Paper Flyers

Chapter 4- Winifred

As soon as Quinn left my shop, I let out a breath I had been holding for a long time and slid down the wall and onto the floor. Replaying the events of the last hour, I cringed.

Someone came into the store.

He liked poery.

He was funny.

He was like a protagonist in a fairy tale; tall, muscular, and drop-dead gorgeous.

I think, and I'm not positive, but I think he flirted with me.

And then he told me he would be back tomorrow.

When he almost sang those words, I felt faint. In my entire life, not one guy had flirted with me. Thankfully I knew a little about it because of the romance novels I've read, but it still wasn't the same.

What was the same, though, was that feeling they describe when the main character first sees their romantic interest for the first time, or when those first beautiful words escape their lips. Its like a flustered, panicked feeling of weightlessness in your chest. A growing anxiousness, excited for events to come but worried that it may go wrong. The most confusing concoction of feelings and emotions you could ever imagine. But not the bad kind.

Calm down, Winifred. This isn't a big deal. He may not even come back.

I suddenly realized I hadn't seen my physical state since before I began working on my book, so it had probably changed drastically. Rushing to the mirror, a sense of worry came over me. What I saw was awful. My hair was frizzy and up in a messy bun, no match for his hair looking perfect, despite the storm outside.

My grey-blue eyes were like night compared to his green ones, which seemed to glow

His face, which was tan, seemed to remain a perfect color throughout, while mine was pale and covered in freckles and red splotches.

Before looking at anything else, I hurried away before I had any more feelings of despair due to my disheveled state.

While I walked around finding something to pass the time with and thinking of Quinn and today's events again, I was struck with an idea.

I shuffled over to the poetry section of my store and began scavenging.

When I was done, I looked back upon my work and grinned.

Rows of dusty old poetry books were arraigned like walls underneath a table in the back of the store. A little opening, just large enough for a human to crawl through, was along the front wall. Inside, there was a blanket on the floor and another stack of books for reading. On the bottom of the table, white christmas lights were strung in a messy spiral, illuminating the whole room and giving it a cozy feeling.

I glanced at the time on my phone. Thought seemed like forever, it had only been an hour since he had left. I thought for a while what I should do until Quinn's return, and writing almost immediately popped into my mind, like it did whenever I have spare time.

I found my paper and reread the story. Frowning, I took a drastic move by tearing out the previous pages, and I began writing a new one.

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I worked on my book for a long time.

Wait, no, scratch that.

I wrote my story for an extremely long time.

Next thing I knew, it was seven in the morning, and I had been awoken by a large knocking from the store upstairs. Recollecting my thoughts, I rushed back to my apartment, made a cup of ramen and a mug of sweetened tea, and went back to the store. I crawled inside the poetry house and ate my one dollar meal that was better than anything I could ever cook myself. I picked up my tea, sipping at the end of the mug, when fatigue began to cloud my mind. I realized I hadn't gotten any sleep last night because I was so involved in writing. Without much thought, I set down my tea, lied down onto the blanket floor, and fell asleep.

I woke up with my eyes closed and a dull ache in my side from sleeping on the floor. Groaning, I sat up, completely forgetting that I was under a table. This resulted in another groan and a headache that would last for the rest of the day.

As I looked to crawl out of the fort, I saw Quinn's familiar and perfect face peering in through the opening, stained with worry and confusion. In surprise, I jumped, and hit my head on the bottom of the table again.

"Are you okay?!" He almost yelled.

"Yes, I'm alright," I groaned, "I just had a late night."

"Well you don't look alright. Come here." He pulled at my sleeve and led me out of underneath the table. Grabbing both sides of my head, he examined for bruises or bumps.

"You don't have any injuries, so you should be fine, I think." He stated.

I giggled. "Okay doctor Quinn."

"I was just trying to help!" He sighed, pretending to be offended, "You should be thanking me after all. I did come back, as I promise."

I froze. How do I respond?

Luckily, he didn't need a response, and asked, "What is this, anyways? It wasn't here yesterday."

I blushed and looked down. All my cool had been lost and I was completely convinced he would think I was creepy and never come back.

"I- uh, I made it, um, for you, 'cause I thought you liked poetry and I thought you may need a place to, you know, stay, 'cause you lost your job and all, and I know it's small but it has enough room for a person and I would really like it if you stayed but you don't have to stay if you don't want-"

"Why would I not want to stay here?" He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, "It's literally perfect."

"Oh, um, i- it was nothing," I stuttered.

"It sure looks like it took a lot of work to make. May I go in it now?" He replied.

"Sure, go ahead."

Since we were still sitting on the ground, he turned around and crawled inside.

Once he completely disappeared from view, I hear him say, "What are you waiting for? You have got to come in here too!"

"There's not enough room," I muttered, "I wouldn't be able to fit."

"Bull shit! You're not that big. Get in here!"

Once again flustered, I dropped down onto all fours and crawled inside the fort.