Beyond wax and candles, Cait was up to her eyeballs in requests to look at the apartment for rent. Problem was - the requests were mostly from men. Did she not put the word "woman only"? Did someone scratch out the "wo-" on her fliers?<br/><br/>"Thank you for the interest but I would prefer to rent to a woman. No... offering to dress up in my clothes doesn't count. Sir, I really don't think your blow-up doll qualifies... Sir? Sir! Good luck finding a place." She set the phone down on the cradle and then rested her hands on the laminate top of the counter. "What a day!" It had been a slow morning for business and Caitlin set a 'ring the bell for service' sign on the counter. She was going to go work on her last batch of candles for the week (and maybe forever if she couldn't find a decent renter). She hummed and sang along to a song in her head as she went through a soothing kind of "get ready ritual".<br/><br/><em>"There's an anchor that's pulling on my heart. And it's deep in the water but it can't take me down."</em><br/><br/>She ran her fingers through the long thick red strands of hair, smoothing tangles that had gathered from her many trips up and down ladders in the backroom. She used a few skilled fingers to sweep it all back and set a messy part down the middle. As she braided each length of hair, she swayed and walked through the store, nudging things into place with her elbow and sweeping away bits of leaves with her flip flop covered feet.<br/><br/><em>"Tracin’ faces with fingers and we’re just the same as we were. Just our eyes never found what I see now."</em><br/><br/>Hair sufficiently wrangled, her next task was her clothing. Wax wasn't so messy when making tea-lights. But she had recently been working on more than a few different styles and shapes, not all of which fit into a little metal container to cool. She changed into a pair of heart covered rain boots that fit nicely over her worn wrangler jeans and began to unbutton her work-shirt. Her dad had gotten some imprint company back home to have a ton of "Heaven Scent" shirts made up for her grand opening. Sadly they were men's powder blue dress shirts. But... it was free advertising so even now, years later, Cait slipped one over a tank top and went about the day. (They also made incredibly good rags and drying towels for all the stock.)<br/><em><br/>"And I’m taking it, one day at a time"  </em><br/><br/>She twirled more as her voice rose to match the tone of the singer (still... in her head) and she allowed the tails of the unbuttoned shirt to wrap around her torso as she did. Anyone walking into the store would be in for quite a show but her normal clientele came in around lunch and after work - those that shopped before or after eating. Sufficiently dizzy and dance-happy, she gathered the ends of the shirt and tied it together into a halter (showing off her pink tank top that hugged at her bra and tummy.) It was a very... 90's look but she hated getting the loose fabric into the wax. It made a mess and left fabric patterns on the candles.<br/><br/><em>"...... You're still on my mind." </em><br/><br/>Caitlin made sure to engage the door chime so she would know if anyone came in abruptly and headed back towards the storage room (which doubled as her workspace).<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Three hours later and she had a decent supple of candles to show for it. Most were drip candles - which were quite fetching but made a great deal of mess. She was hanging the last batch when she heard the chime (accompanied by more jingling that she couldn't quite place.) Wiping some wax and bits of left over wicks on her black "Candle Makers Do it with Hot Wax" apron, she headed out into the main floor.<br/><br/>And what she saw stopped her in her tracks. Now, most of her customers were what she called "church group buyers". She had the biblical title in the name of the shop (though that was the extend of the religiosity found inside - no "Crosses with Your Birthstone!" impulse buys anywhere) and candles were a pretty mainstream gift for congregation attendees. They stopped in, picked from the more 'safe' scents and styles, and went on their way. It was a never-ending scene of pastel two piece suits.<br/><br/>But the woman that was lightly dancing around the shop (like Cait had done earlier but with a great deal more rhythm) - she was<strong>vibrant</strong>. She moved with grace and confidence and an appeal that even a small town straight-laced girl hung onto. It was Cait's own shop and she felt a little shy and reluctant to interrupt the exotic dancing lady. She slipped behind her counter but her clunky rain hoots gave away her position before she was able to pull off her wax-ing get up. When the two women's eyes met, the awkward feeling proprietor did her best to be professional.<br/><br/>"Hi, welcome to Heaven Scent! Take a look around. Let me know if you see anything you like and we do custom orders if you have anything special in mind!" Well, Cait was telling mostly the truth. One, there was no 'they'. Only 'she' - but most people liked to think she was a franchise of a bigger company. And two, she did make custom orders ...when she had supplies to make them. But those things were unlikely to come back to haunt her. She picked at some blue, green, and white wax that was splattered on the braids that lay on her shoulders and headed over to make sure her customer had a good shopping experience.