Damaged Hearts. Jan St. Marcus

a breath. “I hadn’t thought it through. Still haven’t.”

      “Well, they’re calling you the ‘Bad Ass Samaritan’.”

      I try to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”

      Bran laughs. “It was pretty bad ass.”

      “Well so much for maintaining a low profile.”

      “Like, you can look like you do and drive that monster and be low profile?”

      “Point taken. But I do kind of keep to myself.”

      “Good luck with that.”

      We start walking again. Sparky doesn’t care about our human drama. He’s found something really interesting near a stand of rosemary bushes. He tugs back at the leash when I try to get him to follow us as we walk on. He’s not budging. “Come on, Sparky!” When I tug on the leash, he sits down, putting his front legs in front of him. He’s looking at me like, “Chill, dude, I’m not done here!”

      We stop and he goes back to his serious sniffing. I sigh. I hope this video thing isn’t going to blow up in my face. My NSA people can be kind of nervous with stuff like this. Apparently, the work I’m doing for them is pretty important, and they have invested a lot of money in keeping my work and my identity under wraps. At one point, I was told that part of the reason they didn’t insist that I move to Maryland where they’re based, is that they wanted me outside the normal sphere of NSA contractors and employees. We don’t really discuss it openly, but I know that Devon has a team of people keeping me under surveillance. Or protection. Or whatever they call it. I know it’s not like a Secret Service detail or anything, but I know they have eyes on me. And no, I don’t mind. In fact, I don’t care. I’m not doing anything wrong or sketchy, and my life isn’t interesting enough for anybody to really care one way or the other about what I do.

      Sparky finishes his business and we walk on. “Are you okay?”

      I look at Bran. “Huh?”

      “You kind of zoned out. You okay?”

      “Yeah,” I offer. “Just trying to get my head around this. I’ve never gone viral before.” I hope my little laugh puts Bran at ease and hides my growing concern.

      “Thank you,” Bran says. He’s as earnest as I’ve ever heard him. I look into his eyes and they’re sparkling, but serious.

      “For what?”

      “For sticking up for me. I mean, I know I’ve already said it, but that video . . . that video really brought it home . . . that someone cared enough to do that for me.”

      I nod and smile. “No problem.” I look at Sparky, who has stopped walking and is looking back towards the house. “All done?”

      “What?” Bran asks.

      “I was talking to Sparky. I think he’s ready to go back.”

      We all turn and head back to the house.

      ***

      Bran is silent on the drive to Main Street in Santa Monica. It’s a short drive, and there are lots of different places to shop along the wide street. Lots of bars and restaurants, too. I drive with the windows down, partly because I’m not a fan of air conditioning and partly because I love the sound of the engine revving as I drive. Bran is alternating looking out the window and running his hands along the upholstery of his seat. He looks . . . dare I say . . . cute. Well, except for the faded, ugly, orange T-shirt. I mean, that thing couldn’t have looked good when it was brand new. And I’m not being a snob; it’s just really ugly.

      “Where do you want to shop?” I ask him.

      He looks over at me like he’s just waking up from a dream. “Huh? Oh. I don’t care.” He looks from one side of the street to the other and then points to our left. “There—GAP.”

      I see it, but I am torn. I was thinking something with a little more style, but then again, I don’t want to make him less comfortable than he probably already feels. But GAP? Really? “GAP it is,” I say as I get into the turn lane. A moment later, we’re walking up to the front doors. His eyes are wide as we enter, and he looks hesitant.

      “So how does this work?”

      “I think you pick out clothes and then we pay for them and then we leave, right?”

      This earns me a glare from him. “Yeah, smartass. I get the concept. I meant is there a plan?”

      I look at him and motion for him to follow me to the counter. A cute girl in a pixie cut and skinny jeans smiles at us from behind the counter. Her nametag reads MINDY.

      “Hi, Mindy, I’m Michelangelo, and this is my friend, Bran.”

      She sticks out her hand and smiles brightly at Bran. “Hi. How can I help y’all?”

      I like her instantly. “I lost a bet and so I have to pay for Bran’s shopping spree. Can you help him and just charge it to my card?” I remove one of my credit cards and driver’s license and hand them to her. “Just charge it, and he’ll bring me the card and my license.” I look at Bran. “I’m going to go two doors up and have a beer. Meet you there when you’re done?”

      “Sure. We can do that,” Mindy says, taking my card and license.

      “Have fun,” I say to Bran before turning and heading for the door. I get about three steps when Bran grabs my elbow to stop me. “What’s up?”

      Bran looks up at me, eyes pleading. “I . . . you’re not going to stay?”

      “Do you want me to?”

      He looks embarrassed and he starts to blush. “I kind of do. I’ve never done this before.”

      “Done what?”

      He leans up and whispers to me, “Shopped. In a store. Like for clothes.”

      I look into his eyes again, searching to see if he’s serious. He looks very serious. I turn and walk back towards Mindy, holding out my hand for my card and license. “Change of plans. I guess I’m staying.”

      “Great!” she says. “Here you go. Y’all let me know if you need anything, all right?”

      “We will,” I assure her. I glance around the store to get the lay of the land and head over towards the jeans. So, go ahead, call me a snob because I’ve never shopped at GAP before. Like I care. I smile and head towards the wall of jeans. “Okay,” I tell Bran, “let’s start with some jeans.” He follows.

      When I was a kid, like twelve, my brother and I watched Pretty Woman on TV, and my brother loved it. He was kind of a romantic and thought it was like this sweet Cinderella story. I saw the darker side of it, you know, she was a hooker. And as I stand here, watching Bran with eyes as wide as saucers as I suggest various pairs of jeans, I think of that scene in the movie where Julia Roberts was in that fancy store on Rodeo Drive trying on dresses. Of course, nobody would ever confuse the GAP with Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, but you wouldn’t know it from Bran’s expression. After we set aside three pairs of jeans, he comes up to me and whispers to me again.

      “Okay, I know you’ll think this is kind of weird, but you dress really nicely. Like, when I saw you this morning, you looked like a model, and I don’t even think you realize how good you look. Do you think you can help me look like that?” He blushes again.

      “Thank you?” I say. I look around the store again and find the button-down shirts. I pull a couple off the rack and give them to him. “Try one of these on.” He’s still wearing the last pair of jeans he tried on. They’re dark blue, and the shirt he tries on is sky blue with a button-down collar. He buttons it up, and I am kind of surprised that it fits him perfectly. And I smile when I see how good he looks. “Talk about looking like a model—that works for you.”