"Thank you, M'am," I said to the lady who barely acknowledged my presence. Typical. I was cranky. Last night the boys and I had gone out to a vaudeville show, and afterwards the alcohol had been flowing freely. It had been fun, but somehow unsatisfying. Now I was tired, mildly hung over, sore as predicted, and annoyed at the customers.
"Excuse me, Mr. Conlon?" a sweet, feminine voice said behind me. I spun around, startled that someone would address me by name after I'd been ignored all day—and as Mr. Conlon at that!
I found myself looking into a pair of pretty green eyes, but only for a moment. Katja looked down at the sidewalk, and I was struck with curiosity. It seemed odd that she had addressed me, but now couldn't even look at me. I watched her pull herself together and look back up at me, though she didn't quite meet my gaze. I decided to try to put her at ease.
"It's Spot," I said. Mr. Conlon sounded way too formal for any dame to say, especially one as cute as this. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had pretty eyes and something about her shy gaze was absolutely endearing.
"I—what?" she said, and I realized I had disrupted her thoughts. Good. Now she'd have to talk to me openly.
"Spot—to my friends, that is. It's Ms. Fischer, right?" I drawled, deliberately using her last name. Boy, it was too easy to get the upper hand on this girl. It didn't even feel like teasing when it was done this gently. I wondered if anyone had ever ribbed her.
"Katja," she answered, and I was strangely proud of her for recovering and answering so decisively. "And I came over here to apologize. For yesterday."
Apologize? I combed my memory of our brief encounter and couldn't come up with anything for which she needed to apologize. She had barely spoken three words, and all of it had been shy and quiet. I guess my confusion must have been obvious, because she continued, "You were kind and helpful, and I could not even properly thank you for your actions. You deserved more than a mumble from me. I am sorry for treating you so poorly, and I wish to express my gratitude for your honesty."
Now I was truly surprised. She was apologizing for not looking me in the eye? Man, if I could count the number of times I had soaked people for just that . . . the irony of that struck me, and I chuckled.
"Katja," I said, and I'd swear she blushed as I said her name, "you thanked me. You and yer pa have been good customers, and ya've always treated me right. Most people don't take the time for a newsie." I realized the other irony—that it was precisely this fact that had made me cranky all day—and carried on, "and they certainly don't take the time to apologize for not thanking one loudly enough. Just fer dat, ye can have a pape on the house today." I held out a newspaper, surprising even myself. I never gave away papes, even in the most extreme situations. For some reason, though, this girl made me want to be nice.
"Oh, no, Mr. Spot. My father would never forgive me if I accepted that!" she gasped, handing me a penny as she took the pape. Mr. Spot? That made me laugh.
"You don't talk to people much, do you?" I asked, trying to keep her going.
"No," she said. She was looking down again.
"Well, ya should. You've got a nice voice and nice eyes. Look up and start charming people with that smile. Otherwise you'll just be apologizing again." That should do it. I resisted the urge to wink.
It worked. She looked up, and I realized that maybe today wasn't so bad after all.