He works at Target stocking shelves and helping customers. No abracadabra has ever given him the time of day. He wishes it had some kind of magic properties to get Barb to stop frowning at him, but Terry doesn’t believe in magic. The first jelly he pops into his mouth today is watermelon. He doesn’t tell her he has access to all the candy he wants at his job if no one is looking. She always pats his shoulder when he does. Must be something she buys for her kids and keeps in little packages inside her purse. Too frumpy with gray in her hair, but she brings him jellybeans from home. He should settle for the loud divorcee, though she’s really not his type. If he was a boss, he’d hire her - Barbara, Barb - in a Detroit minute.īut he isn’t and he can’t and there’s no point. Slender, blond hair pulled into a tight pony, wearing a black jacket over her t-shirt and jeans and her outfits got better, too, after Magic Key #2. He scoped out all nine of them on Day One. When Terry signed up for the “10 Magic Keys” class, his only criterion was “optimal women”. She must focus on career, net earnings, future retirement needs by moving to the next level in prestige, and she can’t do that unless she curbs her urge to reach out. Certainly, she’s always been willing to offer a guiding hand, but what has it gotten her? Heartache. And he’s certainly lost, but he might misinterpret her intentions, and she has no desire to be tethered to another man. It’s a puzzle why he’s even in this class. No résumé has been turned in for peer evaluation. Still wears ill-fitting clothes, hasn’t trimmed his hair, slouches.
She’s followed each instruction to the minutest detail. The instructor has given them three of his “10 Magic Keys to Finding A Dream Job”. She doesn’t understand what that means since her boss spends most of his days on the telephone talking to women who aren’t his wife. She’s terrible with computers so her next step has to be management. She’s always worked in an office, first as a temp, then answering phones and scheduling appointments at an air-conditioning company, eventually promoted to “office associate”, which really means “secretary”. He wears his Dockers a little too tight, his button-down untucked, sleeves rolled up, a stain on the placket. His bulk overwhelms the rusty folding chair. Irritated, she pivots, spying a single available chair in the second row. He lifts a hand, gives her the slightest of waves. He turns his exotic eyes on her, their soft almond shape so contrary to his pale skin and ginger hair. Coming into the classroom, Barb sees him at the snack table, plate bending under cupcakes, cookies, and potato chips.
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