It’s mid-afternoon, and the trade counter is unusually quiet. You’re slouched in the chair, arms crossed, pretending to rest your eyes for just a second—but of course, she walks in right then. You hear her giggle before you even open your eyes.
“Rough day?” she teases, leaning on the counter with that cheeky look she’s been giving you all week.
You blink yourself awake and sit up, trying to play it cool. “I was just… testing the comfort of this chair. Quality control.”
She laughs. “Right. And the drool on your hoodie?”
You smirk and shake your head, trying not to grin too wide. “Can’t blame a guy for catching a break between floods of customers.”
She walks behind the counter to grab something from the shelf, brushing past your shoulder, close enough that you can smell her perfume. It’