[ She packs up the items, one at a time. The pink paper rustles between her fingers as she furrows her brow in slight concentration. She's done it a million times already but for some reason, today she wants to make sure. That it's okay, that it's... She sighs. Tapes up the first few bundles, reaches for a pair of ear studs that she can't believe anyone would wear, it's got to be a gift for somebody... If it isn't, she'll make Alexa wear that crown for an entire day at some point.
The thought brings her pause. Fingers running on habit, packing and taping up, she looks up slowly. Do you want my phone number, she asks, and Stacy realises that she's been imagining the two of them meeting up again - and again - before the offer was ever on the table. God, she's so spoiled. God. With a small smile, unable to keep the slight tremor out of her voice, she replies: ]
Sure, I'd like that. [ She swallows. Packs up the last bits, reaching for a bag without asking whether she wants one or not, filling it automatically with a few free samples, some goodie cards. ] You can have mine too! I have a card...
[ Refusing to consider how incredibly awkward it is for someone to have their own, personal calling card without actually having a job function worth calling, she pulls out a pretty, white business card. It's lined with a row of nail polishes on the top, her name, address and phone number printed below in gold letters. Smiling sheepishly, like, I know, I know, it's tacky, she just drops it into the bag. There. Done. Then, she waits. Expectantly. ]
no subject
The thought brings her pause. Fingers running on habit, packing and taping up, she looks up slowly. Do you want my phone number, she asks, and Stacy realises that she's been imagining the two of them meeting up again - and again - before the offer was ever on the table. God, she's so spoiled. God. With a small smile, unable to keep the slight tremor out of her voice, she replies: ]
Sure, I'd like that. [ She swallows. Packs up the last bits, reaching for a bag without asking whether she wants one or not, filling it automatically with a few free samples, some goodie cards. ] You can have mine too! I have a card...
[ Refusing to consider how incredibly awkward it is for someone to have their own, personal calling card without actually having a job function worth calling, she pulls out a pretty, white business card. It's lined with a row of nail polishes on the top, her name, address and phone number printed below in gold letters. Smiling sheepishly, like, I know, I know, it's tacky, she just drops it into the bag. There. Done. Then, she waits. Expectantly. ]