Page 22 of This Time Around

I walk through the front door and breathe in the familiar mustiness of old fabrics, paper, and worn leather mingling with traces of past perfumes and colognes lingering on the secondhand clothing. It’s a scent that tells a thousand untold stories, inviting me to uncover all the new-to-me treasures.

I head straight for the book section, hoping I can find a beautiful romance with a majestic man with long locks dancing in the wind to add to my collection.

I’m lost in the sights of my one true love when a large arm reaches around me and grabs a book off of the shelf right in front of me.

I raise my brow, irritation crossing my face. “Excuse you.”

“You really get lost in the pages, don’t you, B?”

Luke

Isaw Blake walking across the street with her ear buds looking around like she just stepped into her own perfect little haven, happiness filling her expression. I couldn’t help myself; I followed her into the thrift store and admired her as I pursued the shelves.

Blake walked through the doors, and it was like watching the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. The tension she carries melted away as she took in the space, focusing on the well, worn books stacked in uneven piles adorning the shelves.

I walked up behind her, needing to be close to her, in her space, and reached around her for any book that would grab her attention.

“Excuse you,” she scolded.

“You really get lost in the pages, don’t you, B?”

She spins around and looks at me, the sarcastic tone in her voice replaced by one more gentle, almost affectionate, as if she couldn’t help but let her guard down.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Just killing time before I head home. I got called in early this morning, and if I go home right now, my sleep schedule will be all messed up,” I explain.

“Do you want to join me?” Her tone is light and friendly, but her eyes give her away, she’s hoping I’ll say yes. Little does she know, there is no other answer.

“What are we looking for?”

“Whatever obscure treasure catches our attention.”

“Junk shopping,” I confirm.

“None of this is junk. It just needs the right home so it can flourish,” she corrects.

“Really? Are you sure about that?” I ask as I hold up a half broken VHS tape of a 1980s workout routine, complete with a sun-faded cover and a lingering smell of mildew. “No, you’re right, B, this is truly a treasure.”

“Leave it to your sarcastic ass to literally pick up the one item in this store that is broken and seemingly useless.”

I just laugh.

“Why are you here if you hate thrifting?”

“I don’t hate thrifting, I just like giving you shit. You get all red and embarrassed.”

“Let’s see what else they have,” she suggests, not acknowledging my teasing as she walks towards a cluster of shelves.

We walk around the store, each picking up random items to inspect them.

“Oh, look.” She smiles holding up a case of old mason jars. “I can use these for literally so many things.”

“So many things? They hold liquid.” Confusion crosses my face. “How many things can you do with a mason jar?”

“You are such a man. You can use them as cups, DIY candle holders, I could put makeup brushes in them, use them as vases, or in my pantry to store things-so many things, Luke.”

“Doesn’t all the food in your pantry come in a container or bag to store them in?” Her response didn’t clear my confusion, but instead caused more.