𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XII

"How do I look?"

Standing before Roger, I wore a slightly unbuttoned silk blouse, tucked into a simple tan skirt and paired with sensible black shoes, my hair twirled into a bun at the nape of my neck. I smoothed back the stray tendrils of hair, bouncing forward a bit on my toes.

His eyes narrowed observantly, and he looked me up and down, from my shoes to my hair. After a moment, he spoke. "It's different than what you usually wear, but it's a good different. Unbutton the shirt more, though," he said shortly and seriously.

I glanced down at my shirt. "You really think that'll help?" I was already pulling the other button free, exposing more of my chest.

"It can't hurt."

I couldn't even be annoyed at him, because he was right. "You're awful," I huffed, adjusting my blouse slightly. "How about now?"

Roger grinned, nodding approvingly. "Great. Let me give you a ride, okay?"

It was a gloomy, gray skied Monday, the day of my first job interview at the bookstore downtown. They were the first shop who had responded to my application, and were seemingly in need of the help. Currently, the shop was run by an eighty-something year old woman and her son. I had yet to meet them, but over the telephone they sounded kind enough. I wasn't feeling nervous yet, but I figured it'd kick in when I approached the little store. Now, I was only antsy, eager to get it over with, and begin this new chapter of my life.

The ride was short. Raindrops flung themselves against the windows of Roger's car, hinting at the oncoming storm that would hit us soon. Already, the clouds overhead were darkening, preparing to burst. I peered up at them as we drove.

He let me out right in front of the tiny shop. It was bleak colored, made up of dull bricks with a heavy iron door. The sign up top read The Ramsey Bookshop in simple block letters. It was certainly not the most inviting place to look at. Through the rain streaked windows, a few classic books were on display, and it seemed like the shop was deserted of customers.

With a deep breath of chilly air, I pulled on the icy iron door handle, stepping inside, being greeted by the smell of fresh paper. Two figures stood directly in front of me, standing side by side in perfect unison, as still as the brick wall outside.

The shorter of the two was an elderly woman, with pale, almost translucent skin and deep set dark eyes. Her hair was light gray and trimmed short, and she wore a dark, navy blue business suit and pantyhose. The other was a tall, young man, dressed similarly, with his dark hair combed neatly back. He seemed about my age. The older woman wore a dead serious expression, and her son- I assumed- tried to match it, and he was not successful. I noticed a slight childlike expression in his eyes, paired with his mouth in a tight, unfitting line.

"Hello," I greeted them with the false cheeriness I'd adapted, giving a small wave. "I'm Thea Rhodes, here for the interview?" I was surprised at how professional my voice sounded- I noticed it was incredibly similar to my mother's "business" voice. I shuddered internally at the horrid idea. If I ever became my mother, I'd probably ask somebody to hit me with their car.

The pair took swift steps towards me, the older woman handing out one of her wrinkled hands. "I'm Mrs. Ramsey, I believe we spoke on the phone."

I took her cold hand, shaking it. "Nice to meet you."

"This is my son, Stephen. This business has been in the family for four generations," she informed me, placing a loving hand on her son's strong shoulder.

I nodded in understanding, shaking Stephen's hand as well. He had a firm grip, and was sure to look me in the eyes. His eyes were the same as Mrs. Ramsey's- very dark, almost black from a distance, framed by long lashes.