Love in Lockdown Series

*Okay, so awhile back, I said that romance/erotica writers SHOULD write more stories that portray and encourage mask-wearing. So I wrote a series of #MaskUp romance stories. They're available for FREE on my Patreon, so head on over and check them out:

Running Hot - Stir-crazed social distancing make libidos run hot. Listen to an Excerpt

Be Mine, Sweet Quaran-tine - Quarantine is better with a coworker with benefits.

Mask Marketing - Masks make for great protection, so do girlfriends.

Read My Lips - Not even quarantine can stop a crush.

Sent With Love - Sending love letters brings us closer, even when we're far apart.

Muffled - Even at your lowest, the people who love you will lift you up again.

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Muffled

We've all been living in a heightened state as of late and, when I recently watched the horror classic The Tingler, all I kept thinking was that no one living through this past year would need drugs to understand the nature and power of fear. The idea of the fear and anxiety inside being a self-fulfilling, self-fueling monster within is terrifying, especially in these often overwhelming times. But hopefully, we all find the grounding forces in our lives and let them support us when things get too heavy.

MUFFLED

Yawning, you head downstairs to make a cup of coffee. You can hear your mother already puttering around. The sound of clinking mugs and plates grate a bit, but the scent of freshly brewed coffee lures you closer.

“Morning.” Your mother hands you a mug.

You nod and fill your cup, as well as an insulated thermos for your partner, Tai.

“All I’m saying is,” a droning voice on the television says, “it’s just a little convenient that this virus showed up during an election year and now the Shadowy CDC is pushing a rushed vaccine on the public in a desperate attempt to sway the election.”

You roll your eyes. It’s too early for this. “Mom, change the channel.”

She shakes her head and sips from her mug. “I like listening to the news in the morning.”

This isn’t news; it’s talking heads. But you’ve had that argument a thousand times before.

“I don’t trust the vaccine,” the voice continues. “I will not be getting it and anyone who would is gambling with their lives.”

Do yourself a favor; turn off the TV.

You rub the base of your back as a tingling cramp builds, bowing your shoulders forward with a pained grumble. Suddenly, you feel Tai’s fingers press into your back. “You okay?”

You groan and sink into her fingers as they massage the strain. Leaning back, you kiss her lips. “Just tired.”

Her arms wrap around your waist and she lays her cheek on the top of your head, enveloping you in her comfort. She squeezes tightly, making you squeak, and you suddenly feel like you can breathe a bit easier. She kisses your forehead. “Take it easy today.”

Nodding, you hand her the thermos full of coffee. “Be careful.”

She waves her mask at you before putting it on. “I always am.”

As you hear the front door open and close, you go to top off your cup and get ready for your day.

“I don’t know how she does it,” you hear your mom say behind you. “Wearing that thing on her face all day.”

To be honest, neither can you. You hate wearing them even for short trips to the grocery or drug store. But you’re glad she does. She needs to go out everyday for work and you want her to be safe.

The idea of Tai getting sick sends a shudder along your spine. You’ve seen the news stories and social media posts of hospitalized people, hooked up to ventilators and monitors, emaciated and all alone. You recall online articles and televised segments about climbing death tolls and refrigerated trucks filled with bodies like mobile morgues. You’ve read the accounts and interviews of grieving families who never even got to say goodbye.

In the face of that, you don’t really understand how a scrap of constricting cloth could protect Tai but, if the experts say it will, who are you to argue? It has to be better than nothing. Doesn’t it?

You rub your lower back, stress prickling your nerves again.

———

Done with work for the day, you slam your laptop shut and sit up straighter on the bed. You roll your shoulders back and hear—feel—the bones creak and crack. Working from home should make things easier. You’re safe from the virus. You don’t have to dress up or worry about parking or a commute.

So why, some days, does it seem so much harder?

Stretching, your knees hurt, your back is sore, and there’s a throbbing pain in your left temple. You’re just so tired.

Stuck in your home, month after month, it feels like one never-ending workday. A purgatory repetition of the same thing over and over. You feel all that time press on you, each day like grains of sand that pile on top of you without ever passing. You feel buried beneath the crushing weight of them.

Get up.

With a groan, you stand up and stretch. You need to head downstairs to make dinner but, when you open the fridge, you see mostly empty shelves.

You straighten at the sharp chirp of your phone’s notification. Taking it out of your pocket, you look down and read the news alert.

“Will wildfires devastating the coast drive up the price of produce?”

Great. You know that, in news, if it bleeds, it leads, but you wonder where all the good news has gone. Your jaw sets as you grab your purse, your mask, and some reusable totes and head out of the house. You don’t know why you bother. The world is burning and your solution is, what? Cloth bags and efficient lightbulbs. You try to do whatever you can, but none of it feels like enough. When the problem seems so much bigger than you, everything you do feels like a failure.

As you walk to the store, it seems weird being out of the house. You’ve lived in this neighborhood for years now, but a strangeness surrounds the familiar setting as you inhale. The way your mask moves against your face, the cloth pressing in against your lips and nose, makes you feel stifled, almost claustrophobic. Logically, you know you can breathe, but you feel like you can never get enough air. And the air you do get feels invasive as it fills your lungs. While part of you longs to breathe fresh air after being huddled indoors for so long, the air outside no longer feels clean. You know it’s not, but it feels infected. Infectious.

It’s so strange that, when you’re home, all you want is to get out. But, now that you’re out, all you want is to be back home.

When you get to the store, try hard to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Everywhere you look, there are people without masks or with their masks half-hanging off their faces. You swear, you can hear them breathing, great gusts of hot, heavy air blowing through heaving nostrils all around you.

A part of you wants to yell at all of them. Shout and rant like all those viral videos you see online. You can feel the need to scream simmering beneath your skin.

But you don’t. You feel like you can’t. Social niceties feel like a tether around your throat, your angry words choking you as you try to swallow them down. The mask, now moist against your mouth with your own droplets from every exhalation, feels like a gag, holding back all the frustration and rage boiling inside you.

As you wait in the checkout line, you stare at all the magazines with huge high-def covers of hospitalized people crammed into overwhelmed facilities, and of political protesters being beaten and gassed in their neighborhood streets, and of those in power too busy bickering to do anything about any of it. Even the pretty ones, featuring glossy spreads of professionally styled stars and glamorously made-up celebrities, seem like a desperate attempt to pretend nothing’s wrong. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like some easily cracked candied shell trying to conceal a rotten core.

You jump when an arm reaches for one of those magazines. It’s been so long since a stranger has been this close to you. Their arm hair feels like some kind of insect, making your skin crawl. Their body heat feels oppressive against the chill racing through you. You flinch away, covering your shoulder with your hand. But, as you do, your knuckles brush against their skin. You feel the slight contact like a punch to the gut. You want to scream. You want to push him back. You want to shove him six feet away.

Don’t. Just get out of there.

Once at the register, you throw all your groceries onto the conveyor belt. Gritting your teeth, you watch the cashier touch and scan each item, their fingers gripping and grasping at your things. When you hand over your card, their fingers nudge yours awkwardly.

Some young kid takes your totes from your cart and grabs your food, packing it into the bags. You want to stop her. Want to tell her that you’ll do it. But her hands are already touching everything. Frowning behind your mask, you stand back and wordlessly watch as you feel a sick feeling slither up your spine. Don’t shout. Don’t cause a scene. She’s just doing her job. Be grateful.

As soon as all your bags are packed, you politely thank them before grabbing your things and slinging them over your shoulders. Rush out of the store. Get outside. Breathe.

Except you can’t. Not comfortably. Not with the feel of your damp mask against your skin, clammy as it clings to your face. Not with the need to scrub everything—your food, your bags, your body—down making your skin prickle.

The bags on your shoulders drag on your back as you begin your walk home, making every step heavy. You swear you can feel the small, tingly pinch from earlier grow and climb up your back. The strain stretches as if sinking claws that dig and clutch along your spine. You feel it drain on you, making your body weak and sluggish.

You pause to adjust the bags, hoping you haven’t hurt yourself. The last thing you need is a trip to the doctor or, God forbid, the ER. You have insurance, sure, but even small medical emergencies could financially crush people. Plus, during a pandemic, a hospital or clinic filled with sick people, seems like the last place you want to be.

Just imagine going to the doctor only to get sick! If that happens, what would happen to Tai, to your mom? Your mother is seventy and has health problems, putting her at an already higher risk. And, if you got sick and couldn’t work, Tai could never take care of all three of you on her income alone. Your thoughts spiral as you picture your life—all your lives—crumbling.

Just get home. You grit your teeth and focus on the walk. The sooner you get home, the better. Pain shoots up your back and you remember hearing from somewhere—the news or a coworker or someone—that unusual aches and soreness are one of the symptoms of the virus.

Your anxious fingers fumble with your keys as you, still juggling your groceries, clumsily unlock and shove open your door. Once inside, you drop all your groceries on the floor and lean against the door.

You need to wash your groceries, throw your clothes and bags into the washer, and take a shower. This is your new normal. Your routine that, no matter how many times you’ve done it, still feels strange. But, for the moment, what you really need is to breathe. Yanking your mask off, you can hear your keys jangle in your shaky hands. Your knees wobble as they threaten to buckle beneath you. You can feel your heart racing and your lungs heave. Breathe.

As you press your back against the hardwood door, the sore tension there feels like a fist tightening its grip while it climbs your spine. Not knowing what else to do, you push against the hardwood and pray for it to stop.

———

You look up when you hear the door slam.

Cutting through the scent of dinner cooking, something sickly sweet wafts in as Tai storms through the kitchen. You see the huge brown stain all over her shirt and splattered over her pants. “What happened?”

She shakes her head angrily as she strips off her shirt. “Some jerk threw his soda cup at me from his car.”

You frown. “Why would someone do that?”

Her shoulders tense and hunched, she shoots a glare at you. “Why do you think?” Her hands are shaking as they fist the stained fabric. Her jaw is clenched as if holding back a flood of furious words.

You want to tell her to let it loose. To scream and shout as much as she wants. She has every right. As a white woman partnered with an Asian woman, you’ve seen racism. Even witnessed it—in family members, coworkers, and strangers—in ways you never had before you met Tai.

But none of that compares to what Tai has experienced her whole life. And now…

As uncertain and treacherous as the world might seem for you, it’s so much worse for her. Not only does she have to deal with all the same dangers as you, with the virus and social tumult, there were people out there who, because of her race, blamed her for those dangers. As if it’s somehow her fault the world was turned upside down.

This isn’t the first time someone has taken their rage and fear and frustration out on her. It’s one of the reasons why you don’t hold hands or kiss or show much affection with each other in public, even before quarantine. The looks and comments you’d hear from total strangers broke your heart. And scared you, if you’re honest. You’ll never understand how people could look at your love and feel hate. How they could look at your beautiful, smart, caring partner and think she’s less than amazing. Helpless rage surges through you because there is nothing you can do about it.

You wish you knew what to do, what to say. But you don’t and every time you’ve tried to comfort her, you end up so upset that she has to console you. Making you just one more burden she has to bear. And you don’t want to do that to her. So you press your lips together tight, swallowing it all down as you try to keep it all contained.

She looks at you over her shoulder. “You might want to check on the food.”

You turn and notice smoke rising from the pot of simmering meat you have on the stove. Quickly, you turn down the heat and wave the haze away. Which is all undone, when you lift the pot’s cover to check the state of the food, and a steaming cloud surrounds you. You step back and cough. Well, there goes dinner.

As you frantically open the window and try to fan the burnt fog out, you see Tai bent over the sink, trying to rinse her ruined shirt out. Her back is bent and her shoulders are hunched. You gasp.

You blink as the smoke burns your eyes, trying to clear your teary vision. It can’t be. It’s not possible.

Yet you swear—for a second—you saw something move along the strong curve of Tai’s back. Some strange slither that started at the base of her back just beneath her skin and snaked up her spine.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your palms and force your gaze to focus. But, by the time the smoke clears, whatever you saw—if you even saw it—is gone, leaving nothing but smooth, sleek skin.

You shake your head, feeling foolish.

But, as you feel the echo of that slinking slide squeeze all along the column of your back, you wonder if what you saw really did disappear. Or if it just settled deeper.

———

You stare at the email from the president of your company. She waited until the end of the day to send it. You almost missed it as you were ready to log off.

But you saw it.

“Effective immediately, the governor is lifting most of the state’s restrictions. While case numbers are still high, hospitalizations and deaths are trending down, so we agree with the governor that we cannot allow fear of the virus to ruin our great state’s economy. Starting next week, we will open our offices again. We expect all employees not experiencing symptoms to report to the office for their regular hours. If you are experiencing symptoms, please stay home, using your PTO. See you soon!”

Sitting up straight on your bed, you stare at your laptop disbelieving. How can they do this? The pandemic isn’t over. Not even close. The vaccine isn’t even available yet. The infection rates are still horrifyingly high. And your boss wants to cram dozens of employees into tightly packed cubicles. You already know at least a handful of people, including your boss, who will refuse to wear masks. And, once they do, you know more and more will follow suit.

You recoil as your mind fills with the sound of your coworkers’ heavy breathing surrounding you. You want to scrub your skin raw at just the thought of hundreds of unwashed hands touching unsanitized surfaces. Handing you papers. Borrowing your pens and stapler. Using your phone. Shaking your hand. You feel boxed in as you imagine standing too close to people in packed elevators or while passing the printer or in line at the public restroom. Every sneeze or cough in that office would feel like a siren as it spread germs and droplets around the space.

The tension twinging along your back seems to clench your throat and grip your heart. You gasp for breath. You feel irrational. Out of your mind and out of control. As if all the fear you’ve held inside for so long has risen to the surface and is threatening to overtake you.

Tell yourself to calm down. You can’t panic. If you do, your mother will and she’ll worry herself sick. So stop it. Right now. Just don’t be too disappointed when, after living in this agitated state for so long, your exhausted body simply can’t.

So instead get up and close the door. As it clicks shut, try not to feel the world loom in around you.

You wish Tai was here. The one person in the whole world who it feels safe to hold and be held by. You wish you could tell her everything, to let all this dread dragging you down spill out.

But, if it spills out of you, wouldn’t that mean it would pour onto her? You imagine every dark thought, every tarred, black word, slip from your lips only to stick sickeningly thick onto her. It would seep into her, attaching itself to her, feeding off of her. You feel ill.

You buckle over onto the bed, the weight of it all crushing. Burying your face in your pillow, you scream. As loud as you can. As long as you can. Then you do it again. And again. And again. You shriek, forcing all the darkness inside you out, and smother it into the pillow.

You stop when a hand touches your back. Feeling lightheaded, you turn to see Tai sitting on the bed beside you. When had she gotten here?

She strokes your back. “You feel better?”

You swallow, your throat scratchy and dry. You feel tired. Drained. Empty. Is that better? You shrug.

“You want to talk about it?”

You bite your lips. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.” Tai’s hand stops for a moment before it continues to rub your back, soothing the tension there. “You’re my partner. A burden is something you’re forced to carry. A partner is the person who helps you carry it.” She pulls you close and hugs you tightly. “Let me help you. Talk to me.”

So you do. Tucked in the safety of her embrace, you let every worry and fear and doubt out. You give voice to all the chaos that’s been roiling inside you. And, instead of sticking to her, you feel it wash off of you as you cry on her shoulder. You feel the tight tweak of tension unclench inside you, uncoiling itself from your spine, leaving your body weak but free.

It’s still there, that strain, that buzzing tingle. You can feel it settle and rest, like a sleeping beast at the base of your back. But it no longer feels bigger than you, no longer overwhelms you. With Tai’s body wrapped around yours, she gives you strength. There’s nothing more powerful than the two of you together.

When you run out of words, you let her just hold you as you savor your small haven in her arms from the rest of the world. Even in the quiet, with her as your anchor, you don’t feel empty. Instead, for the first time in a long time, you feel light.

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Sent With Love

*Love letters are a great way to support the USPS. Buy some stamps HERE and revive this lovely lost art

Check out all the stories in this collection by clicking HERE

SENT WITH LOVE

To My Beloved Angela,

It has been three days since quarantine was announced, and possibly three times that since it should have been, but what is time, dear heart, when you are not near?

I know we promised to stay apart through these awful, trying times, but my heart—and other parts—long for your tender embrace. Some hours it is almost too much and I wish to rush to your side, damn this foul virus.

Till I can—the governor says in about three weeks to a month—I will await your lettered reply.

All my heart and parts,

Henry

***

My Dearest Henry,

I have just received thine lovely letter and I am left with no choice but to dash off my own speedy reply. I woulds’t not leave thee unanswered.

As your parts yearn, as do mine ache, for this cruel separation is...cruel. As I lick this envelope and press this stamp to its papered home, it is you, my sweet prince, whomst I wish to place my tongue and touch.

Always yours,

Angela

***

Loveliest  Angela,

Which century dost thou liveith? The quarantine must surely be affecting your mind, for you do not sound yourself.

But such can only be expected, when halves are kept from being whole. Never were lovers meant to stay so long away. How long has it been already? The days bleed into each other, like my heart does for you.

Worry not though, for all my other parts remain full of blood, just for you. Awaiting for that blessed time when we will meet again.

Till that time, know your letters are all that keeps me going, lo, these harsh and disconcerting days.

May my love reach out to you through these words.

Ever yours,

Henry

***

My Brilliant Henry,

Not all of us are English majors. And, if my tone sounds off, know it is because I am delirious with longing for you.

It has been two weeks since I last laid eyes on you that were not marred by the glare of a computer or phone screen. And while I will take any of you that I can, I do miss your touch, your smell, your taste. I miss hearing about your day. I miss being held by you. I miss going to all our favorite places.

Only made worse since I don’t think this will be done soon. The governor has extended our estrangement another three weeks. That will be more than a month till we see each other again. I don’t know how I’ll make it.

I honestly don’t.

Missing you daily,

Angela

***

Brave Angela,

Our love may be new but I believe it is strong and we shall endure. All great loves are tested. And, as the Lord is my witness, we are being tested.

Speaking of which, how is your father? You mentioned over the phone that he was trying to get tested for the virus. I wonder if he’s had luck. I assume I will hear about it before this letter reaches you, but I wanted to let you know he, like his beautiful daughter, is never far from my thoughts.

My fondest regards,

Your Henry

***

Most Honorable Henry,

Thank you for thinking of my father. As I told you over the phone, it is a tragic injustice that my father, who as you know has not felt well since before lockdown with symptoms associated with this dreadful disease, has not been able to receive a test.

My mother and I have done our best to keep him comfortable but, until we know yay or nay, he has been banished to the basement.

It is strange, dear heart, to feel not only so separated from you and the rest of the world, but to have it insidiously sneak into my own home. It’s been weeks of just me and my parents and to now have my world cut down yet again...it troubles me more than I thought it would.

But at least I have your letters. Sometimes, I hold them and imagine your hand writing them, pushing pen across paper, and it is almost like you are right there next to me.

But you’re not and I worry when next you will be.

Filled with deep longing,

Your Angela

***

My Aching Angel,

Reading your words, I swear I can hear your poor heart break. I wish I could hold you together again in my arms.

I hope you did not mind me driving past your house last night. I just could not go another day without seeing you, even if it was through the glassed pane of your window.

Perhaps next time, you should come to me though.

Please apologize to your parents and neighbors. I never meant to cause them alarm.

You’ve stolen my sense as well as my heart it seems.

Your goofy galant,

Henry

***

My Stalwart Knight,

I was thrilled to see you standing outside your steely, if slightly rusted, steed in my driveway that night. How I wished I could run out into your arms, like we used to.

But we live in different days, don’t we? Our dormitory passions must be tempered, patient. Or at least announced in advance.

Allow me to apologize for the remarks my father yelled at you through the basement window. He knew not whom he was speaking to or he would never have called you a broke-ass lothario.

Or perhaps he would.

In any case, yes, expect me outside your apartment window soon.

Until then,

Angela

***

My Angela,

After months of writing, I have run out of superlatives. As well as patience. Absence may, indeed, make the heart grow fonder but, with each passing day, week, and month, it begins to boil my blood.

I almost, as the youth are fond of saying, lost my shit at a fifty-ish man not wearing a mask at the grocery store. It is people like him that keep us from flattening our curve and keep you from me. I wanted to wrap him up like a mummy in PPE. And would have, if only it weren’t a waste of such valuable and needed materials.

It was the first time in more than a week that I’ve even left my apartment and I had so craved human interaction of any kind. Only to be reminded that people, on a whole, suck.

Present company excluded, of course. Angels are, by nature, more precious, more virtuous, more wise than mere mortals.

I wish I could worship by your side, rather than construct these flimsy altars of words.

Honestly, as much as I would prefer you, I wish I had anyone with me. Anyone at all. Sometimes, my apartment feels like an isolated island, apart and lost to society, leaving me a castaway adrift.

And me without my volleyball.

Logically, I know that this lockdown will end. Some day. But it’s as hard to imagine it ending as it is to think of it going on forever. I feel stuck. As if I’m forced to stand still while my life—the things I used to do, used to love, even used to hate—pass me by. Even though I know we’re all stuck, trapped in this purgatory, it doesn’t make me feel less alone.

I don’t know why it feels easier to say things like that in a letter than over the phone. Maybe because I don’t want to ruin the time we get to spend together, talking face to phone. But here it’s just me, inking my thoughts into the nothingness, like some stamped message in a bottle, hoping it reaches someone.

I worry that all this is making me into someone else. Someone blander. Plainer. Sadder. I worry you won't recognize me, when we finally stand face to face. I worry that I don't recognize myself now.

Anyway, insert silly joke here to make you smile.

I miss everything, but mostly you,

Henry

***

My Henry,

I thought about calling or messaging you right after I read your letter, but it felt wrong. Like you said, sometimes, there are things you can only say through a letter. Where talking about it on the phone or text would ruin it, make everything you want to say come out wrong.

I hope I made the right choice.

I love you.

You are not alone.

We will see each other again.

I know it all seems so bleak now and hope is hard to hold on to. So I will hold yours until you can carry it again, safe in the knowledge that you would do the same for me.

Know that I am always thinking of you and worrying about you, all alone on your island, but you are never lost. And, if you ever were, I will help you find your way. No one deserves to feel adrift, least of all you.

If you ever need an anchor, please know I am here. And, if I’m ever not enough, I’ve included the business card of our campus mental health services. I’ve used them before and it was helpful. I checked their website and saw that they’re doing phone and digital chat sessions, as well as in person appointments.

Again, you are loved.

Your Angela

PS. Please call me. We don’t have to talk about this. I just want to hear your voice.

***

My North Star,

I love you.

You are the best.

That is the letter.

With all my heart,

Your Henry

PS. My next letter will be longer, I promise, but this was necessary to say and well worth the price of a stamp.

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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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