LITMIR.BIZ

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in his brow, but no other obvious change.

      I didn't make eye contact or take the time to read his sign. I already knew what it said: LAID OFF, NOW HOMELESS, LOOKING FOR WORK, ANYTHING HELPS. With the tiny, "God Bless," at the end like an afterthought. I knew Aunt Stacey's church had groups who went out to help the homeless, and I wondered if he added those two words on the bottom to show thanks, or to invoke curiosity.

      "Afternoon, AJ," Allie greeted me as I hurried behind the counter.

      "Hi, Allie," I pulled out my work smile and glued it to my face. Maybe I should have been the one to join the drama club. "I'll be right there." I hurried to the bathroom and changed into my uniform shirt, then stashed the bag with the food and comforter in the back hallway. I took a deep breath, letting the rich aroma of yeasty bread, spices and cheese fill my lungs. If ever there was air thick enough to chew, it was here in the bakery. I felt satiated, as much as if I had eaten a full meal.

      I headed to the prep station and started chopping apples to be used in the loaves for the next morning. It was easy to get lost in the methodical process. I far preferred prepping to dealing with customers. I could do it when necessary, but the urge to tell them what I really thought about their incessant need to be served was difficult to fight. In the year and a half I had been working there, I had only gone off on a customer once, and she had deserved it. After changing her order three times, then taking a bite out of her scone and insisting that it wasn't fresh enough, I told her just exactly where she could shove the offending pastry. Okay, I might have overreacted slightly, but her condescending attitude was more than I could take.

      It was a quiet evening. With a couple weeks until Thanksgiving, people were cutting back in preparation for serious gluttony. When it was time for my break, I grabbed the bag I'd brought before heading outside. It was 6:30, and there was no sign of Kaden. It was already dark out, and I hoped I wasn't too late to make my delivery. I was glad Kaden hadn't made his appearance yet, because it would have been impossible to explain what I was doing to him.

      "I'll be back in fifteen," I called to Allie. Her blonde ponytail bobbed up and down, indicating that she had received my message. She was busy going over order sheets for the holidays, making sure we would have enough ingredients in stock to prep for the massive Thanksgiving demand.

      The temperature had dropped dramatically, making the creaking house's prediction of an up and coming frost that much more believable. I squinted in the direction of the light post on the corner. My worries that the early darkness and lower temperatures would have driven him off, proved unwarranted. He held his cardboard sign in one hand, and blew into the other. I noticed he didn't have any gloves, and made a mental note to see if I could scrounge some up before next week. Because of the trip to see my mother on Saturday, I would have to miss work, but I would have no trouble making up the hours doing holiday prep in the weeks to come.

      In my hurry to get outside, I'd forgotten to put on my coat. My work t-shirt was more than sufficient inside the warm confines of the bakery, but it did little to nothing to hold back the chill that bristled in the November air. I pushed on, taking in the cold and using it to boost my mood into a stoic place. I could not afford to show emotion. The second time I saw him on the corner I had given him a granola bar on my way home from work. When I'd asked him if he would take it, he had looked at me like his heart might break. I know it sounds cliche, but the intensity in his eyes had been so grateful. It was a boring granola bar, but he had thanked me as though I had given him filet mignon. When I turned away from him I had cried the entire walk home. It's not like I was sobbing, I just had a constant flow of tears running down my cheeks the entire mile and a half walk. I'd barely managed to staunch them before going inside for dinner with Aunt Stacey. This time I let the frigid air act like ice in my veins. It would be typical for Kaden to show up right when I got back and to catch me teary eyed, and the very idea of that was unacceptable. It would mean I would have to give him the hug, and I didn't want to think about how that might effect our relationship.

      The man wasn't looking in my direction. He was stamping his feet, and looking down at his backpack, as if assessing his situation. I searched my brain for something to say, but it all fell flat. Who was I to come to him with words of wisdom, or comfort, or even friendliness. I was an ignorant kid. A seventeen year old girl, with my own list of issues, and no clue where life was going to take me. As I looked at him, I didn't feel pity. I had no idea what led him to be there. What I did feel was certainty that there was something wrong with this picture. Whoever he was, whatever had transpired in his life, this street corner was not where he belonged.

      "Hi," the word stuck in my throat. I think it came out more like a growl than an actual word. He looked up at me, and his features softened.

      "Good evening," he greeted me with a half smile and absolute decorum. Just like the thank you he gave me when I gave him the granola bar, his words spoke of class and distinction. Nothing like the time I asked the guy in the reggae striped poncho and dreads if he would like a treat for his dog. He'd looked at me like I was from another planet, and literally shooed me away. I felt bad for his dog, but I let him be, and the next time I saw them there I gave the treat directly to the dog without bothering to ask.

      I froze, bag in hand. A thousand questions circled through my mind like a cyclone. He reminded me more of a congressman or a diplomat than a homeless wayfarer. Part of me longed to ask him what could possibly have gone so wrong in his life that he ended up here. Another part of me was suddenly embarrassed by my pathetic offering. I wished I had written down what I would say before I got there.

      "I, uh, I thought," my tongue tripped over the words. "Here," I held the bag out to him.

      His eyes looked more gray than blue in the shallow light of the street lamp as they drifted back and forth between my eyes and the bag. "It's not much, I know, but maybe it'll help," I bit my lip to stop the flow of words that started streaming out. I stood with my arm stretched out, clutching the handles of the bag. I felt like an idiot; a pathetic excuse for a Good Samaritan. I wondered if my gift offended him.

      Then I felt less pressure dangling from my hand, and realized he had taken hold of the bag. "Thank you," I heard emotion in his voice, making it low and husky. "Thank you so very much." He took the bag from me, careful not to touch me in any way.

      I know I should have said, "you're welcome," and walked away. That would have been the most logical course of action. Or I could have played it coy, pulled out the bakery smile, fluttered my eyelashes shyly over my baby blue eyes, and played the cherub. I could have been his angel unaware, and that would have been the end of it. I guess I've never been good at doing the logical thing.

      "You don't belong here," I said instead. My words hung in the air, crystallized by the cold. I still had a chance to turn around and leave. It might have sounded ominous rather than encouraging, but at least he would have the blanket and the food. That would have been something. Instead, I plunged further into my thoughts. "You and I both know this is not you. Why are you here?"

      I stopped, and saw his features crumbling with emotion. I had pushed too far. What had been meant as an honest question had come out as an accusation instead. "That's not what I mean," I struggled to get the situation under control, but could feel myself slipping farther, rather than digging myself out of the hole. For all I knew, he might throw the bag back at me, and this would be the last time I would ever see him. Or worse, I might discover something sinister, and find myself in the hands of a hardened killer. How many times have news reports claimed that the mass murderer had been considered polite by his neighbors? But I'd opened something up inside myself that couldn't be reversed.

      "I just don't understand how you ended up here. You're not like the others, you know? I'm just trying to understand how it happened. I know, I know, I just look like some kid. I mean, I just am some kid. This is pathetic. I'm sorry, I just...I hope this helps."

      I spun around, suddenly in a panic, and irritated with my inability to articulate in moments of stress. My feet propelled me toward the bakery, but a single word stopped my flight. "Wait," he said. He didn't shout, his voice was barely louder than the rushing of the wind that had begun to build up around us. I turned around. I had no concept of what to expect next.

      "You're right," he looked down at his nearly destroyed

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