I'd never liked intimacy. Never liked trust. Not until you.

I thought you were the shelter that I needed to weather the storm. A warm fire that rested heat on me like a blanket. I was wrong. 

You were smoke. Stinging tears into my eyes and stealing the air from my lungs. Suffocating. Intoxicating. I escaped from it, from you. But it was too late. The damage had been done. And now you're gone. Disappeared into thin air, like smoke in the wind.

Trystan Bodin /// Monday, January 3rd, 7:30 a.m.

It was cold, the day I met you. The wind had long since gotten its first chill, and the trees were barren, allowing it to whirl by with force. I wrapped my coat tighter around me, fingers numb even through my gloves. 

I shuffled along, desperate to get to the general store. The heat. I could already see it. The windows fogged with moisture, making the neon 'open' sign look hazy and blurred. I looked away from it, focusing on the door.

The bell dinged when I opened the door. A warm and soft tone that I'd grown to appreciate. Eliza looked up from the cash register, which is huddled into the back right corner, close to the heater. A grateful smile graced her face.

"Thanks for coming in." She said. "I know it's colder than a witch's tit out there." 

I shrugged it off, unable to hide my smile at the southern drawl that wormed its way into her old idiom. She had that adorable familial warmness to her that's only achieved by the warm smile and kind voice of a lady from the south. Well, one that isn't biased and strong in old opinions. 

Eliza wasn't that. She was kind and accepting. So I let the blanket of familiarity settle over me. She thanked me once more as I sat down on the stool behind the counter, then headed off, eager to return home to her husband and kids. I looked around, taking my jacket off as I did.

We still had a few Christmas items littered around the store, but I was sure Mrs. Sylvia would be there soon to clean them out. She always did. An older lady with children and grandchildren, who always came and bought out the last of the Christmas items to donate or keep for next year. She was sweet, and the thought was nice, so I decided to gather all of the items and put them in a box to wait for her.

It was quite the task, as is everything in this store. Sure, we weren't one of the usual antique shops around town, but our shop looked like one. Rows and rows of items that felt like they'd never been sold. The ceilings were high and support beams were visible. The insulation wasn't great, so space heaters in the winter and fans in the summer.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

But I was determined, and I managed to snag all of the lingering porcelain Santas and paper plates with reindeer, and anything else Christmas-themed. 

Not long after I sat back down, the bell chimed again. I thought it might be the sweet old lady coming to collect her Christmas items, but it wasn't. It was you. There was nothing unusual about you, not at first. You were my age, and while the small college town was normally populated only by the older folks on the breaks, it wasn't unusual for a few grandchildren to wander up for the holidays. 

Your face was pale from the cold, besides the tint of red that spread over your nose. You rubbed your hands together, trying to get away from the cold that likes to seep into people's skin. Reaching up, you tugged your beanie off, revealing curly brown hair that barely passed your ears. You ran a gloved hand through it, roughly.

I gave you the usual greeting, not even bothering to toss in any enthusiasm. Sure, you were attractive, but you weren't that interesting. Not yet.

You smiled back at me, a pained thing that made me shift in my seat, uncomfortable. You must've noticed, because you dropped it quickly, settling for staring at the ground like it was suddenly most interesting. 

You weaved in and out of the aisles, headed towards me. You lacked the grace and familiarity of the everyday customers, so I knew you were new in town. Actually no, I didn't recognize you, so I already knew you were new in town. It's a small little thing, Fort Harwood, and everyone knows everyone. That's how small towns go. But, the way you stumbled around like a baby fawn confirmed what I'd already suspected.

You finally made it to me, stepping up on the platform that the register resides on. You lean on the counter, hands tapping idly on it. The gloves were soft, worn leather, and I remember the sound being strangely calming. Your cologne wafted over, smelling more masculine than I'd anticipated. You smelled like vetiver and cigarettes, and I liked it more than I cared to admit.

Then you spoke, in this soft cadence that would make boys and girls alike swoon. "Hello. You must be Trystan. I'm Mara." Your voice didn't have that southern drawl that peaked into most of the town’s voices. No, there was something different, though it was barely there. Something Slavic, like all of the villains in American movies. Bosnian, I'd later learn.

You continued. "My grandmother buys the last of the Christmas things here. She said you'd be the one to talk to about getting them." 

If you hadn't caught my attention before, you did then. "Mrs. Sylvia?" I asked. 

You nodded. I nodded too, feeling dull even as I did it. "Yeah, I got the box right here."

I stood up and sat the box on the stool, beginning to ring up items. Though a thought crossed my mind, and I paused about halfway through.

"Hey, wait a minute. Why didn't Mrs. Sylvia just come up herself?" I ask. 

You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket. "She's ill, so it's best for her to stay home and rest." 

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said genuinely. "I hope she gets well." 

You nod, giving me that pained smile again. I didn't think you really wanted to be out of the house either.

I gave you the total, and you paid, telling me to keep the change. Then you left, leaving behind the smell of your boyish cologne and too many crisp bills on the counter.

Finally, someone interesting in this town.