The Riveting Lives of Russell and Sal

Chapter 30

Weeks passed, and Sal's summer so far had been spent sneaking to Russell's work, hanging out with Savannah, and working. It was great. Especially Fourth of July weekend, where Russell managed to sneak out to see the fireworks with him. It was also his birthday weekend, and Sal hated that Russell spent his actual birthday being cooped up in his room all day. And now, all he could think about was Russell's soft lips against his own while the fireworks went off in the background. Literal and metaphorical.

A polite voice brought him back to the present. "Excuse me."

Sal looked up from the jewelry counter he had been dusting to see a middle-aged woman. He flashed his Kovyn's smile. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." The woman held out an ad. "I'm looking for this purse, but I can't find it. Do you have it here?"

"I can check." Sal set his rag aside to use the computer next to him, and searched the SKU number. None were in stock. "I'm sorry, we're out."

The woman sighed. "I'll order it online then."

"But then you'll have to pay extra for shipping," Sal said. "I can special order it for you now, and have someone call you when it comes in. Livermore has some in stock, so it should only take a couple days to get here."

The woman's face lit up. "That'll be great. Thank you!"

"What'll be great?" A male Kovyn's employee with short, brown hair walked in on the scene. Ray.

"Special ordering a thing we don't have stock of." Sal clicked onto the order screen. "What's your address?" he asked the woman.

Ray crossed his arms, glaring down at him. "You can't do that."

"Why not? She needs something we don't have, so I'm ordering it for her. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is, you're just a cashier. You're not qualified to do special orders."

"You have to be qualified to type and click buttons?" Sal shook his head. "I've special ordered stuff before."

"You're not supposed to. Let me do it." He brushed Sal aside, and gave the woman a fake smile. "What's your address?"

Crestfallen, Sal grabbed his cleaning rag and went to search for something else in need of polishing.

He walked past another Kovyn's employee, who flipped back her long, dark hair and asked, "What's wrong?"

Sal looked up from the rag in his hands. "It's nothing, Tina."

"I've never seen you sad before," Tina said. "Of course it's something."

"I was trying to special order something for a customer, but Ray showed up and told me I wasn't allowed to."

The corner of Tina's mouth twitched upwards. "Technically you're not."

"But I know how."

"You know too much." She clasped her hands in front of her torso, gazing up at him. Sal bit his thumbnail, his face heating. "I'm taking my lunch break soon," Tina said. "Do you wanna eat together? There's this great Italian place across the street."

Sal pondered her invitation. He was getting tired of eating in the break room. And peanut butter sandwiches were starting to get old. "Sounds fun."

They sat across from each other in a booth, and Sal took that moment to brag about his Italian heritage. "My father's pure Italian, you know. My mom was only, like, mostly Italian. But that makes me eighty percent Italian."

"Really." Tina leaned forward, her hands weaved together under her chin.

"Yep. I'm also nine percent Irish, five percent English, six percent German, and 1 percent Cherokee."