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            "Stop smoking in the store." Two skinny fingers reached and snatched the cigarette from Milo's mouth. She was wedged in the doorway of the bookstore blowing smoke through the crack.

"I'm not in the store." she snapped "God dammit Jimmy, do you know what a pack of smokes fucking costs in this city? You just wasted at least fifty cents."

She turned, shut the door with her foot, and flipped the lock. She narrowed her eyes at her box, a short fifty something with ugly round glasses and too much hair.

Jimmy snorted and turned around. "Move to Jersey. Look, I don't fucking care. Just finish inventory and get the hell out." His voice faded as he weaved through the shelves.

Milo worked in a bookshop. Not a charming, creative, meet the love of your life type of shop. More like a dingy, outdated, pushed to the brink of death by Barnes and Noble kind of place. Jimmy's father had opened the shop in the seventies and Jimmy's familial guilt kept it alive. Shoved in the cracks between Hell's Kitchen and the Upper West Side, the shop doors only really saw tourists and the butts of Milo's cigarettes.

Milo rolled her eyes and popped open the tin of mints she hid behind the register. She rolled it between her back teeth and scanned the inventory checklist Jimmy had printed. It was eight thirty and her shift ended at nine. She pushed her weight off the counter and turned to grab her coat.

"Looks good, Jim!" Her right arm through the sleeve.

"Did you double check historical fiction?"

Left arm. "All perfect!"

"You didn't unpack the new King books like I asked."

Yanked up her zipper. "Uh huh. Everything's squared away." Pulled her knit beanie over her head.

"Amelia! It's not even nine." His voice moved closer.

She darted to the front. "Milo, thanks. You have a good weekend, too! See you Monday." And with a twist on the lock and a hard shove, Milo was out, met with the biting city wind. It was March, not quite winter cold, definitely not spring warm.

She threw her hand out, hailed the closest cab, and threw herself inside. She lived in Greenwich, not quite her father's sprawl at 443, but a striking brownstone, nonetheless. She always took cabs; she was raised to hate the trains.

She tipped the driver and pushed the door shut with her foot. The lights were already on when she walked through the front door. Her friend, Leo, sat cross-legged on her couch, grapes from her kitchen in hand. He grinned as she hung up her coat.

"Your emergencies only key works well I see." Milo muttered.

"I got you a new top for tonight." He pointed to the Barney's bag on the hall table. Milo quirked an eyebrow and dug into it, retrieving a red tank top.

"Lots of cleavage." She noted. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

Leo snorted a laugh. "Go get ready, I told them we'd be there at ten." It was already just passed nine. Milo climbed the stairs to her second floor, tossed her new shirt onto her bed. She stripped herself of her work clothes and shed them into the hamper.

"Quinn's coming, right?" Milo called through the open door as a she yanked on a pair of slouchy skater jeans.

"Is he? I don't care." Leo called. Milo smiled and rolled her eyes.

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 15, 2021 ⏰

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