Cynthia was so<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>vertically challenged! Five three was the American average, thank you very much. That was her argument whenever the topic came up. Of course, all he had to do was take her phone, hold it above her head, and watch her blush and jump for it.<br/><br/>Cynthia didn't let her gaze wander across the store as they squeezed through it. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to sneeze as the inscents assaulted her nose.  Her gram had loved filling the house with their thick smoke. Off in the corner of the store, Cynthia couldn't help but to spot the thick bushels of sticks tied together, meant to smoke out the house and "cleanse it of evil". All it would smoke out was a disgruntled Cynthia, her school books in tow.<br/><br/>She tilted her head as Tracy called out to her, moving in closer to see the book he was referring it. Before she could process a response, a voice cut in. Tracy startled. Cynthia chuckled under her breath, nudging him teasingly with her elbow. They were so jumpy lately; he wasn't going to live it down. Her brows furrowed as she looked over the stranger. It felt as if a stone had dropped in her gut. He opened his mouth to speak. "I'm--"<br/><br/>"-- Des," she finished for him, the name popping out of her mouth. She blinked. How did she know that? Her gut had told her? That didn't even make sense. She smiled nervously, shifting a step back. "Yeah, a box of lightbulbs and blinds would nice right about now," she quipped, murmuring into her coffee as she masked her sass with another sip. "But this might be the wrong store."<br/><br/>A table of candles caught her eye, covered in tall ones, short ones, fat ones, black ones. Little name tags identified holistic purposes for each, but all that mattered is they'd hold a flame until their electric problem could get fixed. Cynthia nudged Tracy, breaking off to walk over. "Though these might work."