She was a pretty woman. At least, Arlo thought she was. In truth, he had never seen her from the front, just from the back and only when passing the display window of the department store on Main Street, U.S.A. She set up the displays and almost always had her back to the people passing by. 

She was short with long dark hair and always wore jeans and a nice top, usually of the tee variety. He thought she wore sneakers but wasn’t too certain. It would be a lie to say he never checked her figure out, but after the first two or three times, he didn’t notice her body so much as he noticed her lack of concern for anyone walking by. Or maybe it was confidence in herself that made her appealing. Or maybe it was how gracefully she moved. 

He wondered what her voice sounded like, what she thought when she looked at an empty display. Did she have an idea of what she would create? Did she view it as a blank canvas for her to create art on, or as just a job she was paid to do? He didn’t know any of these things. He had never spoken to her. Never actually seen her face (which, in his opinion, if her backside looked nice, then her front surely did). He never even waved at her. 

He almost waved once—it was the lone time he thought she was about to turn around. He walked by the window and looked. She was there, her hands on her hips. He noticed no ring on the left hand. She took a step forward, then started to turn. Arlo stopped. His hand came out of his pocket, got halfway up, then dropped to his side. She didn’t turn to look out the glass. She walked around the display she had been working on and disappeared in an opening off to the left.

Arlo’s shoulders sagged that day. 

Just go in and talk to her, he told himself.

That would be awfully bold, he argued.

At least you would get to meet her.

What if she doesn’t like me?

You’ll never know if—

I know. I know. I’ll never know if I don’t try.

He didn’t try. Not that day and not any day since. 

Maybe today, he thought as he approached the department store. It was on his right as he headed to the parking garage nearly two blocks from where he worked. At the end of the block, he would make a right, step into a doorway, get on an elevator and go up to the sixth floor where his car was parked, like most days.

She’s not going to be there.

Resigned to the thought, he tucked his hands into his pockets. He crossed the street when the little white walking man appeared. A robotic voice proclaimed, “Walk sign is on. Walk sign is on.” Before he could get across the street that same voice began to count down from ten. He reached the other side of the road by seven. On the sidewalk, he lowered his head, intent on not looking at the window. If he didn’t see her, he wouldn’t feel shame for not …

But she was there in light blue jeans and a white top that was tucked in neatly. A black belt held her pants up and yes, she was wearing sneakers. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was standing, not with her back to the window, but to the side. 

Arlo stopped. His mouth dropped open slightly. His heart sped up. She wore no makeup. Arlo didn’t think she needed any. Her face was round, cheeks a natural pink, lips thin, eyes like almonds, in shape and color. 

His hand went up slowly. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. He gave a slight wave that caught her attention. She looked at him, smiled and lifted her hand in response.  

Heat filled Arlo’s face and neck and his stomach soured. His world spun for a second. Then his feet pulled him away and he hurried off, trying to reach the corner where he would run to the garage and up the steps—forget the elevator—and too his car. His heart would probably explode before getting there, but he didn’t care. The woman in the window was more than pretty, she was gorgeous, and she had smiled and waved at him. 

Before he reached the corner, he heard a female voice behind him. “Hey. Don’t run away.”

Arlo stopped. He looked back. The woman was no longer in the display window but walking toward him. She stopped about ten feet in front of him, the smile on her face warm and welcoming.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to make a move.”

“Make a move?” Arlo asked.

“You pass by here every day. I’ve seen you looking at me.”

Heat rose in his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m sorry. I … just … you’re …”

She laughed. “It’s okay. I’m not creeped out by you. I’ve never had someone admire me from afar like that.”

“I … umm …” No words came. He thought he would pass out. 

Then she stuck out her hand. “I’m Carolyn. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He took her hand. It was warm and soft. “My name is Arlo.”