Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances Read Online Free Page A

little too Silence of the Lambs for
me. Take it down a notch.”
    I hit him again.
    “Okay, say something to him,” he says, nodding to a
guy a few feet from us. He’s looking at the display window of
Ellsworth’s Toy Shoppe. He’s holding a brown leather briefcase and
is wearing a wool fedora. A scarf is wrapped around his neck so
high that I can’t see anything except his eyes and a bit of his
nose. Geez, he’s so covered up I’m not even sure what to
compliment. You look like a really warm bank robber?
    I purse my lips. “And what exactly—”
    Jack shoves me forward. The man notices my sudden
movement and looks over. No choice now.
    “Hello,” I say. “Do you have children?”
    His eyes widen. Even with the scarf, I can tell he’s
started. I feel startled. Where the hell did that question
come from?
    I clear my throat. “It’s just, Ellsworth’s was one of
my favorite stores growing up. My pap-pap would take me here all
the time. Does yours? I mean, do you? I mean, are you a
grandfather? Or even a father?”
    From the corner of my eye, I see Jack wipe a hand
down his face. He shakes his head.
    “Uh,” I say, scrambling for a compliment, “it’s just,
I was noticing you and thought you looked very…um…very…uh…” Oh. My.
God. It’s like my brain has gone on meltdown. I have lost all
vocabulary except the words bank and robber , which is
so inappropriate right now. I chuckle as I think of something to
say. And just as a word springs to mind, the man shakes his head
and walks away.
    Jack comes over.
    I sigh. “I was going to say distinguished.”
    “Why?”
    “It was better than the other word I was thinking
of.”
    Jack claps a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think I
want to know.”
    “I don’t think you do, either.” I groan. “I sound
like a crazy person. See? This is why I keep to myself.”
    “No, don’t think that way. You’re just rusty, not
crazy. You just have to get used to talking with people.” He points
me in the direction of a college-aged girl walking toward us, her
books cradles in her arms. “Do not mention skin tone or children.”
He shoves me forward and, after a final glare in his direction, I
try again.
    It only takes forty-five minutes, but I finally
manage to give my ten random people their compliments. The key, I
learned quickly, was to only approach people I could actually
compliment. When Jack tried to just point me in anyone’s direction,
I could never think of what to say. But when I saw someone who
genuinely had beautiful jewelry on or if I loved their hairstyle or
if I thought the coat they were wearing was gorgeous and my mother
would love it for Christmas, then I could not only
compliment them, I could actually chat for a minute or two about
it, too. Not only that, but after about the fourth person I spoke
to, the tightness in my chest started to subside.
    “It’s sincerity,” Jack says as we walk back toward
the office. “No matter what you’re saying or how golden the
flattery, if you’re not sincere, they can tell.” He shrugs. “What
they choose to do with that sincerity is up to them.”
    “Speaking from experience?”
    Jack gives me a look that makes me want to run and
duck, or maybe just look in his eyes and hold him forever—I’m not
sure which. But something passes behind the blues that is both old
and fresh, like a wound that refuses to heal.
    “Jack?”
    He shuts his eyes and laughs, a low, short sound.
When he opens them again, all that turbulence is gone. “You know,
there are some really great places on Blaker. You could sign up for
a culinary class or something. There’s an art studio. You could
sign up for something there.” He nudges me in the shoulder. “I hear
they have a nude painting class. A model, that is, not the class.
You know what else you might want to do?”
    Together, we walk toward Blaker.
     
    ****
    When all is said and done, I have not only signed up
for a pottery class (I’ve always wanted to learn