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This is Kira’s favorite time of the year, because all of the terrible, horrendous, flat out ugly Christmas sweaters sell at like twice the price the rest of the sweaters do, and no one seems to mind. She has no idea who came up with the first tacky Christmas sweater party, but she loves them. Seriously. If she met them, she might propose on the spot.
Owning a thrift shop feels like a calling to her. All of her profits go to paying her employees—homeless queer teens who occasionally crash on her couch—or into homeless youth shelters. Her own salary is just enough to get by on, which is how she likes it.
(Of course, she also runs a fairly lucrative side business selling papers to college kids online. She cites these as commissions for art on her tax forms. But hey, she deserves to be able to buy the occasional video game, too.)
Generally speaking, she trusts her employees not to get into any kind of trouble during working hours. She doesn’t keep too close of an eye on them—she has security tapes for that. Anyway, they’re all good kids, and it’s not their fault they’ve been labeled as deviants.
Still, she worries about them and their safety enough to occasionally leave her office and check on them. It's one of those times when she’s walking the floor that she sees the guy.
He’s got this panicked look in his eyes, probably because he and another customer are going head to head over the same Christmas sweater. Most importantly, he's shouting, which really isn't appropriate for this store, or any for that matter.
Jessie, her most diligent employee, but also one of her most skittish, is watching the altercation with wide, terrified eyes as she practically hides behind a rack of blue jeans.
Automatically, she switches directions and goes to Jessie first. She stands close, but doesn’t touch—Jessie hates being touched without permission. “Go to my office, okay? You don’t need to trigger yourself by watching a fight.”
“Thanks,” she squeaks out, and scurries away. The door doesn't quite slam behind her, but Kira does hear a thud and then the click of a lock.
Another customer has moved toward the other two and has a soothing hand on both of their shoulders. “You guys are making a scene. It’s just a sweater.” He has that look of not-angry-just-disappointed, and it throws her to see it on someone so young. He can't be more than her age, yet he wears the expression as well as her mother.
“A sweater I can wear to Lydia’s party, Scott!” says the first guy. If they've been friends for long, that's probably how the new guy—Scott—developed such a good Dad Look.
“And a sweater I can wear to go visit my mother,” says the other guy. “Do you know how long it’s been since we got along? This will totally piss her off.”
“That’s a stupid reason to buy a sweater. I’m buying mine for love.”
Kira doesn't disagree with him, but seriously? All of this for a sweater?
Scott grimaces and shakes his head. “Dude. You know she’s not going to change her mind about you just because you show up to her party in a kickass sweater, right?” He looks around the store and spots Kira. “Hi, do you work here?” he asks, moving around the two guys.
“Yes,” Kira says, doing her best to come across severe. “And I was actually on my way over to tell your friends that I need them to leave the store. I don’t tolerate—“ she paused and considered their stances. The two of them were still grasping the sweater tightly. “Fighting and clothing stretching,” she finished.
“Look, lady, it’s fine! Stilinski is going to give me the sweater and we’ll all leave, no trouble,” says the second guy.
“Dude,” says the third one—Scott—giving him that look again.
Unflinchingly, Kira stalks forward and takes firm hold of the sweater. “Drop the sweater, or I’m banning both of you.”
“I want to talk to your manager,” Stilinski says, scowling.
She’s unimpressed. He can’t be more than her ripe young age of 24, and yet he’s already developed quite the superiority complex. This is the one part of retail that she hates. Scratch that, customers in general are the part she hates. This guy is just showing the worst parts. Still...this is also one of her favorite moments, too. “I’m the owner, and if the two of you don’t get the hell out right now, I’m banning you for life.” Yeah, there it was—the realization that they had been beaten.
Behind her, the Scott groans.
"You—" The guy whose name she hasn't caught tries to protest, but she gives him a flat, unimpressed look.
"Nope," Scott says. He apparently agrees with her, which is handy in moments like this.
Obviously frustrated, the two contenders release the sweater into her hands and move almost as one toward the door without further protest. Thank God.
She sighs and examines the sweater. It looks like no permanent damage was sustained, but she takes out a red pen and marks it down anyway. Better safe than sorry. A thirty percent discount for now, to be bargained down further if necessary at a later date.
Carefully she hangs the sweater back up and runs her fingers and starts to head back to her office to let Jessie know she should leave early. She stops when someone taps her on the shoulder.
“Sorry.” It’s Scott, who looks completely mortified—and adorable. There’s something about the turn of his mouth and the uneven slant of his jaw that makes her want to bring him back to her apartment for cuddles and hot chocolate. “Um, my friends—they never really learned how to behave properly in public. Is Jessie okay?”
She’s a little surprised he noticed—and impressed. “I was going to check now,” she says, nodding her head toward her office. “I’ll probably send her home early, anyway.” Well, not home—lately, Jessie had been couch surfing. And normally, she went to the library after work, where she was trying to get her GED. Maybe she'd head there instead.
“I just wanted to say sorry, again,” he said, ducking his head shyly. “Stiles—he got it into his head a long time ago that he and Lydia were meant to be, and Jackson just likes to piss him off. I didn’t think hanging out with both of them would end up like this.”
She can’t help it—she smiles at him. He's cute, and apparently, not a bad guy. Despite the poor company he keeps. “It’s okay. I really appreciate you trying to stop them before it got too heated." He had been late, but it was nice of him to try. Most customers weren't as considerate.
“Basic human decency. I should have stopped them sooner,” he says, miserably. “Jessie looked so upset, and I know yelling always upsets her.”
“You know Jessie?” He's been saying her name throughout the conversation, but it still catches her off guard to hear him speak of her triggers so casually. Who is this guy, with the beautiful brown eyes and impossibly neat haircut?
“I work at the library. I talked her down from a panic attack a couple times,” he says, shrugging, like it's nothing. Maybe to him, it's just natural to care for other people.
She might be in love. “Uh, look,” she says, slowly. “Are you going to this party of Lydia’s, too?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m not really that concerned about winning the prize for ugliest sweater.”
“Have you seen this one, though?” she asks, tugging one down. It’s more difficult to immediately notice, but definitely uglier than the one his friends had been fighting over. It’s navy blue with a scarf attached, and covered in awful and garish red and green flowers. The leaves look like holly, and are attached by single threads so they hang off the sweater limply. “You’ll kill at the party.” It also might be a smidge too small for him, but she has to think that would only work in his favor. His shoulders are...attention-grabbing.
“Are you just trying to sell me something?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her. He's smiling, though, so she figures it's teasing.
She laughs and shrugs. “Gotta make a profit to pay these kids.”
“Point taken,” he says, grinning. “I’ll take the sweater. I wish I could also offer Jessie a ride to the library, but I know she won’t want to ride in the car with Jackson and Stiles.”
“No worries,” she says, shrugging. “I’ll take her as soon as Lila and Billy get here. They’re still at school for another…" She glances at her watch. "...hour.” She takes the sweater and nods to the register. “In the meantime, let me help you check out.”
He follows her to the register. “I’m Scott, by the way,” he says, leaning against the counter. “And the reason I brought them here to buy the sweaters was to support your business. I know you’re actually running a real charity here, which is really cool.”
Ducking her head shyly, she types in the price for the sweater. “Kira,” she tells him. “And thanks. I really care about these kids, you know? And it upsets me that I can’t do more. I wish I could let them all sleep here overnight, but the regulations in this city suck and I don’t want to get any of them in trouble.”
“Makes sense,” Scott says, nodding slowly.
“Your total is $5.34,” she says.
He gives her cash with exact change, which thankfully barely takes him any time to count out. “Thanks for not banning them for life. I think Jackson would have died of embarrassment.”
“Might have been good for him,” she says, quirking an eyebrow.
That makes him laugh. “You may be right,” he says. He tugs the sweater on over his clothes. “How do I look?”
“Terrible,” she says, grinning at him. But also, great—the shoulders.
“Perfect,” he says. His face becomes nervously hopeful. “I’ll see you around?”
She feels her cheeks warm up. “I’m usually here,” she says.
“Cool,” he says, grinning. “I’ll, uh, let you know how the party goes. Oh, and will you tell Jessie I say ‘Hi,’ and ‘Sorry?’”
She’s weak. There's never been a better customer, she's pretty sure. “Of course. Thank you, again, for looking out for her.”
“Great! That’s great. And it's not a problem at all. It was nice meeting you!”
“You too,” she says, and then tries not to laugh too hard as he practically jogs out of her store. He’s adorable. He’s perfect. All she knows is his first name.
But he’ll be back, right?
She thinks about the way he’d been so worried about Jessie and how passionate he’d been about what she was doing. She grins, drumming her fingers on the counter.
He’d be back. And Kira would be waiting.