Free HIM by Brittney Cohen-Schlesinger Page B

say ‘ I’m Avalon Montage and I’m the best darn thing out there.  Pain, get out of my way! ’”
    His theatrics were a bit overdone with all the hand movements and whatnot but he did have a point . . . although I didn’t want to listen to him.  Not about this – about the one situation that controlled my life; the way it had been running for over eleven months now.  I was safe in my own little cocoon until Jensen showed up.  Now I guessed the butterfly was slowly emerging from the cozy home it had once built for itself.  I just needed a push.
    “You ready to go back inside?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    We walked back to the convenience store to eat the meal Jensen had prepared.  Afterwards we cleaned up our mess and Jensen locked up the store.  We were now strolling down the deserted street.
                  “Thank you for the remarkable dinner,” I told him, feeling fuller and more satisfied than I had in a long time.  Throughout the meal I – not once – felt even the slightest bit self-conscious while eating in front of him.  He was already helping me with some of my issues and he didn’t even know it.
                  “Absolutely anytime,” he smiled.  “Anything for you.”
                  We were walking relatively slow, not wanting our delightful night to end.
                  “Where did you learn to cook like that?” I asked.
                  “Since I’ve traveled all over the world I’ve picked up a few things,” he winked.  “I intentionally didn’t go overboard tonight not knowing what you liked and didn’t like.  So I made something simple.”
                  “Well it was delicious,” I admitted, grinning.
                  “Do you cook?”
                  “I dabble.”
                  “And that means?” he laughed.
                  “I used to cook a lot.  But this year I haven’t done much of that.  Much of anything, really.”
                  There was an awkward silence I knew I caused.
                  “Well then,” Jensen said, “looks like we’ll have to cook together sometime.”
                  “You’d like that?”
    “I certainly would.”
    “Sounds good to me.”  I was happy.  “I have a question that’s been on my mind for a while.”
                  “Shoot.”
                  “If you inherited all this money from your parents why do you work at Old Tily’s?  I mean, wouldn’t you rather work some place…nicer?  Or…not work at all?”
                  He chuckled.  “Working at Old Tily’s humbles me, Ava.  Money was basically the substitution for my lack of parents during my childhood.  For a long while I let it consume me.  Then one day I decided I didn’t like that way of living any longer so I decided not to flaunt what I’d acquired and began blending in with society the best I could.  Old Tily’s was hiring, I applied for the job and got it.  The owner really likes me because I apparently bring in the most customers.”
                  I could only imagine why.  His looks alone were enticing; having him speak was a whole other aphrodisiac for the common public.
                  Then he said, “So he lets me work the hours I like without much hassle.  He’s told me numerous times his sales have gone up since I began working there.” He shook his head, rolled his eyes and laughed.  “There’s something about sweeping a dirty floor that’s really soothing to me.”  He closed his eyes.  He could make any conversation sound intriguing.  “It’s nice to see a positive outcome appear from such a simple act – I clean the floors, it makes people want to walk into the store.  It makes my boss happy, which makes me happy.  And when I’m happy –”
                  “Then I’m