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The bell on the shop’s door chimed merrily, bouncing on its coiled band of metal to announce Smith’s entry. The worn wooden floorboards squeaked as he stepped out of the clear blustery afternoon and into the warm and subdued glow of the shop.
“Afternoon,” called the shopkeeper. He was hidden behind the narrow rows of drawers and display cases that reached almost to the ceiling, high above Smith’s head. From somewhere in the back of the shop came the sound of wood creaking, and metal wheels rolling on one of the ladder tracks that allowed for access to the highest drawers. Smith twisted the top of the cloth satchel in his hand, the crystals inside clinking together.
“Afternoon,” he replied back. Bracing himself, he approached the counter with the till.
“Can I help you find-” the shopkeeper rounded a corner and caught sight of him, stopping in the middle of his sentence. “Oh. You again.”
“Me again,” Smith said, voice strained with false good humor.
“Let me guess. These ones broke too?” The shop keeper lifted the section of counter that allowed him access to the till. He leaned his elbows on the glass of the display case, looking at Smith with an aggrieved expression.
“Uhm,” Smith said. He slowly placed the cloth satchel on the counter, bits of rock inside making their tell-tale rattle.
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes, picked up one of the little baskets meant for browsing customers, and turned away from Smith.
“You’re seriously making me re-consider that warranty policy. You’ve single-handedly broken more crystals than all my other customers combined, since we started business.”
As he spoke, he rummaged through the drawers behind the counter, opening them one by one and pulling out replacements for the crystals that Smith had broken, yet again.
“Look, I’m sorry to be such a bother, I really don’t mind paying for the replacements.”
“And let word get out that Hornby’s Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee does in fact have conditions? Absolutely not.” He dropped the basket full of crystals onto the countertop, plucking the satchel from Smith’s fingers. The shopkeeper dumped out the broken crystals, sorting them into piles as he scowled at them. He started punching buttons on the till, its little chimes dinging as cheerfully as the door.
Smith fidgeted, straightening the little cards where they sat in their carved soapstone holder by the register. Printed on the cards in neat text were the words:
Hornby’s Finest Crystals, Gems, and Minerals
For all your magickal and decorative needs
Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee on all New Crystal Purchases
NO EXCEPTIONS!
63 West Wallaby Street
Ross Hornby, Proprietor
“I’m honestly impressed you manage to break these,” the shopkeeper commented. He pressed a button on the till and the drawer slid out with one final chorus of bells. He slid it closed, and scooped all the broken crystal bits into a box on the floor full brimming with a rainbow of jagged pieces of rock. He dusted off his hands on the quilted vest he wore. A deep red one today, with embroidered leaves on the hem and shoulders, worked in thread just a shade darker than the fabric. “There have to be easier ways to flirt with someone.”
“Beg pardon?” Smith felt his face get hot.
“There’s no need to keep going to such crazy lengths to get my attention. I’m pretty sure you had it after the fifth time you came in here.”
“I’m not breaking them on purpose!”
“Right. You just happen to break the same crystals – the finest in town I might add – again and again.”
The shopkeeper began to wrap the new crystals in paper, lining up the little bundles neatly on the counter as he rolled and folded with deft fingers.
“I swear! Well, I am deliberately stressing them, but my intent isn’t to break the crystals. Far from it! I’m conducting some very experimental…experiments. Magicks. Your crystals are the only ones that come close to holding up to the task.”
The shopkeeper finished packing the wrapped crystals into the small bag Smith had come in with, and crossed his arms over his chest. A small smile broke through the annoyance as he looked Smith up and down.
“So you’re not flirting then.”
“No! I mean, not by breaking the crystals. Not if you’re not interested.”
“But you are flirting if I am interested, is that right?”
“I can just take these, and go. I really don’t mean to keep troubling you, Mister…” He reached for the bag, but the shopkeeper caught his hand before he could grab it and bolt.
“It’s Ross.” He gave Smith’s hand a squeeze, and Smith felt himself blushing all over again. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”
“N-no?” Smith was paralyzed, caught in place by Ross’s hand on his own.
“I’ll meet you down by the wharf then, an hour before sundown. I know a vendor who makes excellent sausage. My treat.”
Smith nodded, and Ross grinned at him.
“I’ll see you then…” He paused, looking at Smith pointedly.
“Smith. Alex Smith.”
He pressed the cloth satchel into Smith’s hand, wrapping Smith’s fingers around it with a gentle squeeze.
“It’s a date, Smith.”