Free Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2 by Marie Sexton Page A

greeting, but something about the way Paul stood gave him pause. He didn’t have that lost look he usually had; or rather, he had it, but seemed to be more consumed by it than usual.
It made him come up beside Paul quietly, respectfully, made him smile a crooked smile when Paul saw him. “Hey there, stranger. Any chance I can take you to lunch?”
Paul blinked, as if the concept of lunch was something he’d forgotten. “Oh.” He glanced at the clock on the square. “Oh. Lunch. Sure.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you from staring into shop windows, if you’d rather do that.”
Paul winced and rubbed a hand self-consciously on the back of his head. “Sorry. I—had a weird night. Still sorting through it.”
El could have kicked himself for sounding so petulant. Placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder, El steered him away from the window. “Come to lunch with me, then, and tell me all about it.”
Was it El’s imagination, or did Paul relax a little? “Okay.”
El kept his hand on Paul’s shoulder while they walked away. He used the touch to anchor himself as he glanced back to see what it was Paul had been staring at so pensively. It was the photography store’s window display with senior pictures on one side.
Wedding pictures were on the other.

    Paul didn’t tell El about what had upset him, though, because somehow, while they waited in line to place their sandwich orders, they ended up talking about exactly the wrong topic.
    El.
“What’s it like to own a pawnshop?”
Paul leaned back against the deli’s brick wall as he asked
    this, his red-brown hair a pretty complement to the brick. It did crazy things to El’s brain. “It’s not really like anything. Just another job.”
    “How did you get into it, though? Was it something you always wanted to do?”
El laughed. “No.”
Paul smiled his own lopsided smile and made go-on motions with his hand.
El kept his eye on Paul’s hair as he answered, watching light dance off it under the soft track lights. “It was my grandpa’s place, his hobby shop once he retired. Nobody wanted it when he died, so I took it over. Bought it from my grandmother, and now it’s mine. I live upstairs, work downstairs. Nice and tidy.”
Paul studied El with a focus that made him want to fidget. “But did you want to run the pawnshop?”
El considered a moment. Then he did something he rarely ever did when someone asked about the shop. He told the truth.
“Yeah. I did.” El rubbed his thumb against his chin a moment, letting his eyes fall down to a set of bricks. “My mom . . . well, you know those TV shows about people who go crazy about collecting things and have houses full of trash? That’s my mom. She’s been that way since I was little, when my dad left. I know she’s sick, and I don’t blame her, not really, but it still makes me nuts. I thought maybe if I had a place she could sell things . . .” He let that trail off like it deserved, rolling his eyes and shrugging. “I was a naive twenty-year-old. Now it’s a job where I can smoke all day. But yeah. When I took on the shop? I wanted it.”
The confession made El feel very exposed, and he wished he could smoke right then and there.
It was their turn to order after that, which saved him for a few minutes. It gave him a chance to redirect his thoughts, too, and he had himself all ready to turn the conversation back onto Paul by the time they sat down.
Paul foiled him by starting it back up on El while they filled their drinks at the self-serve soda machine.
“Do you have any employees, or is it just you?”
“Just me. My brothers have filled in for me on occasion, but mostly if I don’t want to be open, I don’t keep the shop open.”
Paul paused with his cup half-full of Coke and gave El the strangest look of longing. “Really?”
“Really.” El elbowed him and reached for a lid. “Why, you looking to buy me out and let me retire early?”
Paul’s sad sigh wedged right under the bottom of El’s ribs