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“We’re Open” later, I almost had goosebumps. Finally, it was time for just me and my guy—the one who didn’t confuse me, didn’t push cups at me, didn’t judge me.
    Tux was like the PSAT, I mused, leaning in to place a big smackeroo on his smooth cheek. The ultimate test prep.
    “Good morning to you, Hot Stuff!” I crooned, all sing-song.
    Pulling my softball team cap out from my back pocket, I two-handed it over the crown of his head. While not sized for a full-sized man, the cap was a perfect fit on his hairless, smooth dome.
    “ Too cute,” I said, then gave his tuxedoed arm a squeeze. His fabric of choice, for both jacket and pants, was a standard polyester gabardine, with satin notch lapels and a matching satin pant side stripe. Verrry classy, if I said so myself. (Not that he’d had much say about it.)
    “Now, my darling, hold that pose. I’ve got to get Phillip’s coffee going.”
    Jumping down to the floor tiles, I moved hurriedly through my Saturday routine. Make coffee, open the register, flip on the back lights, then back to Tux. Where I’d usually primp and fuss over him, while sharing with him whatever grievance was bothering me most. I swore, just talking to him made my problems fall away like water off a duck’s back.
    Today, though, was just about having some fun. Back in the window, I leaned in for a cheek rub against his satiny lapel before stepping back to wind up my arm for a game opening pitch.
    “Play ball!” I shouted, then released an invisible fast-ball.
    In my mind’s eye, Tux’s bat connected with a resounding thud, and that ball knocked out of the park. I threw up my fists and yelled, “You go, boy!” as I imagined him taking off for first.
    Movement outside the paned glass window brought me slamming me back to reality. I turned, fast.
    Phillip stood there, his face stretched in a look that might have been shock. Might have been horror. Might have been call-the-guys-in-the-white-coats concern.
    I did the only thing I could think of: I gave him a little finger wave, then acted like I was tossing a ball at him. Instead of pretending to catch it, he shook his head, did a big inhale and cruised through the front door.
    Crap!
    Leaping from the display, I strained for reasonable excuses. Like that I was needed at home. Immediately. Because I needed to bury myself under my covers. Luckily, by the time we were face-to-face, I’d come up with something better. “Just an early start on next spring’s softball season.”
    His brow went so low that a little bulge had formed between his eyes.
    I opened my mouth to say something—anything—then wisely clamped it shut before my foot got in the way of my tongue again.
    “You do realize that everyone and their mother driving down the boulevard can see you, right? And that the softball cap on the mannequin is not exactly the look we’re selling?”
    “First and last time—I promise!”
    His gaze softened, but that brow bulge remained. “All things considered, I think it’s best to stick to the business of renting tuxedos here in the shop, okay, and leave the sports practices to your private time?”
    “Of course! And, uh, I’m pretty sure your coffee is ready.”
    He swaggered into the back room, giving me the chance to lean into the window display and grab the cap off Tux’s head.
    Whew. I’d dodged a bullet this time. From here on out, I needed to be super-careful to maintain the illusion, at least, of being nothing but professional. No matter how good being silly and a little bit crazy felt.
     
    * * *
     
    Phillip and I worked steadily all morning, with things quieting down around noon. When he squatted down behind the display case to arrange some newly-arrived tie tacks, I did a limp noodle collapse onto the customer sofa. My head lolling to one side, I might have actually dozed off had the bell over the door not tinkled.
    Footsteps followed, then a deep, familiar voice, dropping my name. I focused my eyes on the