave, but they might be waiting for you.”

Great. Rene sighed. Well, this day was going great. Rene checked the time on his phone. He was too late to go to his math class, but he still had a Garment Construction course on the far side of campus today. Hopefully, a nice leisurely walk could lift his mood. “Thanks for the heads up; I’ll be careful.”

David coughed uncomfortably. “You can use the back door. It’s usually just for employees, but I’d hate for you to run into any more trouble.”

Rene smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” You really are too good to be true.

David straightened and smiled. “Here, I’ll walk with you.”

“Take your time.” Rene looked up to see the redhead wave them away, still smiling that strangely knowing grin.

David led them through the tight employees-only space. They wove past overstocked shelves and stacked stock boxes before finally reaching the back door. Holding the door open for Rene, David let him pass into the employee parking lot.

Rene turned to thank him again, when he saw David close the door behind himself. Surprised, Rene said, “Is your shift done?”

David flushed a bit. “I’m on break.”

“Oh.”

With another cough, David tucked his hands in his pockets again. “Can I walk you to class?”

Rene lifted a surprised—but not uninterested—eyebrow.

David shook his head. “I’m sure those guys are gone, but it would make me feel better, knowing you got to class okay.”

Rene’s small, ridiculous, harmless, hopeless crush bloomed in his chest. He felt like it was spilling out.

He shook his head. Stop it. Be real. David was just a nice person, who felt bad that Rene had a bad experience.

But, try as he might to temper his excitement, it felt, well, nice to have a nice person like David care about him. Even if it wasn’t the way Rene wished he would. But he’d take it. “Thank you.”

They began walking toward Rene’s next class, David letting Rene take the lead. It felt illogically good to have this strong, kind man walk a half-step behind him. Like a personal guardian angel. Rene had to fight the fanciful feeling from going to his head. Or getting to his heart.

“I really did like your mask.”

Rene looked up at David, flustered. His hand tightened on the paper bag holding his pastry, the crinkling sound seeming unnaturally loud. “Thank you. I like yours too.”

He stifled a groan. Why had he said that? It was such an uncool thing to say, since David was wearing a plain, disposable mask. They both paused at the ridiculous, but reflexive, response. Rene wanted to kick himself. This was why he preferred just whispering his silly compliments into his mask, where no one could hear how pathetic he really was.

He coughed and rushed to say, “I mean, I really like that you—all of you at the cafe—wear masks. And encourage mask-wearing too.”

Smooth recovery.

Rene wished he could take a sip of his drink, just to ease his tight, tense throat, but he couldn’t, not without taking off his mask. No, he just had to stew in his awkwardness. He should just crawl into a hole and hide.

But, graciously, David simply nodded. “Company policy. It’s not easy wearing these disposable masks for a full shift, especially with all the steam and machines making everything so warm back there, but,” he shrugged, saying, “it’s better than the alternative.”

Rene nodded sympathetically. “That sounds rough. I’m sorry.”

David shrugged. “It’s not all bad.”

Rene cocked a curious eyebrow. “How so?”

David looked at him with a puckish glint in his eyes. “With my lips hidden, sometimes I’ll whisper into my mask all the things I’d really love to say to some of our more,” he tilted his head at a considering angle before choosing his words, “trying customers. I get to say exactly what I’m thinking right to their faces without them even knowing.”

Rene grinned conspiringly. “Oh really? Like what?”

David mockingly leaned in, while still maintaining a safe distance, and said in a stage whisper, “Like telling a customer, Instead of yelling at us because you don’t want to wait for someone to make you coffee order, you should just make you own damned coffee at home.”

Rene laughed and nodded. “They’d never be able to make it as good as you and they know it.”

David puffed out his chest. “Too true.” He looked at Rene for a moment before looking away suddenly. “And, sometimes, I’ll whisper, I think you look really nice today. I love that your masks always match your outfits. It's like taking these dark times and forcing your sunlight to shine through.”

Rene’s step faltered and slowed at that, feeling his hopeful pulse race. “Oh really?” Stop it. Be real.

David peeked up at him shyly, which made it very had for Rene to control the flutter of excitement in his chest. "Yeah." David ran his hand though his silky, black hair. “Know where I could get a mask like that?”

Really? “I could make one for you,” Rene blurted out as an uncontrollable flurry of elated emotion inside him bubbled over. He saw David’s eyes twinkle with humor at Rene’s eagerness.

Rene wanted to pinch himself. Wanted to look around wildly for witnesses. Wanted to be sure he wasn’t having some kind of elaborate waking fantasy.

Because this felt like flirting. And not just the one-sided adoration Rene was used to having in his head.

He bit his lip. Calm down. Don’t get your hopes up. He shrugged and tried to be casual, when he clearly was anything but. He coughed. “But, if you only get to wear those disposable masks at work all day, when would you wear it?”

With his hands tucked in his pockets a bit nervously yet a contradictory swagger slipped into his step, David shrugged just as casually. “Maybe when I’m done with work and you’re done with class,” he said before meeting Rene’s gaze for a moment, uncertain hope shining so bright in the brown depths, before looking away again, “we could go somewhere to show it off.”

“We could.” The words fell ready and automatic from Rene’s mouth, as if they’d been waiting there for months. He stopped in front of his class’s building, but wasn’t ready to go inside. “Where would we go?” Even to his own ear, it still sounded like a hypothetical. Like, even as it was happening, it wasn’t quite real.

David smiled and pulled out his phone. “Well, choices are pretty limited right now, but there’s always the park. Or the beach?”

Rene nodded. “Those sound good.”

“Good.” David handed Rene his phone, which was already open to his phone’s contact screen, ready for Rene’s information.

Setting his drink and pastry aside for a moment, Rene entered his contact information and double—triple—checked it. Now would be the worst time for a thumb fumble. When he was sure he’d put it in correctly, he handed David his phone back.

David looked at it and smiled before tucking his phone once again into his back pocket. “I should get back to work now.” He swallowed hard. “But I’ll text you when I get off.”

It was almost a question. As if David was as unsure as Rene felt. Which was ridiculous. Look at him. What could someone like him have to be unsure about? But, ridiculous or not, it made Rene want to reassure him. “You better.”

David laughed a little, the small sound both amused and relieved. “Okay. Have a good day in class.”

With David’s delicious gifts in his hands and the promise of more in the air, Rene didn’t know how he couldn’t.

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Mask Marketing

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MASK MARKETING

Liz hummed along to the oldies station playing over Recycled Novels’s PA system. It was nice background noise while she sat behind the counter and sewed. The small, secondhand bookstore that she owned with her wife, Mona, was thankfully—and regrettably—quiet today. Just as it’d been yesterday. And the day before that. And pretty much every day since the lockdown started.

But at least they were open. And, thanks to their loyal customers, they kept just enough business running through to stay open.

Liz liked to think that it was also thanks to the welcoming, homey feel to their store that you just couldn’t get from the box chains, much less the huge online retailers. They cared about their customers. Knew many of them by name and reading preferences. And everyone liked to feel like they mattered.

“What are you working on there, Liz?”

At Patty’s voice, Liz looked up just as she finished her last stitch. Smiling, she held up the cloth mask she’d completed. “The latest addition to our collection. What do you think?”

Patty eyed it, her gaze narrowing above her own disposal mask. “Is that one of John’s old uniforms?”

Liz nodded and smiled behind her mask. “Yep, his wife dropped off a bunch of old torn or stained waitstaff uniforms that they were planning to just throw or give away.”

Patty stared at the transformed cloth in Liz’s hands. “And you’re making masks with them?”

Liz nodded and pointed to the basket full of cloth masks at the front of the store with the large, Wonderlandian “Take Me” sign on it. “We’re asking everyone who comes into the store to wear a mask, so the least we could do is provide people with some, if they don’t have their own.”

Patty reached out for the mask Liz was holding. “And people can just take them?”

Liz nodded as she handed it over. “Yep.” All the fabric was donated, so giving the masks away for free wasn’t a big deal. Even with the discount, it worked out, since it brought people into the store. Especially since it seemed as if everyone, cooped up during quarantine, had decided to clean out their closets.

Besides, Liz liked to sew and could churn them out quickly enough. And, if it encouraged people to wear masks, not just in the store but everywhere, Liz thought the extra effort well worth it.

She knew that Mona had reservations about it, but Liz was sure it was nothing. Liz would make sure it wasn’t. Lord knew, with the quarantine and how it’d affected the store, Mona had enough to deal with.

Besides, Liz could totally handle this. Sales was what she was good at. Raising an eyebrow at Patty, she pointed to the large donation box next to the basket. “You get a five percent discount off your order, if you donate old clothes or blankets or fabric.”

Patty perked up. “Really?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I’ve got some old clothes that, thanks to the quarantine fifteen I’ve put on, I’ll never fit into again.” Patty handed over the books she was carrying. ”I could bring them around later...”

Liz smiled as she began to ring the woman up. “Bring them around today or tomorrow and we’ll just use the discount now, okay?” She winked at the woman, knowing that Patty loved nothing more than getting a good deal.

Patty nodded as she handed over her credit card. “Thank you and will do. I’ll also let some of my coworkers know; I bet they have a ton of stuff to donate.”

“Thanks!” Liz handed the woman back her card and bag full of books.

On her way out, Patty stopped to look at the basket. “Do you mind if I take some?” She touched her own disposable mask. “These are getting kind of expensive now, if you can even find any anywhere.”

Liz nodded, as she pulled out another waitstaff shirt to cut out her pattern. “Go ahead. There’s more where that came from.”

Patty sifted excitedly through the masks, picking out her favorite patterns. “Thanks, Liz. You’re the best.”

* * *

After finishing the day’s book deliveries, Mona carried the empty boxes back into the store. Quarantine had definitely changed how they did business, but at least they were still in business.

For however long that lasted. The government loan for small business owners helped, but it was quickly running out.

Fact was they needed to adapt. Needed to find new ways to meet the most needs of the most people they could. Which meant implementing pick-up-and-delivery services—which often meant higher gas budgets as well as long hours spent away from the store—as well as being strategically stingy with hours—which meant either disappointing employees depending on the hours to live or unaffordably over-staffing the store.

And then there were Liz’s ideas.

Mona peeked into the store and watched Liz, in one of her handmade masks made from an old Recycled Novel tote bag they used to sell a while back. Sitting on the stool they kept by the cash register. Liz contently sewed the small scraps of fabric in her hands. Mona touched her own upcycled mask and marveled at her wife’s serene presence. Liz was one of those women who always seemed unfazed. Nothing got to her.

Not aging or death. She wore her grey hairs, shooting boldly through her chestnut hair, and her laugh lines that framed lips often painted the strange colors and glosses of a high school rebel proudly.

Not financial or political or pandemic uncertainty. Mona’s unflappable Liz preferred to believe that things would find a way of working out. That, if you did your best and trusted that everyone else would too, things would be okay. She lived for the day and was content to let tomorrow fret about itself.

Mona was definitely the worrier of the two, always thinking about the future and making sure they were taken care of. It was necessary and a nice balance to Liz’s more in-the-moment personality.

But Liz balanced Mona out too. Especially with their future—the whole world’s future—so uncertain at the moment, it was too easy for Mona to get lost in all her worries. To stress out about the what-ifs and what-mays.

But just a look, or a smile, or a word, or a touch, from Liz and Mona’s world seemed to right again. Looking at Liz now, smiling as she swayed to the music she was listening to, Mona felt centered again. As if just the sight of Liz reminded Mona why she worked so hard to provide for them and their future. Liz and the life they’d built together was worth any effort.

Even dealing with her often eccentric ideas on marketing. Smiling herself, Mona shook her head as she headed back to the car to grab the box of donated books she’d picked up and bring it into the store. Gotta love her—and Mona did—but Liz did not have the best head for business. She was the creative sort.

The tote bags, they’d been Liz’s idea. A neat way to be more environmentally friendly as well as organically advertize for the store. Except she’d failed to realize that it was costly to produce the bags, especially if no one remembered to use them more than once.

No, Liz was the frontman in this little operation of theirs, taking care of the sales part of the store. Under normal circumstances, Mona was more than happy to stay in the back room keeping the books, while Liz sold them.

But, during quarantine, it meant, as the frontman, Liz was on the front lines. It was hard to social distance while also trying to make a sale.

So, while Mona didn’t think Liz’s latest mask campaign was bad—especially if it kept her and their employees and customers safer—Mona did worry if, just as with Liz’s other marketing ideas, it might end up being bad for business.

Mona wrinkled her nose as she sorted through the box of donated books, separating them by genre. She watched the news. She was on social media. Regardless of whether they should be or not, masks were a polarizing issue. And the last thing you wanted to be in business was divisive. They couldn’t afford to alienate potential customers for any reason and Lord knew the last thing they needed was to be the latest pandemic viral video.

But, at least for now, Liz seemed to be right. The neighborhood loved her masks. Especially her ones for kids, that she made with fun prints and patterns. Mona couldn’t go anywhere without seeing at least one person wearing one of Liz’s handsewn creations. And her donation discount did drum up some business, bringing people in with the promise of saving a few bucks in exchange for old, unwanted clothes.

So Mona held her tongue and hoped for the best. She knew that she should be more supportive. Definitely knew that Liz wished she were. But, try as she might, Mona just couldn’t wipe away her worries.

She should try harder though. After all, Recycled Novels was a small store in a close-knit community with a fairly regular customer base. Mona grabbed an armful of books to start inventorying. What could happen?

* * *

Liz looked up from her stitching when she heard raised voices.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she heard Nadia, one of their employees, say in a friendly but firm tone, “but, for everyone’s safety, it’s our policy that everyone in the store needs to wear a face mask.”

“You can’t do that! Last time I checked we still live in a free country.”

Liz rolled her eyes. Agatha. Of course it would be her.

Liz appreciated each and every customer who came into the store and did her best to give them the best experience possible. But Agatha made that very difficult.

Like that time she complained that the store’s selection of books on Christianity was stacked with all the other books on religion and belief, rather than a section onto itself. Or the time she tried to petition the store to stop selling books on sexuality and queer books, claiming they were inappropriate and offensive. And, of course, there was her perennial suggestion to follow up the store’s celebration of black authors during black history month with a month promoting white authors, because Agatha thought it terribly unfair to punish authors for being white.

After a bolstering breath, Liz stood up and grabbed the mask basket from the front of the store and headed back to where she could hear Agatha lecturing Nadia about health conspiracies surrounding masks.

Poor Nadia was cringing away as Agatha loomed over the poor college student. The woman had her phone out and pointed at Nadia as she all but shouted, “You cannot tell me what to do. I am a citizen of the United States and you cannot violate my constitutional rights with your fake-news pandemic mandates. And you should know that I’m filming this whole thing.”

Nadia, bless her, was keeping her cool, repeating the lines they’d practiced at their last team meeting. “For everyone’s safety, it’s store policy that everyone needs to wear some kind of face covering.”

“And I told you,” Agatha spat back, “I don’t have one.”

“Well, good luck for you!” Liz said in her bubbliest voice. “We have free ones right here. You can pick out one you like and take it home with you.”

Agatha glared at Liz, turning to aim her phone at her. “I do not want to take one home with me. I don’t need your masks; I’m perfectly healthy.”

Liz continued to smile behind her mask. “No problem. You can drop it off in the donation box up front when you leave.” She put a little more steel in her voice to make her point. “But we are asking all our customers and staff to wear masks while in the store, in an effort to keep all of us safe.”

“Safe?!” Agatha turned her ire on Liz. “Those things kill people. Think about it, if they really do what you think they do, they’d not only be blocking the virus from infecting you, they’d be trapping any other kind of bacteria and disease on the inside of the mask with you.”

Nadia’s eyes went wide as she silently screamed at Liz “this is what I’ve been dealing with.” Liz just shook her head before nodding toward the checkout counter to let the girl know she could leave. Even through Nadia’s mask, Liz could see the girl mouth her thanks before rushing away.

Liz knew that she worked in a bookstore. Her job was to literally share and spread information. But she’d learned that, when it came to the service industry, being correct was not always as important as being effective. Especially while being filmed. “Well, as you said, you are perfectly healthy, so you don’t have to worry about anything getting trapped behind the mask, right?”

Agatha eyed the masks suspiciously before doing the same to Liz. “You made these?”

Liz felt her stomach drop. Ugh, she knew where this was going. Agatha, during her crusade to ban queer books from the store, had claimed that the gay lifestyle promoted and spread diseases.

Feeling her smile waver as her jaw clenched, Liz tried you keep her voice calm. “We wash all the fabric before we sew them and wash all the finished masks before we put them on the floor.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Agatha shook her head. “I’m not wearing one of your masks.”

Liz shrugged. “Then you’ll have to leave the store.”

Agatha balked. “You can’t kick me out. I am an American citizen. I have a right to shop wherever I want.”

“And this is private property,” Liz pointed out. “We have the right to institute and enforce policies to protect our staff and customers.”

Agatha bristled. “This is a violation of my constitutional rights and you should know that I’ve been filming this the whole time.”

As if the phone in her hand, aimed straight at Liz’s face, didn’t make that perfectly clear. Liz sighed and tried to sound as reasonable as possible. “Agatha, all we’re asking is for you to wear a mask—either one of ours, that we’re giving away for free, or one you bring from home—while you’re in the store. Then, if you want, you can take it off when you leave.”

Agatha stepped forward, making Liz involuntarily step back. Smugly, she said, “Or what?”

“Or you can leave.” They both turned to see Mona standing at the end of the aisle, her hands on her hips. Her beautiful face, even behind her Recycled Novels mask, was set in determined lines as her body gave off don’t mess with me vibes. It really shouldn’t be sexy, but it was. Liz sidestepped Agatha to stand next to Mona. A pleased thrill ran through her as Mona raised a protective arm in front of her.

“You can’t kick me out,” Agatha demanded. “That is discrimination.”

Mona looked at Liz and lifted a skeptical brow. “Discrimination?”

“Against the unmasked community!” Agatha marched toward the couple, “You’d think you two—of all people—wouldn’t want others to know that you discriminate against a persecuted group of people.”

Mona shut her eyes in an almost successful attempt to hide her eyeroll. “The…” she pursed her lips before saying, “unmasked community is a persecuted group?”

“I’m being persecuted right now!” Agatha shoved her phone into Mona’s face. “And everyone is going to hear about this.”

Mona sighed. “That’s fine. You do that but, according to store policy, while you do, you’ll need to either put on a mask or leave.”

“Then I guess I’ll leave!”

“Great.” Leaving Liz behind, Mona ushered Agatha to the door.

“You’ll pay for this!” Agatha yelled over her shoulder. “Once I post this, your little store, Recycled Novels, will be ruined.”

Liz winced when she heard Agatha say the store’s name. She was sure it was nothing. Even if Agatha did post her video, how much attention would it get, really?

“Wonderful.” Mona opened the door, waving the woman and her phone out of the store. “Have a lovely day.”

Agatha kicked over the box of donated clothes, spilling old shirts and dresses onto the floor. “Say goodbye to your business, ladies.”

Mona shut the door behind her before turning her back sharply. “Goodbye.” She shot Liz an I told you this would happen look before stomping to the back room again.

With a sinking feeling creeping through her, Liz watched as Agatha got video of herself ranting wildly in front of the store. She watched as the woman was sure to get the store’s sign in frame.

Whatever happened—whatever negative attention or drop in business that she knew they couldn’t afford right now—because of this would be all her fault. Feeling worried and self-conscious, Liz awkwardly walked back toward the checkout counter.

“Are you,” Nadia asked as she moved out from behind the cash register, “okay?”

Liz nodded. Then shook her head. “Why don’t you take a break for a bit?”

“Are you sure?” Nadia bit her lip, clearly not wanting to leave Liz alone.

“Yeah.” Liz gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Agatha can be challenging; I’m sorry about that. Go ahead and just take a long lunch today; we’ll be fine.”

Nadia, looking both relieved and worried, nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Do you want me to get Mona to help out on the floor then?”

“No.” Liz gave a quick shake of her head. Mona was angry. Had every right to be. She had tried to tell Liz. The knowing look Mona had hurled at her still stung. And, still holding the basket of masks in her hands as she stared at the half-finished mask sitting in the counter, Liz didn’t think she was up to dealing with that right now. “No, I’ll be fine. Just go on.”

Liz should have seen this coming. Thought she had. She’d held team meetings where they’d gone over what to say and do. She’d tried to make the policy as customer-friendly as possible, even providing free masks for everyone. She’d tried to make it fun, by making it community-driven and incentive-based with the donation discount. It should have worked.

But she’d failed.

Just like she always did.

And Mona had had to come in and save her. Just like she always did.

Frowning, Liz grabbed the unfinished mask and her sewing supplies off the counter and dumped both it and the basket of masks into the donation box, before shoving all the old clothes and discarded fabric back into the box. She’d toss it in the trash later, when Mona left to do deliveries. For now, she hefted and hid it away behind the counter, where only she could see it.

But, as she sat back down at the counter, it felt as if it—every mask, both finished and not, every scrap of fabric, the box, the whole ridiculous concept—was staring back. She could still feel the gaze of Agatha’s phone glaring at her, capturing and replaying the whole ordeal over and over again. In her head, she could feel the viral eyes of Agatha’s viewers judging her through their screens. The weight of all that compounded with her every past failure and marketing mistake, as she sat there behind her counter and stared at her lovely store that was just barely hanging on, and she felt crushed beneath it all.

Mona was right. Maybe she should just stop trying.

* * *

Mona had been stewing the rest of the day. Agatha and her outlandish video! If it were up to Mona, after all of Agatha’s distasteful antics, she’d happily ban the woman from the store for good.

But she and Liz had had that discussion. Many times now. Liz firmly believed that the worst thing they could do is cut Agatha off from the education and information she desperately needed. Liz believed in slowly shifting people. Thought that, if she just talked enough to Agatha, she could somehow crack some sense through the woman’s thick skull.

Mona snorted as she parked her car in the lot behind the store. There was optimism and then there was just hopeless naïveté. Liz should have known that attention-seeking conspiracy theorist would pull a stunt like that.

Mona knew! She’d told Liz that something like that could happen. But she’d foolishly let Liz convince her that she could handle it. That she was prepared.

Ha!

Now who knew what was going to happen once that ignorant opportunist posted her video? With their luck, Agatha would probably start a boycott, complete with annoyingly over-the-top protests in front of the store. Ugh, just what they needed.

Mona got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Now, she’d probably have to spend the rest of the night figuring out how to fix their finances, in case this all blew up in their faces.

Mona groaned and headed to the store’s back door, only to stop when she spotted Liz’s donation box on the pavement next to the trash cans. Mona looked at it confused. What was it doing there?

She reached in and sifted through the fabric. Had something happened while she was gone? Had Agatha come back and poured paint or something into the box?

Mona fingered all the fabric. Nothing looked wrong.

She yelped, when her finger got pricked. More carefully, she dug to the bottom of the box, where a still pinned-up mask lay crumpled along with the rest of Liz’s sewing supplies. Mona frowned.

Picking up the box, she carried it back into the store.

“Liz?” she called, walking onto the floor.

She stopped.

Liz looked so sad, sitting behind the counter. Not doing anything else. Not humming. Not dancing. Not sewing. Just sitting alone in the now closed store. Her slim shoulders were slumped over and her eyes stared off into nothing. With her mask laying lonesome on the counter, Mona could see worry lines crease Liz's pretty face, framing a frown. She looked tired. Defeated. “Liz?”

She turned around to look at Mona and the discarded donation box in her hands. “Oh.” Her face flushed and her frown deepened. “I didn’t…” She shook her head. “You didn’t have to…” She pursed her lips together as her shoulders fell even more. “I’m sorry.”

Mona put down the box and walked over to Liz. “For what?” She touched the other woman’s shoulder comfortingly.

“For not listening to you.” She ducked her head. “I should have listened to you. You were right.” She looked up at the box sadly. “The masks were just another bad idea.”

What happened to her unflappable Liz? Mona hated seeing her like this. Couldn’t stand it. Liz was the eternal optimist, the hopeful dreamer. Seeing her down made Mona feel like her world was crumbling. If Liz couldn’t have hope, where would someone like Mona ever hope to find it?

Liz sighed sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Mona shook her head. Nope. She took her own mask off, laying it next to Liz's. No. She dropped to her knees next to Liz. “Please don’t be sorry.” She looked up at Liz, who looked down at her curiously. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But Agatha.” Liz shook her head, clutching her hands in her lap. “And that video. If she posts it…”

Which they both knew she would, spiteful woman. Mona sighed and reached up to cover Liz’s hands with hers. “Then we’ll deal with it.”

Liz tried to pull her hands away, but Mona wouldn’t let her. “But we wouldn’t have to, if I’d just stayed out of it.”

“Stayed out of what?” Mona asked, squeezing her hands. “Our business? You were doing the right thing. We both agreed on the mandatory mask policy, so we could protect our workers, our customers, and ourselves. Your masks are a part of that.”

They were. A fun part of it. Before Agatha decided to play amateur, Facebook documentarian and ruined it all.

Liz scoffed. “Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

Mona shrugged. “So Agatha decided to be Agatha about it." She shook her head. "Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t easy,” she said as she rubbed her thumb over Liz’s palm, "but that doesn’t make it less right.” She stood up to tip back Liz’s head and kiss her gently. “That just makes you braver.”

When Liz smiled, Mona felt her world ease. “You think?”

Mona nodded. “Absolutely.” She should have been more supportive of Liz before. She would be from now on. “In fact, if Agatha wants to play hardball, we should too.”

Liz let out a small laugh. “Oh yeah? How would we do that?”

Mona shrugged. “I don’t know; you’re the idea lady. I just run the numbers. But I bet you’ve got some great ideas.”

Liz bit her lip. “Well,” she said with a shrug, “I did talk to Megan, from the elementary school, the other day, who said they were looking for activities for the kids to do, once school started again.” Liz tilted her head thoughtfully. “We thought, since the school is so close, they could walk over as a field trip and learn how to make and decorate their own masks as a fun way to promote health and hygiene.”

Mona smiled. “See!” She hugged Liz. “Sounds like a great idea. We can set up space in the parking lot, so the kids can be outside.”

Liz nodded excitedly. “And, if it goes well, maybe we can offer a class for the community. We could even set out a display of some of our books on sewing and DIY clothing.”

Mona grinned. There was her dreamer. “We could.” She kissed Liz again. “But, first, why don’t we head home? We can iron out the details over dinner.” She held out her hand to her wife.

Smiling, Liz stood up and took Mona's hand. “Sounds good.”

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My Playroom, My Rules!

DO NOT DISTURB

“Pop Goes the Weasel” played, the tinny sound filling the room.

Vera Hernadez raised an eyebrow and her fist clenched on the bug zapper in her hand. “Is that your phone?”

She narrowed her gaze at the beautiful, black woman trussed to her whipping post. Pip Jones’s long, lithe body cringed—as much as it could in the ropes anyway. She turned to face Vera and swallowed deeply.

“I asked,” Vera said over the sing-song ring, pointing the toy at the woman, “is that your phone?”

Pip’s head bobbed in a tiny nod. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

Sorry?

No, she wasn’t sorry. Not yet.

But, by the end of this, she would be.

Vera tsked. “You know my number one rule.” She walked around the post, letting the hatched metal of the toy’s head drag threateningly over Pip’s bared flesh. “No phones.” It was an easy one to remember. And came with a punishment neither of them would forget. “You know what comes next, don’t you?”

Pip’s head whipped back so far it looked like it hurt. Her eyes were wide and her breath wheezed nervously. “You wouldn’t!”

“My playroom, my rules.” She set the bug zapper aside before bending down to root around in Pip’s purse. She found the now silent phone in one of the pockets.

It was one of Vera’s few hard, non-negotiable limits. At the beginning of every negotiation, she made sure to tell every partner that they were to leave their phones and devices at home or in their car. To ensure out of sight and out of mind, she didn’t even want them in the building.

Every bottom, every sub, was warned, if they didn’t comply, the phone would not only be confiscated during the scene.

It would become part of the scene.

Vera grinned cruelly and pointed the phone at Pip’s gorgeously tied up form. “Smile...”

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Be Mine, Sweet Quaran-tine - Part Two

Read Part One

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BE MINE, SWEET QUARAN-TINE - PART TWO

Trisha bit her lip and shut her eyes. It was nothing. She just was being silly. She was sleep-deprived. She was stressed. She was anxious. It was all just in her head. Nothing was wrong.

She gasped as a loud boom roared outside her house.

She knew she wasn’t a good judge and was hardly in the right mindset, but it sounded like a bomb going off next door.

Getting up, she peeked outside her window. Nothing looked out of sorts outside. It all looked like a normal, if empty, evening.

She jumped away from the window at another blast, letting the curtain flutter shut.

She needed to calm down.

Except she couldn’t. Not with her nerves already shot. Months into this pandemic and civil upheaval, she was beyond stressed. She hadn’t been sleeping well, not with those things going off at all times of the night. Add in the fact that she’s spent days worried about Frank, who still hadn’t come into the diner, and she felt ready to cry all the time.

She felt like one of those damnable fireworks, ready to explode.

But she couldn’t. Because she was an essential part of the service industry, who was expected to keep a friendly attitude and a smile on her face, for everyone, at all times, even under her face mask. It was just too much.

She stared at her phone and wished she had someone to call. But she didn’t want to worry anyone. After all, what could they do? They couldn’t come over and she couldn’t go to them. She would just be adding to their anxiety for the slim chance it alleviated hers. No, she wouldn’t do it.

Her mind drifted to Carlos.

He’d told her to call him, if she was lonely or scared.

But she wasn’t lonely. She wasn't. Alone, sure. Isolated, of course; it was a quarantine, after all. But lonely? She still had friends and family. Even if she never saw them anymore, not really. And she saw people everyday at the diner, customers and coworkers. Even if it felt different now, with their faces obscured by masks, like a constant reminder of how much the world had changed.

And she wasn’t scared. Not really. She knew that it was nothing. Just some stir-crazy pyromaniac with too much time and money on their hands. But her mind kept flashing to news stories about unaffiliated agitators taking advantage of legitimate protests to cause chaos, about cops using horrifically excessive force like tear-gas and rubber bullets, about unidentified militias armed to the teeth kidnapping protesters in unmarked vans.

She remembered the houses around her home proudly flying Confederate flags or with “Don’t Tread on Me” signs sticking defiantly in the ground. A shiver ran down her spine. Those things had always unsettled her when she saw them, but they loomed ominously in her thoughts now.

Another, louder crash rocked her house and she felt it rattle her to her bones. Instinctively, she grabbed her phone.

To hell with it! She dialed Carlos’s number. She didn’t want to sit here, huddled by the window anymore. She was tired of being afraid. She just wanted a taste of normal again. To hear a friendly voice.

“Hello?”

She almost hung up. “Carlos?” She blushed, suddenly feeling silly.

“Trisha?” His voice sounded so smooth and comforting over the line. “Everything okay?”

Trisha froze, unable to speak, until she heard another loud boom. She shut her eyes and gripped her phone hard. “Someone’s setting off fireworks again, and it’s freaking me out, and I’m sorry to bug you, but I didn’t have anyone else to call, and you said to call you, if that happened again.” The words tumbled from her lips in an anxious rush.

“It’s okay.” Carlos’s voice softened. “You’re not bugging me. I’m glad you called.”

Her breath caught. “You are?”

She heard him sigh. “You’ve seemed,” he said cautiously, “out of sorts lately. But any time I ask you about it, you just wave it off like it’s nothing.”

She hadn’t wanted to burden him with her problems.

“You want to talk about it?”

But she was burdening him right now. She bit her lip. “I’m being silly.” She shook her head and leaned back against the wall. “It’s just fireworks.” She was sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. It's just that the uncertainty, the heavy possibilities of what it could be, was killing her.

“It’s loud, destructive noises near your home,” he said sympathetically. “It’s natural to be bothered by it. Do you have someone you can call? A neighborhood watch or housing association? The police?”

No cops. “I don’t want to call anyone. I don’t want to start anything.” Increasing tensions seemed the worst thing to do right now. As a white woman, Trisha had grown up trusting the police to keep her and her community safe. But, after having her eyes opened to a side of law enforcement that she’d never seen before, she didn’t trust anyone’s ability right now to de-escalate things safely.

“Do you want me to come over?”

No. “Like I said, I’m over-reacting.”

He sighed. “It’s okay, Trisha. I’m not judging you. If it makes you feel safer, I can come over.”

“But quarantine…”

“I can wear a mask and stay six feet away from you, if you like.” He paused. “But I don’t like the idea of you being alone right now. Let me come over. I’ll sit in the yard with you, if that makes you feel better.”

Trisha worried her lip. That sounded like too much. She didn’t want to—

“It’s no bother,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts. “In fact, it’ll make me feel better.”

She sighed. She knew that he was just being kind—being Carlos; he was too nice a person to not help someone when he could, no matter what—but she was too relieved not to take him up on it. “Thank you.” She gave him her address.

“Sit tight,” he said as she heard clothes and keys rustle, “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Carlos parked in Trisha’s driveway and grabbed his mask and phone. Putting on the mask, he checked himself in the rear view mirror. Not exactly his best look but, like he’d said, if it made Trisha feel better, he’d wear the damned thing all evening.

He got out of the car and walked up to her front window before calling her. “I’m here,” he told her when she picked up the line.

He waved when he saw her peek between the closed curtains. “You came.” He couldn’t tell by her voice or face if she was happy about that.

He shrugged. “I said I would.” He looked at her. “How are you?”

She looked...conflicted, fragile. He hated that. He’d grown up around resilient women. Admired and loved them. And, in doing so, he knew better than most that, when those who seemed too strong to bend did, they often broke.

He watched her teeth worry her lip. It was the first time in months that he’d seen her lips. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just her mouth. But, in this moment, her lips looked so full and pink and soft, he couldn’t look away.

“This is ridiculous.” He watched her mouth form the words. “Do you want to come in?”

Right now, he felt like doing anything she told him to. “If you let me in, I’ll come in.”

She nodded. “Give me a minute; let me get the door.”

He walked to her stoop and waited.

He turned at a loud blast. Jeez, no wonder Trisha was nervous. Sure, he’d heard people lighting fireworks by his apartment, but they were always the safe, family-friendly kind sold at gas stations and grocery stores that pretty much just fizzled and popped.

The ones going off by Trisha’s place sounded like gunshots or small explosives. He frowned and hoped like hell that they weren’t as close as they sounded.

He turned when the door opened, only to have his frown deepen when he saw she’d put on a mask too. He understood that she was doing it for his protection. It was the kind and considerate thing to do. And part of him was grateful.

But another part missed those lips.

“Come on in.” She held the door open for him.

Carlos looked around as he stepped inside. He’d never been to Trisha’s house. It was nice. Cozy. She had a mismatch of furniture, a collection of rescued and rehomed pieces, from garage sales or handed down from a relative or friend, that shouldn’t have gone together but somehow did. Each piece, from her scratched but clean maple dining table to her overly ornate but cluttered oak coffee table to her faded but still fluffy beige couch, looked lived-in and well-loved. Overall, it looked homey.

“Sorry,” she said, “I should have cleaned up before you got here.”

He turned to her. “I like your home.” Looking around, he nodded approvingly. “It’s welcoming.”

He could see her smile, despite her mask, her eyes lighting up happily as her cute dimples barely showed right at the edge of the fabric. “Thank you.” She fidgeted. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Drink?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.” Not that he could eat or drink with his mask on.

Awkwardly, she looked around. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much to do here.” She shrugged sheepishly, making Carlos wonder how many, if any, people—how many men—she’d ever entertained here. “We could watch a movie or something?”

She looked uncomfortable, like maybe she was regretting her decision. He’d be damned if he’d let her regret letting him in. “A movie sounds great.”

They settled on either end of her couch and agreed on an action movie that had come out right before quarantine that they both had meant to see but hadn’t gotten around to before all the theaters closed.

Carlos remembered being excited for the film, thinking it looked slick and exciting from the trailers. But, try as he might, he couldn’t concentrate on the screen. As he’d suspected, the film’s action thankfully helped mask the sounds coming from outside, allowing Trisha to relax and throw herself in the movie.

He was glad, enjoying watching her lean forward with her eyes wide at the super-human fight scenes. He couldn’t help but smile as her body instinctively ducked and dodged along with each punch and kick on screen. He liked seeing her like this, ready to take on anyone and anything. As entertaining as he was sure the movie was, he was more than happy to sit back from his side of the couch and watch her all night.

* * *

Trisha yawned and snuggled closer to the warmth she was holding. The strong, solid heat that held her. It was so nice that she wanted to just bury herself deeper and fall back asleep.

Except, something felt strange. Not really wrong, per se, but off. Her mind still sleep-fogged, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and looked around at her dark living room. Wondering what she was doing here so late, she waited for her mind to catch up.

Trisha woke up instantly, her eyes popping open as her body froze. Oh God. Keeping her head rigidly still, she turned her gaze to look above her. At Carlos’s sleeping face. Oh God.

She looked down at herself, wrapped like a blanket around his slumbering body as his arms curled around her. She shut her eyes and cringed.

How had this happened?

She remembered watching movies with him on her couch. First the action film. Then a comedy special. Then a true crimes documentary. Thank God for streaming services. She must have fallen asleep during the documentary, but how had she ended up on his side of the couch, much less draped over him?

And, more importantly, how did she get off of him without waking him up?

She sighed at the humiliating ridiculousness of her situation. This was why she’d avoided this kind of thing. Having someone—having Carlos—here in her home was too much of a temptation. It felt too good to have him here, so much better than she could have imagined. She honestly hadn’t noticed exactly how stressed she’d been—for months now—until his strong, steady presence allowed her to relax.

Then she’d fallen asleep on him, like some ungrateful hostess, before climbing all over him while they both were unconscious.

God, she needed to get up right now. Before he woke up and discovered them like this.

The question was how.

It didn’t help that a part of her really didn’t want to. The part of her that had felt so tired and isolated before he’d arrived begged to just lie back down. To close her eyes and pretend she was none the wiser. To deal with the consequences later and just enjoy this while she had it.

And, shameful as it was, she almost did. Until she realized that she wasn’t wearing her mask anymore. Neither was he. She supposed it wasn’t easy to sleep with a mask on and, held on by nothing but flimsy ear straps, how could it not fall off your face as you shifted in your sleep?

It was an accident, but it also meant that she was putting him at risk. “Oh God.”

Carlos’s eyes opened as he sleepily looked around. “You okay?” He blinked down at her, studying her in the dark.

Oh God. Trisha sat up quickly, scuttling to the other side of the couch. She covered her mouth and nose. “I’m sorry.”

He stretched before sitting up. “For what?”

She shut her eyes. “I was laying…” She shook her head. “I mean, I fell asleep on you.”

He rolled his shoulders and shrugged. “You were tired. Besides, we both fell asleep.”

Yeah, but… “I mean, on you,” she said, gesturing to the length of his body, “on you.” All over him. She bit her lip, feeling her face flush.

She swore she heard him chuckle softly. “I don’t mind.”

But he should. She did.

Didn’t she?

She felt like she should. It felt like she’d done something wrong. “Our masks fell off.”

He reached up and touched his jaw. “They did.” He bent down to pick up the discarded bits of fabric. “We can put them back on, if it makes you feel better.”

“Seems a bit late now.” Her heart dropped. What had she done? “I’m sorry. First, I make you come over here over something as trivial as fireworks. Then I fall asleep on top of you, invading your personal space, while breathing all over you.” She felt her breath, warm and guilty, against her palm. “I’m sorry.” What if he got sick because of her? She felt awful.

“Hey.” She felt him touch her wrist, gently pulling her hand away from her face. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. “We’re supposed to be social distancing. Protecting each other.” And here she was putting him at risk because she was selfish.

Carlos smiled at her sympathetically. He settled closer to her on the couch and held her hand. “Okay, yeah, this isn’t exactly the best quarantine practices,” he admitted. “But,” he shrugged, saying, “it’ll be okay. I’m sure.” He didn’t sound like he was. He sounded like he really wanted to be. “I mean, we already work together. Neither of us really go anywhere else or see anyone else.”

Frank’s words came back to her. “Your risk levels are practically the same, right? All I’m saying is, take it from an old man, life is short. And, with all that’s going on in the world right now, it’s gotta be better than coming home to an empty house, right?”

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the wisest decision they’d ever made, but there were definitely worse ones. It wasn’t like they were going unmasked to bars or beaches or parties. It wasn't as if they were strangers. They've known each other for years. They knew each other's lives. And they cared for each other. This wasn't wise, sure, but it wasn't exactly reckless either. Right?

Carlos sighed. “I know you’re worried and I know I probably should be too.” He looks down at her hand, his fingers touching her palm so gently, almost reverently. “And I’ll leave if you want me to.” He looked up at her, his deep, brown eyes sincere and sweet. “But I’m glad I’m here.”

She smiled. Right or not, wise or not, safe or not, she was too. And it wasn’t as if either of them were making a habit of this. They weren’t risk-taking people, by nature. They were just two people trying to figure out how this new world worked.

As he stroked her palm, the small touch seemed so intimate, so intense, after months of isolation. Biting her lip, she felt herself weakening. She blinked and blushed when heat flared in his eyes as his gaze narrowed on her mouth. She shrugged. “So what happens now?”

Carlos met her gaze thoughtfully for a moment. “What do you want to happen now?”

That was a good question. “I don’t even know what the options are.” They were in new territory. Lord knew, she’d never been here before. Sure, of course, she’d dated before, had had men over to her place before, had had some of them even spend the night. But this felt wholly different. Both more and less intimate. Both more and less risky.

Carlos nodded, like he understood completely. “Well,” he said, “we could have breakfast first.”

“Breakfast sounds good.” Thinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

“Then, seeing as we both have the day off, we can see about making an appointment to get tested,” he said, clasping her hand in both of his. “I have a feeling that would probably make us both feel better, right?”

It wasn’t perfect—she’d heard stories about hard it can be to get tested, especially while not showing symptoms and without a doctor’s referral, and, even if you did, there were always worries like false or premature negatives—but, yeah, at least taking the steps to see what they could do would make her feel better. “Okay. What then?”

He paused, turning her hand in his to trace the lines of her palm. “Then I guess we decide if I go home to stay,” he said slowly before looking back up at her, “or to pack up some things to stay here.”

Trisha sucked in a harsh breath and sat straighter. This felt fast. Didn’t it?

“Just during quarantine. And I’d stay on the couch, of course,” Carlos assured her quickly. “I don’t mean that we’ll…” He gestured between them nervously. “I mean, I’m not trying to assume that we’re…” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m just saying that it was nice not being alone and the idea of going back…” He shrugged a little helplessly before wincing and dropping his gaze to look back down at their hands.

Yeah, she understood that. The idea of going back to being alone, of losing the comfort just having Carlos around gave her, broke her heart. She didn’t want to do it; honestly, didn’t think she could bear to. Trisha coughed. “I have a spare bedroom.” Her brow knit. “It’s not fancy. Just a pull-out couch that my sister uses when she comes into town.” She shrugged awkwardly. “But it’s an option.”

He smiled, settling something inside her that had been off for longer than she cared to think about, and nodded. “It’s an option.”

* * *

Carlos stepped out the The Plate's kitchen and watched Trisha sadly turn the front door sign from Open to Closed. “Still no Frank, huh?”

She turned to face him, her eyes so worried as she worried her lip beneath her mask. “Nope.” It’d been almost two weeks now.

He sighed and walked up to her, giving her a hug. Even while still masked at work, it was nice to be able to hold her now, to feel her arms around him. He couldn't wait to take her home, fill her with warm food and cuddle with her in front of the TV. “I’m sorry.” After living with her for a little bit, seeing her react to the news reports every morning and evening, he’d learned that uncertainty, even positive uncertainty, troubled her. Platitudes often left her feeling worse. She worked in the service industry; no one knew better what horrors were often covered by forced smiles and optimism. She’d rather just face reality head on. She'd always rather know for sure than hope for the best.

He hated that he couldn’t give her certainty. He wanted to tell her that Frank was fine. He wanted to tell her that they were fine. That the world would be fine. But he couldn’t. Not for sure. They were living in uncertain times. And the only thing he knew for certain was that he wished they weren’t. He lay his head on hers. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded and took a deep, calming breath. “I know.” She squeezed him tightly. “Thank you.”

They both turned when they heard a knock on the glass door.

“Frank?!” They both stared in shock.

The old man waved, his scarf swaying with the vigorous movement.

Trisha rushed to unlock the door. “Oh my God, Frank, where have you been?”

The old man waited until she backed up a few feet to stand with Carlos by the diner counter before entering.  “My favorite grocery delivery person unfortunately tested positive so, just to play it safe, I’ve been quarantining myself in my house for two weeks.”

Trisha frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they—and you, of course—are all right.”

Frank nodded. “Last I heard, from my new delivery person, he’s been laid pretty low but is on the mend now. So that’s good. And, as for me, like I said, it was just to be safe. And, luckily, I haven’t had any symptoms.”

Carlos clapped. “That’s fantastic news.” He winked at the old man, so very grateful that he was well. “How about we celebrate with some pie? I always keep a slice set aside for you, just in case.” Just because Trisha liked practical realism, didn’t mean he didn’t find his own comfort in hopeful optimism.

Because, sometimes, even under the worst conditions, hope paid off.

“Just let me wash up and grab that pie and some tea,” Carlos said, thankful that, even in dark times, light found a way to shine through. “On the house, as a celebration of your good heath and a thank you.” He gave Trisha a quick hug. “I’ll let Trisha fill you in on why.”

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Be Mine, Sweet Quaran-tine - Part One

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BE MINE, SWEET QUARAN-TINE - PART ONE

Trisha looked up from wiping the counter when she heard the front door’s bell. She smiled and waved at the old man entering the diner. “Heya, Frank.”

The silver-haired man nodded and waved back as he made his way to his favorite booth. The Clean Plate Club, the local diner Trisha worked at, was about to close for the night, but Trisha never did have the heart to shuffle Frank out. The seventy-something widower was just too sweet, always politely ordering the same thing every night: a hot cup of tea and a slice of apple pie. It’d been his wife’s favorite. He’d told Trisha once that it kept a part of her alive for him, to end each day with something she loved.

It’d broken her heart, when The Plate had closed down for weeks because of the lockdown. Of course, she’d been worried about her finances and the health of her coworkers and herself, as well as the state of the world as a whole, but a part of her couldn’t stop thinking about Frank all alone in the apartment he used to share with his wife. She would have brought him a pie, if she’d known where he lived or felt comfortable going anywhere outside her house.

Now that The Clean Plate Club was open again, she still worried about her finances and health and world, obviously, but it was nice to see Frank again. She was glad to see him in relatively good health. Every night, since they’d reopened, he’d come in with a scarf wrapped around his face, like it was December instead of the middle of summer, and sit in the back. And, just like she used to, Trisha would bring him his mug of steaming tea and a slice of pie.

Only now, she didn’t feel comfortable sliding into the booth with him to listen to stories of him and his wife. Sure, she wore a mask, as required by the restaurant, but it still didn’t feel like enough. The last thing either of them needed was to catch the virus. He didn’t look sick and she felt well enough, but the risk was there.

So, after delivering his usual order, Trisha retreated back behind the counter. “How’s it been, Frank?”

He unwrapped the scarf from around his face. “Same old, same old. How about you?”

Trisha smiled as the man began to tuck into his pie. “Can’t complain.”

Frank raised his eyebrow. “Then you’re not paying close enough attention.”

Trisha chuckled. True enough.

“Is that Frank?”

They both turned to see the Plate’s cook, Carlos, lean against the kitchen’s pass-through window, his jaunty soda jerk hat and matching face mask looking so crisp and white against his silky, black hair and bronze skin. His dark brown eyes glittered with humor. “How’s the pie tonight?”

“Not as good as my wife’s,” Frank repeated the refrain they performed every night, like a well-oiled vaudeville act, “but mortals were never meant to do what angels may.”

Carlos tipped his hat. “Just means I’ll have to keep aiming higher.” He turned to Trisha, who was smirking behind her mask at the two men. “If you want to head out early, I can handle clean-up, if you close out the register.”

Trisha shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Carlos shrugged and stepped out of the kitchen and into the diner. “Not like I have anything better to do.” He grabbed the mop and began to work on the floors.

No one did.

She stopped and thought about it, admiring Carlos's broad shoulders and smooth movements as he mopped. An early night didn’t sound too bad. Ever since the pandemic started, Trisha felt exhausted all the time. Not for any real good reason. The world, living in it, just seemed so draining right now. All she really wanted to do was to go home and go to bed. “If you’re sure.” It was an extremely kind offer. One too good to pass up.

Carlos just tipped his hat again, before turning to Frank. “And don’t you worry about this one; I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Trisha smiled, already dreaming of her comfortable bed. “Thanks.”

* * *

Carlos poured more hot water into Frank’s mug before handing him another tea bag. “Here you are.”

Nodding, Frank held his scarf over his face until Carlos backed up a few feet. “I hope you don’t mind waiting for me.”

Carlos shook his head and headed back to the counter to wipe up. “I’ve got plenty to do still before I can close up for the night. Take your time.”

Frank took a sip of his tea. “Yes, that was a nice thing you did for Trisha.” Shaking his head, he tsked. “I know you’re not supposed to say such things about a lady, but she looks tired.”

Carlos nodded. “She deserves a break.” Trisha worked hard and never complained. Even with a mask on, she always had a smile for every customer and did her best to bring a little brightness to what sure felt like dark times.

Frank picked up his fork and picked up the last bit of his crust. “Shame she goes home alone every night.”

Chuckling, Carlos leaned against the counter, washcloth in hand. “You up to your matchmaking tricks again?” Frank had been pushing Carlos and Trisha together for years now.

And it wasn’t as if Carlos didn’t find her attractive. Trisha had beautiful blond hair that looked like silken sunlight and blue eyes the color of the ocean. Her hips were weighty and round and her legs seemed to go on forever. Yeah, Carlos found Trisha very attractive.

But they were coworkers. And that never felt like a good idea. It just seemed easier to date outside the diner.

Not that that was all that easy these days either.

Which was why he’d offered to let her head home early. One of them might as well get a good night of sleep and, Lord knew, it wasn’t going to be him.

Frank huffed into his tea. “Girl like that should have someone to take care of her.”

Carlos smiled. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.” Trisha might be sweet and friendly, but she was tough when she needed to be. He would never, as long as he lived, forget her dressing down a server who’d refused to wear a mask on shift. Her fury had been glorious and terrifying. Since then, he’d never seen the young server without a mask, even when on break or heading home. Carlos, who’d grown up around strong, resilient women, couldn’t help but admire one who commanded the fear of God.

Frank sipped and nodded. “Just because she can do for herself, doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a man willing to do what he can for her.” He looked at Carlos over his mug. “I imagine she’s the kind of woman who would always give better than she gets.”

Carlos grinned. That she would. He leaned on the countertop and raised an eyebrow. “Know many women like that?”

Frank lifted his head to the ceiling. “Just the one.” He shut his eyes and wrapped his hands around his mug reverently. “She was all that I needed.”

Carlos liked to think that, in his thirty-odd years on this Earth, he’d loved his share of women. But never the way Frank seemed to have loved—seemed to still love—his wife. Carlos had wanted many women. Liked even more. But needed...

Frank drained his cup. “I’ll never see my wife again. Not in this lifetime, anyway. But, if I could…” He set the mug on the table with a thud before grabbing his scarf that looked so incongruous with his short-sleeved shirt and light-weight linen pants. “Take it from someone who goes home alone every night,” he said, slinging the long cloth around his neck, “facing all that emptiness everyday drains a person and there’s no amount of rest or sleep that can cure that kind of exhaustion.” He gave Carlos a pointed look. “Don’t you think?”

Carlos watched the old man wrap the scarf around his face as he made his way back out onto the street, leaving Carlos alone in the empty diner. Well, the old man certainly knew how to make a point, didn’t he?

Fact was Carlos didn’t really want to go home to an empty apartment either. While he didn’t exactly relish risking his health for a paycheck every day, simply because it wasn’t as if he and his fellow coworkers could work from home, he didn’t think he could spend all day in his apartment either. Every night, when he came home, he felt restless there. Trapped. It wasn’t even that he had anywhere he particularly wanted to go, certainly not enough to risk his health unnecessarily. But he missed the ability to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He missed hanging out with his friends, at the bar, at the movies, at the park. He hadn’t even seen most of his friends or family, face-to-face, in months. He called his family every week, even played games online with some of his friends, but it wasn’t the same.

Yeah, he understood the unique level of loneliness lockdown left deep in the soul.

Well, what was he supposed to do about that anyway? Even if he wanted to pursue something with Trisha, how would that even work? Like with his friends, it’s not as if they could go out to a restaurant or a movie. What kind of date could they even have while under quarantine? They couldn’t kiss or cuddle or make love. What would the point even be? What could they really do that they didn’t already do, while seeing each other, talking to each other, sharing a small space with each other, eight hours a day?

Some cure.

Carlos sighed and stared at all the work that still waited for him. It was going to be a long night. So he put the old man’s words out of his head and got to work.

* * *

Trisha refreshed Frank’s cup. “How’s the pie tonight?”

Frank swallowed and winked. “Carlos’s best, but don’t tell him I said so.”

Trisha zipped her mask-covered lips. “I won’t say a word.” She winked back at him. “But I could bring you a second slice, if you like.”

Frank chuckled. “Please and thank you.”

Trisha made her way into the kitchen. “One more slice of pie, please.”

“Frank’s making a night of it, huh?” Carlos stopped wiping the kitchen counters to wash his hands, cut another slice of pie, and plate it. “Here you are.”

She took it. “Thanks.” She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. “If you want to head out early, I can stay late tonight. You know, to make up for last night.”

Carlos waved his hand dismissively. “No need to make up for anything; it wasn’t anything.” He looked at her, his dark eyes taking her in. “Forgive me saying so, but you don’t look any more well-rested than you did before.” He turned to wipe the counters again. “Use your early night for something more fun than sleep?”

Trisha shrugged. “Only if you find tossing and turning all night fun.”

Carlos turned back to her, raising his eyebrow. “Not as peaceful a night as you hoped?”

Trisha yawned and set the pie on the counter. “It’s hard to relax these days.” She touched her temple, where a vein had been throbbing off and on all day. “Especially when one or some of my neighbors decided to set off fireworks all night long.”

Carlos winced. “Yeah, it’s been going on all over.” He shook his head. “Cooped-up people blowing off steam, I guess.”

Trisha nodded. “I suppose.” She sighed. “But add it with the news coverage of police shootings and tear-gassed protesters…” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her middle. “I mean, I’m certain it was just fireworks, but explosives sound like explosives to me, you know?”

Carlos sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, I can see that.” He shifted his weight from side to side. “It can’t be easy living in your house all alone.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m by myself in my apartment but, if anything ever went down… Well, for better or worse, you’re never really alone in an apartment, you know?”

She did know. Last night, it’d almost been like she’d had too much time. Alone in her house, left with those sounds and her thoughts, it’d left her anxious and nervous. Too nervous to enjoy any of her newfound time.

“Maybe you should see if a friend might stay with you during lockdown?” Carlos suggested, still wiping down counters. “At least if you’re quarantining together, you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

Trisha thought about it, but shook her head. “Like it or not, working here increases my risk of catching the virus. But I can’t not work.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t ask any of my friends to take on that risk.”

Carlos turned to face her. “You’re a good friend.” He shrugged. “Well, if you’re ever feeling lonely or scared, you can always give me a call. It’s not as if I won’t be home.”

Trisha grabbed Frank’s pie off the counter again. “Thanks.” It was sweet of Carlos to offer, but she was sure, even under lockdown, he had better things to do with his time than coddle her. “I’d better get Frank his pie, before he wonders if we closed up with him still inside.”

Carlos laughed. “Well, this is basically his second home. He’s practically a fixture here.” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine the place without him.”

Trisha agreed. And part of her was comforted by that. A smile spread across her face as she delivered Frank his dessert. “Here you are. One slice of Carlos’s best.”

Frank nodded. “Thank you.”

Trisha walked back to the counter only to realize that Frank wasn’t eating. He was just staring at her. “Something wrong with the pie, Frank?”

The old man just shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but…” He picked up his fork, but looked up at Trisha instead of the pie. “Can I ask you a question?”

Eavesdrop? On her conversation with Carlos? “Uh.” Trisha shrugged. “Sure.”

Frank used his fork to push around his pie. “You don’t want to live alone, but you don’t want to put any of your friends at risk, because you work here, right?”

That about summed it up. She nodded. “It’s not that I’m worried that I’m sick,” she rushed to assure him. “I don’t have any symptoms. No one who works here does and, if anyone does, we’re sent straight home.” She shrugged. “But you just can’t be too careful these days, you know?”

Frank shook his head. “I wasn’t worried.” He ate a piece of pie. “Not about that anyway.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Rather, I was wondering if there was a simpler solution to your problem.”

Trisha looked at Frank curiously. “My problem?”

“Of living alone.” Frank waved his fork. “You live alone. Carlos lives alone.” He twirled his fork. “Why not live together?” He held out his hands. “Just during quarantine, of course.”

Carlos? Trisha shook her head. “Aw, Frank, no, it’s not like that.”

Frank picked up his mug. “I’m not saying anything...funny should happen.” He took a sip. “I’m just saying it’s something to think about. I mean, you wouldn’t be putting each other at risk. Not if you’re both pretty much going to the same places, seeing the same people. Your risk levels are practically the same. Right?”

Trisha shook her head again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” It sounded awkward and impossible. They were coworkers. Friends. Even if a part of her wished they could be more.

Which would make a living situation like that even worse. Having him live in her house. Having him, with his tall, broad body, taking up space in her home. Having him so near. In her kitchen. Her living spaces. Her bedroom. Having him so close to her most intimate spaces. Filling them with his presence, the sight, sound, and scent of him. Trisha felt her face flush and her heart pound at the thought.

No, it was definitely not a good idea.

“Just a thought.” Frank ate another bite. “I mean, coming home to a nice young man like Carlos, strong, reliable, capable…” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is, take it from an old man, life is short. And, with all that’s going on in the world today,” he said around another bite of sugary apples, “it’s gotta be better than coming home to an empty house, right?”

Trisha sighed. Well, with that thought swimming around her head, looked like she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight either.

* * *

Trisha was still staring at the door. She’d been doing that all night.

Carlos leaned against the pass-through window. “Frank still not here?”

Sighing, Trisha shook her head. “Nope.” She slumped down into one of the cushy booths. “That’s three nights in a row.” She huffed, her brow furrowing in frustration. Before looking up at him, her eyes wide with sadness. “I’m worried about him.”

Carlos was too. Frank had been coming to The Plate longer than Carlos had been working there. The only times when the man didn’t come in, as far as Carlos was aware, was when The Plate was closed.

Or when Frank fell ill.

Carlos frowned.

He shook his head. “I’m sure he’s fine.” He had to be. “There’s been an uptick in cases recently,” he stopped, when he saw Trisha pale at that, only to hurriedly make his point, “so lots of people have been staying in, just to be safe. I’m sure that’s all it is.” He hoped so. “Do you know where he lives?” Maybe they could call or visit, just to check up on him.

Trisha shook her head. “All I know is that he lives alone.” Her frown deepened. “I don’t think he even has anyone else in his life.”

Carlos sighed. Yeah, that figured. He looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes after close. They’d already closed the register and cleaned up the diner. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

Sighing too, Trisha turned away. “I know.”

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