“Sophie!” I hear a woman yell. She looks into my shop and sees the girl through the window, then opens the door. “Sophie, there you are.”
As the woman is about to grab her child’s hand, her eyes drift up and meet mine. She stares for a second, then pauses. “What were you doing in here, darling?”
“I saw the pretty ring in the window, Mommy. I want it. But then I saw the man and he’s so freaking cool! Look at his scars!”
“That’s rude, Sophie,” the mother hisses. “Say you’re sorry.”
She pouts. “But it’s true.”
“It’s fine,” I say, laughing, and I hold up my hands. “She means well.”
“Well, let’s just go,” the mother says, trying to pull the kid away.
“No, I want to touch them.”
“Touch what, darling?”
“His scars!” She pulls away from her mom’s hand and runs to me.
“Sophie, no!” The mother runs after her but then stops as Sophie is already at my feet. But the woman won’t come any closer, even though her kid does.
“Mister, mister. Can I touch you?” She looks crazily excited as I look down at her, and I can’t help but find it cute.
“Ask your mom,” I say.
“Please, Mom, can I just touch his face?” she begs, putting up a pouty face again.
The woman sighs but then smiles too. “Oh, all right.”
“Yes!” She jumps up and down, holding up her hands as if she wants me to pick her up, so I do. As I hold her, a warm feeling rushes through my body. When her tiny hands touch my face, I shiver but don’t lean away. I let her touch me, roam across my face, her fingers swiveling across every crevice, every hard line of my face.
It’s the first time I feel free.
Free of the burden of my scars.
Free because this little girl doesn’t see them as bad.
I don’t scare her.
Her innocence gives life. It gives me the opportunity to let go and feel accepted for who I am and what I look like.
“Wicked …” she mutters after a while, making me laugh again. “How did you get these scars?”
“That’s enough badgering for one day,” the mother interjects. “C’mon, Sophie.”
“But …” she mutters, frowning.
“It’s okay,” I say, smiling. “You can come back here anytime you want and ask me anything you’d like.”
Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
“Really.”
She’s all hyper when I put her down, running around like she’s got wings. “Mommy, please, can we come back here tomorrow?”
The mother laughs. “You have school tomorrow.”
“Aww …”
“But maybe another time,” she says.
The girl seems happy with that. Then she tugs her mom’s coat, and Mom bends over. “Mommy, I really want the ring.”
She points at the pink one in the small box that has a tiny crystal on it. I made it a long time ago, and it wasn’t one of my best, but I’ve been hoping for years that I would eventually be able to make someone happy with it.
So I step away from the counter and go to the window, picking up the little box. “Here.” I place it in her hand. “Take it.”
Her jaw drops. “Really?”
The mother sucks in a breath. “Ahh … we can’t pay—”
“It’s on the house,” I say.
“Oooh, Mommy, can I have it, please?” the little girl squeals. “Thank you, Mister!”
Then the mother looks at me. “As long as it’s okay with Mister …” She narrows her eyes, a cue for me to jump in.
“Melikov. Call me Viktor.”
“Nice to meet you, Viktor.” She grabs my hand, and before I know it, she’s shaking it. “Hannah.”
“Hannah, nice to meet you too.”
“Well,” she says, clearing her throat after releasing my hand. “Say thanks to the kind gentleman, Sophie.”
I’ve never been called kind. Or a gentleman.
It’s new. I like it.
“Thank you, Mister,” she says, looking up at me with big, blue eyes.
I bend over and say, “You’re welcome. Put it on for school tomorrow. You’ll look like a princess in front of your friends.” Her eyes shimmer with delight, and I rub the top of her head. “You’re always welcome here.”
“Cool! Thank you so much!” she says, as her mom grabs her hand and pulls her away. “See you soon!”
“I’ll be waiting!” I call as her mother drags her out of the store, laughing.
She’s not the only one, though.
I can’t stop the smile from being stuck on my face.