Dirty (short stories)
with his arms crossed, he scanned the space with the same detachment he probably used on failing investments.
“Cozy,” he said, the word dripping with disdain. His polished shoes looked ridiculous on the worn out hardwood. He picked up a dog-eared mystery novel from a display table, flipped it over, then set it back like it might contaminate him. “Cluttered chaos. Exactly what I expected.”
Elena’s jaw tightened. “Most people call it charm. But I guess charm doesn’t show up on your spreadsheets.”
He moved deeper into the store, his eyes flicking over the packed shelves, the mismatched armchairs, the handwritten recommendation cards. A few regulars glanced up from their coffees, whispering.