Fake It Till You Ace It

isplay counter of her vintage c

cigarette into the bottom of a heavy glass a

nter. She aimed the nozzle at the air and pressed down, spray

l roses mixed with the stale, bitter stench of cheap tobacc

mediately doubled over. A violent co

ric shock of pain shot up her back. She gasped, dropping the perfume bottle on the co

echoed on the

ped up. Her eyes w

ad-shouldered frame filled the doorway, comple

orced her facial muscles to stretch into

ay a word. He di

aphone to his mouth, flipped th

ON," his voice boomed through the spe

ll store. The metal hangers on the cloth

dirty rag off the counter and

rag sailed past his ear and hit the door. He clic

he door shut, locking the deadbolt

nd inhaled through his nose. His dark

locked on hers. "It smells like a chain-smok

he auto body shop next door. The wind blows

rgue. He just reached over the glass counter, grabbe

g with crushed cigarette butts, sat

d the side of her nose, her eyes darting away

lready loaded on his tongue. But before he

of her body weight was shifted onto her left leg, and h

rson's chest, replaced insta

ter. He walked around the display ca

hands firmly on her shoulder

tled onto the old, velvet sofa behind the counter. A

s eyes were soft, but his voice was hard.

. "A doctor? In this country? The medical bills would

. He turned his head an

ng the same faded dresses they had been wearing a month ago. T

im like a punch to the gut. It was worse tha

sts, his nails digging into his pal

no room for argument. "We're going to the wholesa