Stevie rolls her eyes once again. “Rosie, please tell your dad that he sounds like a pretentious a-hole right now.”
“Vee…” I narrow my eyes. “Rosie can’t speak.”
Her eyes close in frustration. “You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
Chuckling lightly, I bend down, pressing my lips to her scowling ones.
Thankfully, this side of town is relatively quiet, and the people here could give two shits about who I am. Maybe they don’t even know. I’m not sure. But the idea of that, of going through life without the attention, sounds nice. Especially now that I’m dating someone who I would like to spend every waking moment with, including mundane trips to the grocery store, weekends at the dog park, or simply stopping for gas without worry that there might be too many eyes watching.
One day, though. I’m holding out hope.
As soon as Stevie opens the door, my eyes burn from the quick adjustment of the dreary Chicago winter outside to the brightly colored walls inside.
“I stumbled across this place a couple of months ago, and I love it.”
Following Stevie inside, a pungent unidentified scent attacks my nostrils. “What the hell is that smell?”
Stevie stands straighter, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, a giant smile resting on her lips. “That is the smell of thrifting.”
“Interesting.” I follow her down the aisle of completely uncoordinated options, keeping my arms in tight, being sure not to touch anything.
Every wall is a different shade of orange and yellow, but you almost can’t see them due to the mass of clothing stuffed on racks, overtaking the shop.
I watch as my girl excitedly sifts through the racks with detail, no article of clothing left untouched. Don’t get me wrong, I have zero plans of shopping here, but watching her be this happy and excited does something to me.
I’m a fan of all sides of her, but “passionate Stevie” has to be my favorite. That side of her always comes out at the dog shelter, and it’s here again today.
She pulls a pair of jeans off the hook that seem to be about two sizes too big, which is exactly how she likes them. Holding them up, she examines them for a moment before turning to Rosie and showing her. Rosie cocks her head as if she has any idea of what’s going on before Stevie decides against them and puts them back on the rack to resume her search.
“Why do you like thrifting so much?” I ask from behind her.
“I like it for a lot of reasons.” She shuffles through the rack. “It’s fun to try new styles without breaking the bank. It keeps money out of fast fashion, and sometimes you find cool, unique pieces you’d never be able to find somewhere else.” She picks up a sweatshirt that looks decades old, worn in all the right places. The logo on the front of an old high school is barely legible from being so distressed.
She hooks it on her arm to keep as she continues her search. “But mostly, I think it’s cool to give a piece of clothing a second life. You have no idea where some of this has been. Maybe someone wore this dress the night they had their first kiss.” She pulls a floral dress off the rack. “Or maybe”—she excitedly grabs a collared shirt—“maybe someone was wearing this when they got their dream job. All of this”—she sweeps her hand, motioning across the racks—“has a story, and maybe it’ll be what I’m wearing when something important happens in my life too.”
Casually, as if she didn’t just completely give me a new point of view, she turns back to continue shopping.
I look down at my own outfit—my black wool coat, black tailored slacks, and black Louboutins, registering it as the moment I fell a little harder.
From behind, I wrap her up, pulling her back to my chest before I cover her freckled cheeks with kisses. Holding on to her, I sway with her in my arms.
“You’re something else, Stevie girl.”
“I know.” She melts into me. “I’m the fucking best.”
My body rumbles with a silent laugh as I leave my chin resting on her shoulder, one hand holding her to me and the other absentmindedly scratching Rosie’s head at my side.
“You need to go find something,” she reminds me as she continues her search.
“Fuck no. Vee, it’s one thing for me to stand in here, but it’s an entirely different thing to actually buy something.”
“Those are the rules. You let me buy you something at my place, and I let you buy me something at yours.” She turns around to test me.