Regina hated rain.

The radio droned on about Hurricane Ivan's impending arrival to the Ohio Valley that September weekend. Gazing through a plate glass window, Regina studied the expanse of cornflower blue stretched over New Martinsville, West Virginia.

She glanced at the clock. The man was late. She still couldn't believe her employer, Mr. Todd, had agreed to house and employ an ex-inmate, a Mr. Arnold Cuttshaver. Her boss had said little about the man. Her only instructions were to show Mr. Cuttshaver around the store, train him, and settle him upstairs in his efficiency apartment.

Legends In Print enjoyed good business, but Mondays were the slowest day of the week. At noon, Regina locked the door and hung the OUT TO LUNCH sign before accessing the stairs to her apartment. She made a sandwich and grabbed a can of Diet Coke before moseying back downstairs. She locked the door again and sat down behind the counter.

The cold, fizzy Coke refreshed Regina’s mouth. She closed her eyes as she gulped. Upon opening them again, an elderly man stood inside the vestibule, his forehead pressed against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes.

They stared at one another.

"We're not open for another forty minutes," Regina announced.

"I'm Arnold Cuttshaver," he called through the glass. "I'm supposed to meet a young woman here by the name Regina."

She studied the old man, her mind scrambling to re-assemble the mental picture she had constructed of him. Where was the forty-something guy with a long ponytail, acid rock insignia tee shirt, hole-riddled jeans and deviant smile?

The fellow stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the Legends In Print sign over the door. Brown trousers a size too large for him hung upon narrow, bony hips; clownish wing tip shoes peeked out from the cuffs of his pants. A black leather belt kept his shirt tucked neatly in his waistband; the shirt’s blue material gleamed dully in the afternoon sunshine giving the impression of cheap, over-pressed polyester. He peered up at the awning, a brown fedora shading his eyes.

Nodding, he stepped into the foyer and pressed his face to the glass again, his large nose creating a flat oval, and asked, "Is Regina here today?"

She grabbed her keys and walked to the door, unlocking it. "Come in. I'm Regina. Regina Mayse."

He held out a large, gnarled hand. "Arnold Cuttshaver."

Regina placed her hand in his warm, dry one. He gripped it snugly, and a strange sense of familiarity soughed through her like a summer breeze. Her gaze flew up to meet his blue eyes.

“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

“I just turned nineteen a couple weeks ago—why?”

“No reason. You just look terribly young to be managing a bookstore.”

Not sure whether or not she should be offended, Regina studied him for a moment and said, “Well, I’m attending Wheeling Jesuit University two nights a week for my business degree. Besides, Mr. Todd gave me a trial period and was impressed with my management ideas and how well I work with the customers.”

Arnold nodded. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.”