Sample:

One hand on the door, Harry Turpin stopped before going into Apex Metaphysical Books. His stomach tightened when he looked through the glass.

Inside, his girlfriend Betty scampered around the counter. Her mouth was wide with laughter Harry could just barely hear.

Behind the counter, her skeletal co-worker, Gabe, gave mock pursuit. In one spindly hand he held a pair of scissors. He made chopping motions in the air and his face was bright with mirth.

Gabe vaulted the counter. He landed right in front of Betty; almost ran into her. They were very close.

It looked to Harry like Gabe said, “Ah ha,” or something like that, anyway, when he snatched the end of Betty’s long brown hair and quickly snipped a lock or two. Betty squealed and darted away.

Harry’s eyes met Betty’s through the glass of the door. He came in as smooth as he possible; of course he hadn’t been standing out in the brisk October afternoon. Why would he do that?

Betty’s smile shifted slightly. Dimmed. She brushed the hair away from her flushed face.

“Harry! I was just thinking about you!”

Harry wasn’t surprised she turned her head when he leaned in for a kiss. His lips grazed her cheek and his stomach notched tighter.

“I thought I’d come see you on the way home from the site,” he said. She didn’t avoid his hug. Harry glanced over her shoulder. Gabe busied himself behind the counter, near the dusty black velvet curtain that obscured the store’s back meeting room.

Betty pulled away. “I’m… um, glad you came by. I was going to call you later, but…”

Harry made himself smile. “Hey, you can still call me later.”

“Yeah.” Betty laughed. “Um.” She looked at her feet, at the wall rack of herbs and essential oils, at the tarot card display and very quickly in Gabe’s direction before she took Harry’s arm and lead him to the door. “Let’s go outside.”

Harry said, “It’s kinda cold…” even as she led him though and onto the sidewalk.

“I don’t mind.” Betty wore a thin black leotard and an ankle-length pleated black skirt. She hugged herself. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Harry dug his hands into the pockets of his paint-spotted blue jeans. “Yeah, okay.”

Betty’s focus skittered, landing anywhere but on Harry. She laughed, a short nervous cough. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Harry let himself fall back against the storefront window. His breath went out in a hard sigh. “That never means good things.”

Betty seemed to study an old bit of gum on the sidewalk at her feet. The Autumn wind played with her hair. She looked up. Her eyes locked on his face, just below his right eye.

“I think maybe… we’re seeing too much of each other.”

Harry moved his head slightly to force her to meet his gaze. She looked away.

“Too… much of each other?”

“Well, yeah.” Betty shrugged. “I think we’re interested in different things.” She glanced over Harry’s shoulder, into the store. Harry had the feeling she was looking at Gabe. For support?

It hardened him a little. “So, what you’re really saying is that you don’t like the time we spend together. Not that there’s too much of it.”

She frowned and finally looked at him, quickly, before looking away again. “Don’t twist it around, Harry. We never really just talk. It’s like you don’t even really want to be in a relationship in the first place, so I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“Talk.” Harry felt a weight, a constriction, wrap around him. He thought of a straight jacket, which made him think of his mother. “I thought we talked.”

Betty tossed her head. “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s about the dumbest…” Regret crossed her face quickly before irritation reclaimed the territory. “It’s about just everyday stuff, y’know? Your work. Who you saw at the bar. All the same stuff. Nothing real! We never talk about us – how we feel about each other. What’s the point?”

She couldn’t help shivering now. If Gabe hadn’t taken that little bit of hair, Harry absurdly thought, Betty’d be that much warmer right now. “What’s the point? I don’t understand.” Harry really wanted to turn around to see if Gabe was watching. “What do you mean?”

Betty blinked and shook her head. “That’s what I mean, Harry.” She put her hand on the door and leaned in. “I never felt like you wanted to be in love, y’know?”

“What? I –”

“I can’t even really take it personally.” Her lips pressed into an odd, small smile. “I don’t think you have it in you. I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll… I guess I’ll see you around.”

She went inside, made a bee-line for the counter and slipped past the velvet curtain, out of sight.

Through the glass, Gabe looked at Harry and smiled before he followed Betty into the back.

Heavy, laden, Harry shuffled back to his car and sat behind the steering wheel until the parking meter flipped to red; fifteen minutes. He felt nothing.