He shifted to make room, then handed me a small paper bag. “I bought you a pretzel. Cinnamon sugar ’cause it’s the best.”
“Thanks. How much do I owe you?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dork. It’s on me.”
“Thank you.” I unfolded the bag and sniffed. “Damn, I love the smell of cinnamon.”
“Me too. It reminds me of Christmas.” He opened his arms and gave me a comical look. “And this crowd is Christmas-sized. Did you know it was going to be like this?”
“No. I haven’t been to a mall in years,” I admitted.
“My mom dragged me to the one by her during the holidays. It was torture. You get lured in by the lights and the music and next thing you know, you’re battling with an old lady over discounted slippers no one in their right mind would wear.”
I chuckled. “You’re a good son.”
“I’m the only one she has now, so I feel like I have to be.”
“She doesn’t talk to your brother, right?” I asked, trying to remember what he’d told me about his family.
Justin nodded. “Yeah. But we aren’t here to talk about my effed-up family. This is about love, right? Love at a mall. Color me confused, maestro. I have no clue what to look for. Show me the way.”
I popped a piece of cinnamon goodness in my mouth and grinned before glancing around. We were in an ideal spot for people-watching. Our bench was in a corner facing an atrium. Ample seating surrounded the grassy area that I imagined was home to the Easter Bunny and Santa’s house during the season. I scanned the crowd for couples and came up with a few good examples.
“First and foremost, we’re looking for body language. Young, old…doesn’t matter. You can tell a lot by how close a couple sits—if they touch, how much they touch, and how they look at each other. Check out those two.” I inclined my head toward a middle-aged man wearing a red shirt and the younger blonde beside him. “They’re infatuated with each other. Not in love.”
Justin scoffed. “How can you tell? He’s got his arm around her, and he’s giving her a mushy look.”
“They’re sitting too close and smiling too hard. They’re too attentive, if you know what I mean.”
“No one knows what you mean,” he quipped. “Isn’t that all good?”
“Sure, but their language tells me their attraction is mainly physical.”
“You gotta start somewhere. Sex is the best place to begin, if you ask me.”
I chuckled at his adamant tone. “You’re right, but that’s not the song we’re writing.”
Justin hiked his knee on the bench again as he shifted to face me. “That’s the million-dollar question. What kind of love song is this? There’s all kinds of love. Tiers of affection too. You might really like your neighbor, but you don’t feel affection for him. And you might feel a deep affection for certain friends without really loving them. Then there are special friends you’d give your left nut to if they needed it. You love those friends, but you aren’t in love with them. Lovers are a whole other category. Some are sex-only partners, some are friends too, and others have that extra something that inspires a sappy song…like the one I’m assuming we’re trying to write.”
“We’re going for authentic and genuine. Not sappy. Something that evokes longing and hope at the same time.” I glared when Justin stuck his finger down his throat and gagged. “Behave.”
“You gotta admit, that’s kinda nauseating. Do you personally know anyone who’s been in love like that?”
“My parents,” I replied automatically before turning my gaze back to the seating area.
“How so?” Justin prodded.
“They just loved each other. Anyone could see it. They were married for fifty years. I was their surprise kid. I had a sister who died of leukemia before I was born. They were devastated and they didn’t think they’d ever have other children. Then I came along.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about your sister,” he said softly.
“Thanks. I didn’t feel her loss personally, but I think my folks were a bit more involved in my life because of what they’d been through. And I think they were more appreciative of one another too. My dad looked at my mom like she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was pretty for sure, but he saw something no one else did. And because he saw it, she became it. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. That’s very…poignant,” he said softly. We were both quiet for a moment; then Justin inched closer. “Was it hard being an only child?”
“No. I didn’t know any different. Being an orphan at thirty-nine was harder. I don’t have any family left. My aunts, uncles, and cousins have either passed away, or we just haven’t kept in touch.” I smiled wanly. “I miss my parents, but I don’t mind being alone. I was the nerd in school who preferred reading comic books and playing piano to hanging out with kids my age.”