Cash only
“Can you help me?” the skinny young man asked. He looked lost with his baseball cap jammed down over a cloud of brown hair, spiralling out, unchecked from the brim. He had the longest lashes Isa had ever seen on a bloke and a smattering of dark freckles across his cheeks. His clothes were a mismatch of styles, which suited their surroundings, given they were in a charity shop.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. She discretely tugged down the volunteer bib and wished she wore something more flattering.
“I want to buy this book for, uh, £1.99. Could you take the money from my wallet for it? I’ve got a £2 coin in there.” He drew out a small, soft leather pouch that looked handmade, with small studs dotting its surface in an intricate pattern.
“Sure,” she said again, adding a perky twist to the word. OK, it was a bit strange that he didn’t want to touch his money, but perhaps he had an OCD problem or sprained fingers or something. Isa often counted out the coins for the pensioners who frequented the shop.
She unzipped the pouch and looked around for the larger coin. It was hidden in a stack of smaller pounds. Suppressing her surprise, she went through the familiar dance of ringing up the cash register and proffering the penny change. He nudged forward the pouch again, and she dropped it in with a hint of ceremony.
"I hope you enjoy it,” she said, nodding at the book. It was a standard pulp spy novel, the cover displaying the hulking hero on a gloomy street.
“Oh, I’ve read his other stuff,” the guy said, his face lighting up. “He’s a bit dated, but the stories are bussin.’”
Isa grinned back. It was a quiet morning, and she had time to flirt.
“Whatcha name?” she asked.
“Oh, Eann. Erm, pleased to meet you.” He blinked at her like a baby giraffe.
“Isla. Glad to meet you, too.” She resisted the urge to rearrange her hair. “I love your pouch, Eann,” she purred. “Did you make it?”
He nodded, flipping it over so she could see the stud patterns on the other side. Really, it was like a metalwork mandala or something from the Middle Ages. He must’ve spent hours on it.
“It’s beautiful,” she praised. “What made you pick that pattern?”
Eann’s face dropped a little at that question. “It keeps the stories contained,” he told her earnestly. He looked poised to run, and she realised he was waiting for her to mock him.
Screw that. If a summer of shop volunteer work had taught Isa anything, you don’t prejudge people.
“Stories?” she asked smoothly as if they were talking about a car engine or a cocktail recipe.
“Coins carry emotions,” he explained. “More than paper notes, weirdly. You can feel the imprint from the last few owners; since people have many emotions about money, they tend to be…splashy. I’m unlucky enough to feel them.”
Isa couldn’t let that pass.
“Show me,” she commanded, pulling a 50 pence from her pocket and sliding it onto the counter.
He gingerly put one finger on the coin’s surface and screwed up his face. It was adorable.
“Boredom, anxiety, yeah, you’re waiting on your exam results - and a bit of excitement.” He opened his eyes and looked at her hopefully.
“Not bad,” Isa smirked. Her insides were doing flip-flops at his accuracy. “I’m going to a festival this weekend.”
He nodded as he picked up the book. “Local?”
“Yeah. The Three Bells. See you there?”
She was rewarded with a shy smile. “Could do. Yeah.” He turned to go.
“One more question,” she said, raising her voice. “If cash is a problem for you, why not use a card?”
Eann turned and waggled his fingers. “Can’t. I screw up card readers. The downside of bein’ a wizard, I guess.”
With that, he gave her a half-wave and left the shop. Isa took a moment to recover from her astonishment, then started laughing. She never guessed! This weekend would be exciting. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about his reaction to her mother being a witch.
Love the ending!