He closes out the register, and I mop the floor. The mop is so in need of replacing that it’s dark gray, not remotely white, and I don’t think my mopping does much more than push dirty water around in circles, but finally I finish and dump out the filthy water in the mop sink, and Jesse comes out of the back office and says we can lock up. Normally I bike home and Jesse drives, but today he’s waiting for his mom to pick him up because the car he just bought from his cousin is in the shop getting new tires. “Sorry I can’t give you a lift,” I say, nodding at my handlebars. “This sweet ride only fits one.” Jesse grins. “It’s cool, Caroline. I can wait for my mom.” I like how he says my name in his buttery voice. How he sounds like a radio deejay with some secret bad habit. Just the right mix of good boy and not-so-good boy. But I’m still not doing anything with Jesse. Anyway, I’m not sure he wants to do anything with me. Sometimes when we’re working together and I say something funny he winks at me, and I think there’s a chance.
