There wasn't anything special about her. Yet, there was something about the way she moved. Her hair wasn't long and flowing, the kind she could flip over her shoulder and call attention to herself. Yet, her hair was pretty - dark brown, glossy, thick, heavy, and almost straight. The texture was such that it made a man's fingers itch when he thought about running his fingers through those locks and watching them fall against her cheek or her bare shoulder.
She walked around the small store as if she owned the place. She may not have owned it, but one of her kind probably owned the building and several more just like it. She wasn't a skinny rich bitch, though she did have a nice figure. Maybe she had a few pounds extra, and yet those pounds were exactly where they should be, making her breasts full and her hips sway when she walked. It wasn't an intentional
look at my body
kind of walk. It was just her natural saunter as she looked at the merchandise, an elegant way of moving, something that was natural or so well practiced that it appeared natural. The steps were measured, feet pointed straight ahead and easily placed with little movement of her shoulders or head.
She was dressed, as befitted her social status, in a softly flowing, expensive dress, just barely covering her knees. The well-defined muscles of her lower legs showed the heels she wore, not stilts, were high enough to make a man's mouth water. Her makeup was perfect - a small amount of blush on her upper cheeks, subtle eye shadow, and matte, not quite red, lipstick. If she had walked into the local country club, she would have looked just like twenty other women, most of whom were a little, or a lot older than she was. They would all be interested in doing nothing more than having a leisurely lunch.
The clerk approached her politely, also keeping his eyes on a couple of other shoppers who were just as lazily browsing. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Prescott, have you found anything that strikes your fancy?"
"Hello, Timothy," she responded looking also at the couple across the small store, wishing they would make up their minds or move on. "I need a couple of wedding gifts for Parker and Adams and that Bristol girl, I can't recall her fiancé's name."
"That would be Jamison. Did you have a price range?"
"Yes, somewhere around three hundred for both, but I wanted to give them something small, too. You know, something not on their lists." She looked up at Timothy and smiled, a much friendlier smile than a wealthy woman was accustomed to granting to a lowly clerk, despite the price and quality of the merchandise.
Timothy stood the proper distance from the woman, not necessarily because he was taller than she was, merely to avoid invading her personal space. He pointed to the top shelf in the next aisle, showing her a line of smoky charcoal glasses in graduated sizes, "Look at those glasses up there. I could package four or eight of whichever size you like."
The woman moved a little nearer to the man, as if she needed to look around an obstruction to see the glasses he indicated. "Oh yes," she agreed as her hand moved up his thigh and across the front of his slacks, slowly closing around his stiffening cock. "I see them. Yes, that is just right."
"Claire," Timothy whispered. His voice was not distressed, but he did take a very deep breath.
She squeezed him gently, several times, and then she stepped away from him. "Add them to my order, Timothy. Eight of whichever size you think is right for each couple."
Seeing the other shoppers walking toward the front counter, Timothy explained, "Let me know if you find something else. I'll be right back."
"Yes, I'll do that. I want to look for a birthday present for my husband's great-granddaughter."
While Timothy took care of the couple at the front counter, he occasionally looked at Claire as she made her way around the small store.
***
How Timothy found himself waiting on customers in The Gift Shoppe was a combination of too many unforeseen occurrences. It was a mistake, a huge startling mistake, and an accident. It really was one of those things that you don't expect. His brother took one of those cruises advertised for singles, not fully aware it was a euphemistically designated gathering, primarily designed for people practicing an alternative lifestyle. There were other passengers, most of whom were senior citizens. Mark, seeking fellow passengers his own age, met someone. Before the end of the cruise, Mark and Aaron were in love with each other and determined to change their lives however necessary so they could live together. Mark went home, quit his job, and moved to the small town where Aaron lived. For two years, Mark and Aaron had operated the small gift shop they had purchased with their combined savings.
Late one Thursday night, while arranging stock for a big weekend sale, Aaron slipped off a ladder and landed on his back in the middle of the aisle. Surgery repaired Aaron's broken back but Mark, never an emotionally strong person, was a basket case. He called his big brother Timothy.
Timothy left his foreman in charge of the ranch. Luckily, it was the slow time of the year, but he would have done it during calving season, too. While Mark cared for Aaron, Timothy packed away his jeans and boots, bought appropriate clothing, and operated the small shop, thanking his lucky stars he wasn't completely inept in a retail setting.
Not exactly a bull in a china shop, Timothy was not what you would expect to find in a small storefront full of that china, plus crystal glasses, silverware, and the finest linens, all of which appealed to an elegant lifestyle. In his own sphere, somewhat of a loner, he was a respected man. Not known to spend an evening in town despite the offers he received, if he had a comfort woman, no one knew who she was. Nearing his fortieth year, he had resigned himself to the life of a bachelor, not by choice, but because of the lack of opportunity.
Although he was only expecting to help Mark and Aaron for a month or two, a second surgery meant Timothy was now keeping the shop open halfway through the fourth month. He was growing desperate to end the temporary arrangement, go home to his ranch, and scrub off the dirt and smell of a small town's prejudices.
Less than a month from now, someone would need to attend the major annual market convention. Aaron did not appear to be strong enough to go to market to purchase the next year's merchandise. Mark was useless at making such decisions. Timothy was getting desperate.
***
When Timothy returned to his remaining customer, she was looking at some tiny stuffed animals, sold as a group, and each was less than four inches tall. They represented either a children's fairy tale or a Mother Goose rhyme.
"They're cute aren't they?"
"They're darling," Claire agreed. "Who comes up with this level of imagination?"
"I think those are from a young girl in Arizona. The older children in a small home for orphaned children make most of them. Things like that used to be made from china and didn't last long if they were treated as toys."
Claire looked at Timothy in surprise, "You know a lot about things like this, don't you?"
Timothy nodded, "My mother had a store similar to this. Mark and I helped after school and during the summer."
"How is Aaron?" Claire knew about the accident and it was no secret that Aaron's recovery was not progressing as he, or the doctors, expected.
"It's slow, but at least he is getting stronger."
