Steve Rogers was excited for his first day of work and terrified at the thought of what the day might behold. He was attractive with short black hair, pearl - like blue eyes and a sharp jawline. He observed from outside the other youngsters attending to various customers with a smile and a friendly gesture. Steve was shy and he knew his job was to interact. He looked down at himself. He was dressed similar to his colleagues : black trousers, red shirt tucked well in and a clip - on - tie. On his breast pocket were sewn the words 'Rowenn Art', the multimillionaire fashion clothes company whose branches were widely spread around the entire country with more than a million customers daily.
It was an honour for Steve that he was chosen to work here for his part - time allotment. Rowenn Art chooses its volunteers and the Airplane Companies choose their air stewards or stewardesses : young, smart and attractive. Steve worried that he might not be able to fulfill the second criteria.
"You new here?" asked the security guard. Steve nodded. "What's your name?"
"Steve," said Steve.
"Steve, what?" the guard said, drawing a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.
"Rogers," Steve replied.
The guard raised an eyebrow as he unfolded the sheet. He scanned whatever was in there and with a friendly nod let him enter the shop.
The air was filled with freshness and the sweet scent of room fresheners. Steve pushed his hands in his pockets and marched ahead, not aware of a destination. People seemed to be shopping on their own or had found another shop assistant for assistance. Steve knew his way around, the manager having given him a tour of the place a week ago when he applied for the job. Yet, he felt lost among the unfamiliar figures.
"Don't worry too much," The manager had said. "Just show your face around. Ladies will come running."
Steve knew he was noticeable. But he wished he was ordinary handsome like most athletes or young detectives. But he was super model handsome with the facial structure of someone who had received plastic surgery to amend and eliminate the imperfect parts and then added the most beautiful components.
Steve strongly believed the words of Drax from The Guardians of the Galaxy : When you're ugly and someone loves you, you know they love you for who you are. Beautiful people never know who to trust. He often wondered how he ended up looking dashing like the first Avenger, which, in fact, resulted in a name like his, even though his father's last name is Thompson. His mother was the nerd who resolved to name her son after the most attractive Avenger.
For a while, Steve simply stood. He looked at a young lady selecting a blue frock with netted sleeves from the hangars. He observed the lady carefully. She was tall and slim with a slender body. Her arms were long with pointy fingers attached to them. She carried an air of freedom with her. Her Hazel brown hair matched her eyes, and was fairer than butterscotch but darker than vanilla. Her eyes seemed large and observative.
She was wearing a black T-shirt and a brown jacket. Her blue jeans was rolled up once around her ankles and her feet were shoved into simple red sandals.
There was one thing Steve was extremely good at : he could imagine. With that, he could fit pieces of jigsaw puzzle into its correct slot without looking at the full picture. He could picture the perfect solution to a problem (aside from mathematical) and he could draw the emotions of a stranger by his looks. He was also a splendid artist and a wonderful writer, although he needed to work on his writing skills. His power of imagination and his ability to express himself fairly earned him a respectable position as the professor of Arts in FoxFire University.
He could immediately picture that the frock wouldn't very likely fit the lady. Not because of its size, but becasue she was the kind of lady who wouldn't look good with something so heavy and gorgeous.
Another thing Steve was good at (and shouldn't be) was blurting out honest reviews.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, clearing his throat. "I don't think this one would be right for you."
The lady looked up. She narrowed her eyes at him. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. Up close, she looked intimidating. He could picture her in uniform, flashing her ID in his face, kicking him in the groin for being so blunt, and stomping away.
But she looked at him with an amused expression, without speaking.
"I - I am sorry, ma'am," Steve stuttered. "It's not my business what you wish to adorn. I apologize for my interference."
He turned around and put his faith in his legs to carry him away as far as possible from his first disaster on his first day.
Something stopped him. He felt a ring around his wrist, holding onto him tightly. A weight dropped in his stomach. He was being arrested. He imagined his life flash by : him looking out from behind the bars, his parents shaking their heads at him, the miserable food sufficient just for survival, his years passing away, his hairs turning grey, then silver, his hands shrivelled and weakened, his -
"Oh my god." The exclamation broke him from his flash forward. "You spontaneously broke into sweat. I had never seen something like this in real life."
Steve's aron was free. The lady he had supposedly offended stood in front of him, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her hair flowing down around her shoulders. She wore a smirk on her face and Steve suspected it wasn't because someone was impersonating a joker behind him.
She was no longer holding the frock. "I am surprised that you could proved an opinion judged on the person and not the dress," she said. "You were right, though. It wouldn't have suited me."
Steve dabbed his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. It came off with splotches of sweat.
"A - are you going to arrest me?" he asked, his hands fumbling in his pockets in the lookout for his handkerchief.
"Why would I arrest you?" she said, puzzled. "For being right?"
"So you are a cop, then," Steve said, relieved to find his handkerchief but terrified of offending the lady. No matter how much he wiped, his forehead still beaded with sweat.
"No, I am not," she said. Steve's forehead promptly dried up. "But I am flattered you thought so."
She shifted her weight on the other leg. "I come with no one to help me shop. Would you mind being my companion for today?"
Steve couldn't believe it. His clumsiness won him his first customer.
"Of course, ma'am," Steve said, trying for a smile and succeeding. "I would be delighted to."
"Then tell me," she said, crossing her arms. "What do you think would suit me to wear for a date?"
Steve frowned. "Depends on what your boyfriend likes, I guess?"
With a sigh she said, "Forget the date. Tell me what would suit me for a romantic night out."
Steve flashed a genuine smile. He knew just the thing.
