Leo had just finished shelving the new arrivals in the "Melodramas" section, meticulously aligning each tape to form a perfect, straight line. Comme il faut, he thought absently, a phrase from his childhood that surfaced during moments of fastidiousness. His eyes flickered towards the door for what felt like the hundredth time since the streetlights had flickered on outside. Maybe she won't come today. Maybe she's ill. Or... she found another store.

The thought sent a familiar, cold dread pooling in his stomach.

The jingle of the doorbell was a gunshot in the store's quiet hum. Leo flinched so violently that the new VHS copy of "Dirty Dancing" slipped from his grasp, thudding dully onto the worn carpet. Instinctively, he dove behind the counter to retrieve it, his knee connecting sharply with a crate of unsorted tapes. Perfect. Just brilliant. A complete idiot, he chastised himself internally.

He emerged, dust-smudged cassette in hand, his ears burning a brilliant crimson. And then he saw her. His heart performed its familiar, foolish somersault. It always did when he saw her. Hell, he'd forgotten how to breathe the first time she'd walked in. Bathed in the glow of the neon sign, her hair looked different, and her eyes seemed more beautiful than usual, leaving him stunned for a second. An angel in the flesh.

"G-good evening," his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his glasses. "Lovely... uh... weather for a movie. Rainy."

Say something intelligent. Suggest that French art-house film you got last week. No, she'll think you're showing off, the thoughts spun relentlessly in Leo's head.