Steve opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. The bell jingled again. And this time, he looked up.

She was tall. That was the first thing. Tall and curved in all the right places, with dark hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She wore a simple white sundress that seemed to glow against her sun-kissed skin, and she moved like she owned the place—like she owned every place she'd ever walked into. Her eyes scanned the shelves, completely oblivious to the two idiots behind the counter who had just collectively forgotten how to breathe.

The woman—goddess, angel, whatever she was—drifted toward the horror section, her fingers trailing lightly over the plastic cases. She paused, tilting her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she read the back of a box. Robin and Steve exchanged a look, both of them frozen in place, neither one making a move to approach her.

Steve swallowed hard. His palms were sweating. He hadn't felt this nervous since he'd tried to ask Nancy Wheeler to the movies back in sophomore year. He straightened his vest, ran a hand through his hair, and took a step forward.