The thick, humid, and rain-threatening weather gave Kaede no choice but to wear a light Maybelline BB cream. The coverage of the cream only showed a slight glowing tint, which meant her marks would be visible. But there was nothing worse than a face baked for a wedding and having to work feeling sticky because of the dense atmosphere.

Another day another style, Kaede put on her a black MM6 knees-length hoody dress, fishnet Junya Watanabe red tights, and her Dr.Martens Sinclair for her punk look. She wore her hair in a tower of Pisa sloppy bun that fell to the side in a careless gesture, which was not negligent at all.

If Kaede had an Instagram, she would have posted the hashtag outfit of the day, but she was no longer a slave to the social platform monsters, which turned her into a clothes addict and an insecure boyfriend stalker.

Despite the apparent confidence, Kaede still was not a hundred percent comfortable in her shoes. Every other woman appeared prettier and more appealing. Like a teen, the woman wished to be light-boned with a petit stature and thin ballerina arms.

At twenty-eight, the dream was a mirage that could only be attained by either starving or seeing a doctor Frankenstein who would transform her into a Mattel prototype. In her mind, Kaede saw herself as a soar loser of the beauty game, with lips too full and a nose too fleshy. Makeup was a friend and a foe. At the end of the day, she was good old Kaede, the girl with nothing to make her stand out from the batch.

Joseph, who studied face reading and palmistry, reassured Kaede that her lucky years were still to come. According to him, she would experience great happiness and blow her thirty birthday candles, feeling accomplished in every way.

When Kaede translated the man's words, this meant she still had two years of shit to swim through, and what she had to do was keep her head afloat.

The woman did not want Joseph to see that she wished for answers concerning her love life. To taunt her, the man would occasionally say: "Today might be the day," as he did when she left his office to go down to take over Marco's shift.

Not one but two men turned to welcome her. Kaede, who imagined things could not worsen at work, flared the potential danger as she approached.

"It's about time; you are trampling on my lunch break."

When it came to breaks, there was one rule: No hold up. The one held up came back when they were supposed, even if they lost minutes in the shift handover between managers. The busy store could not afford time wasted by delay.

"Sorry, you can go."

Marco sighed, "okay, we already have 12K in the tills."

Kaede did not say anything, but the figure was quite an exploit considering the lax who drove the team in the morning.

Marco continued, "Chris called and said he'd be five minutes late."

The sales assistant's name reminded Kaede she still had to discuss the box switch.

"Okay," Marco looked at his watch and turned to face Dominque. Just like the day before, Marco's friend fixed Kaede. What held his attention was the small blotches that dotted her face.

"Dom," Marco said, snapping the man out of his daze, "we have fifty minutes. Where do you want to eat? There's a eat Eat Thai down the street if you want."

"Yeah, that's good for me."

Kaede seized the opportunity to eclipse to the till, where she thought she could observe without being noticed.

The men made their way to the door. Dominque dressed in a black turtle neck, black Carhartt cargo pants, and black AirForce. For Kaede, the style expert, one could lift the man as he was and place him in a Swat team or Black Hawk Down movie. People develop a severe habit of detailing people from head to toe when working in retail, and Kaede was no exception to the rule.

Dominque caught Kaede smiling as he threw a last glance at her while he passed the sliding doors behind Marco. During a split, the second two stares crossed, in one of those moments where the temptation to say it was love at first sight, except the first encounter was the day before.

Kaede felt intimidation instead of the fluttering heart. If her heart did step up, a beat fright was the culprit. She had one problem called Marco Francis, but the subject remained in the breach of her control.

Here the woman got the impression she faced a more sophisticated model of the male species. If Kaede took Marco's words seriously, Dominque was the most outstanding player the world ever carried. Even the number of women in the playboy mansion did not mount up to his supposed longlist.

They simultaneously turned their eyes away.

"Man, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, I heard you. The girl takes the piss. If it were her, she would attach you to the hood of a car and ride through the town with you on it in a Mad Max remake."

Marco cocked an eyebrow, "stop taking a piss out of me, Dominque."