Free The Guy With the Suitcase (Once Upon a Guy #1) by Chris Ethan

was full of holes where his socks were visible. He needed new ones, but he always put them last on his list, always deeming the coat more important and, considering he was only just buying one after a month of planning to do so, it left his feet to their fate. Thankfully it hadn’t rained much in the last few weeks and Pierce was grateful to whatever being or planetary movements determined that.
    He browsed the shoes selves and found a pair of red and white sneakers. He found his number, the last in that design, and carried everything to the register. The woman rang everything up for him and once he’d paid he went to the corner of the street, took off his old shoes, threw them in the garbage can, and put on the new ones. The change in the arch of his feet felt strange. The balls and toes of his feet had grown so used to the discomfort of holes and bumps that being massaged while in motion seemed out of the ordinary, inhumane, even. Shoes surely didn’t feel so comfortable.
    He started his journey down Malcolm X Avenue. He checked the clock inside a convenience store and realized it was still early. He was supposed to start in three hours, so he slowed his pace, enjoying a good stroll after a long time, feeling refreshed. He didn’t want to admit it, but shopping made him feel good about himself. Elevated. Shopping therapy was a thing of the past. He was happy he had indulged in it after almost half a year. It had been that long. He had changed a lot since. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed the excursion for necessities. Matched with the elation of starting a job, this was being the best day he had ever had out on the streets.
    “Hey, bruto ,” he heard someone say very close to him and an eye lift revealed none other than Rafe.
    “Hey,” he said, feeling his lips part as they formed a smile out of their own volition. “How are you? How has it been since...?” He left the last bit of his question to hang in the air, not particularly keen to remind Rafe of that night.
    “Good, good. Much...quieter, let’s say. How about you? Been shopping, I see,” he said looking at the plastic bags and the new flashing shoes.
    “I was just heading to work. I had to buy a few things so I don’t turn up like a hobo on my first day,” Pierce explained.
    Rafe nodded. “That’s cool. I like the shoes. It was good seeing you. Enjoy work,” he added, backtracking, moving away from Pierce hesitantly.
    Pierce grimaced for a second, his mind processing the prospect of spending more time with Rafe. Before he got too far he called out to him. “Wanna walk with me? Get something to eat? I’ll buy. I think,” he said, remembering he’d spent the spare money he was supposed to have for food on the shoes.
    “Uhm, are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you from work or anything,” Rafe replied. His face brightened up in an instant at Pierce’s suggestion.
    Pierce nodded, noticing the change in Rafe. His stomach curled. He could see the street rub off Rafe’s face and being replaced with the cuteness of looking forward to something. “Sure. I’ve still got time. I’m not sure if I have money, but time, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckled and Rafe approached him, walking down together.
    Pierce counted his change. “I’ve got enough for ice cream,” he admitted noticing an ice cream van parked in the street in front of the north side of Central.
    “Ice cream sounds fun,” Rafe’s lips arched, exposing his white teeth. A beautiful smile that gave Pierce goosebumps.
    He’d buy him all the ice cream if it’d make him smile like that all the time.

  “So, what’s your flavor?” he asked with a smirk.
    Rafe was taken aback by the question, for a moment contemplating replying to the double entendre in a publicly unacceptable way. Then decided against it, as they approached the ice cream truck, which housed an older, Indian man with gray hair waiting to get paid by a mom.
    “I