1 ✦ Convenience Store Princess?!

You know at one point I was beginning to believe the worst part of the night shift at 7-Eleven was the insane drunkards.. and then I believed it was the broken slushie machine that screams like a dying banshee every twenty minutes... but tonight I learned the truth.

It was about 2:00 am on a Tuesday. The rain was pouring. Seattle night shift special. It was really coming down, I’m talkin’ a straight hammering against the glass in the front of the store. The thunder crashed so frequently that it made the throbbing headache behind my eyes much.. much worse.

In an attempt to soothe myself, I leant against the counter, staring blankly at a display of chocolates (if only I could have a few, that would make my day). My name is Rowan. I am twenty-two years old. I have a degree in English Literature that is currently being used to wipe up spilled Coca-Cola. Awesome right?

"Yo, Rowan."

I didn’t look up. "What bro?"

Khris. He is unfortunately my favorite coworker and self-proclaimed visionary that was sitting on a milk crate behind the counter, scrolling through TikTok at full volume. He wore his uniform vest unbuttoned over a black hoodie that said, ‘I paused my game to be here.’

"Dude.. you think if I deep-fried four Snickers bars in the corn dog batter and then stuck my hand inside.. would it go viral?"

"No man... and I regret to inform you that you wouldn’t have a hand anymore. In fact it would explode. And you best believe I am not cleaning up the air fryer after you again. How many times do I have to tell you, stop playing games with the air fryer." I said flatly.

"You see.. you have no vision, bro. That’s why you’re still tutoring online for shits and giggles. Glorified penny earner.”

“Alright paycheck stealer that’s enough.” I shot back.

In a way, he wasn't wrong though. When I wasn’t selling cigarettes to truckers in a dark souls battle with insomnia, I was an online English tutor for students in Asia. It paid slightly better than this, but not enough to get me out of my shoebox studio apartment. Go figure.

Ding-dong.

The automatic door chime cut through the rain. I sighed, pulling myself off the counter. Usually, at this hour, it could very well be another tarnished trucker or better yet.. someone ordering a terrifying amount of energy drinks.

I looked up, ready to give my standard greeting.

Then.. I stood frozen.

Standing in the entryway, shivering under the blast of the air conditioner, was a woman.

My eyes widened.

She looked like she had walked out of a period drama and straight into a lake.. and she was wearing a kimono.. a real  kimono. It was deep indigo with embroidered silver cranes that probably cost more than my life. But now it was soaked through, clinging to her body. Her hair was long, silky and black like ink, completely plastered to her pale skin.

She was clutching the handle of a massive suitcase that looked like it had been dragged through a war. One of the wheels was missing as well.

She didn’t even dare to move. She just stood there, dripping water onto the counter, staring at me with those wide dark brown eyes.

Khris poked his head up from behind the counter. "Gahhdamn! WHAT A NICE COSPLAY! Did you make it yourself?!”

The girl took a shaky step forward. Her wooden sandals... or er.. geta.. I think they are called? Clacked loudly on the tile. She reached into the sleeve of her kimono and pulled out a piece of paper. It was wet and crumpled but I could see a grainy photo on it.

It was my LinkedIn profile picture.

She looked at the paper. Then she looked at me. She squinted, comparing the beaming Rowan on the page to the exhausted, dark circled Rowan in reality.

She nodded to herself, seemingly satisfied.

"Rowan... sensei?!" Her voice was quiet, trembling with cold, but was still somehow strangely formal.

I blinked. "Uh... Yeah?" (How did she know my...)

She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for hours. She glided up to the counter, ignoring the puddle she was leaving in her wake. She placed the crumpled paper on the counter next to the beef jerky.

Then, with all the grace that you could muster in a 7-Eleven, she bowed. A perfect ninety-degree angle.

"I am Honji Naoko.." she announced. Her accent was thick but precise, like she had memorized the phonetics from a textbook from the 1950s. "I have... defected..."

I blinked, the name rattling a memory loose in my sleepy brain. I leaned over the counter, squinting at her through the fluorescent glare. The wet hair and the desperation threw me off, but those intense eyes were unmistakable.

"Wait a second.." I said, pointing a pair of tongs at her. "Honji-san? My Tuesday night conversation practice? The one who asked me last week if 'yahoo' was a formal greeting?"

She stiffened, a faint blush cutting through her pale complexion, but she nodded once sharply. "It is I, Rowan-sensei. I have come for... the in-person instruction."

"In-person?" I looked around the empty store. "Honji-san, I teach via webcam for a reason. Also..."

I gestured to her soaking wet kimono.

"Ma'am..." I said, rubbing my temples. “We don’t take Yen here. And I definitely don't run an inn.”

She frowned. A tiny wrinkle appeared between her perfect eyebrows. "But... your profile says you are 'accommodating'."

She looked around the store, her gaze landing on the rotating hot dog roller and the wall of energy drinks. Her expression shifted from determination to mild horror.

"Is this... your estate?"

"No.." I said. "This is my job. Look, Miss Honji.. it’s 2 AM. You need to go to a hotel. There’s a Holiday Inn a couple blocks down."

She shook her head violently. "No hotels! My father... he has eyes everywhere. The chain hotels scan passports. He will find me." Her voice cracked a little on the word 'father.' She gripped the counter, her knuckles white. "Please. I have nowhere else to go. I traveled for fourteen hours. I walked... so far."

She looked down at her feet. The white tabi socks were stained gray with sludge. Her toes were trembling.

I looked at Khris. He was filming this, of course he would.

"Dude.." Khris whispered. "She’s a poor little neko that just came in.. This is sick. You must help her...”

"Shut up, Khris." I hissed. I looked back at Naoko. She was swaying slightly. Her face was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights.

"I cannot return.." she whispered, more to herself than to me. "I will not marry him... I will not be held in a glass prison no longer..”

Then, her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Whoa!" I vaulted over the counter just as her knees gave out.

I caught her before she hit the floor. She was surprisingly light, but dead weight. She smelled like expensive tea. Her head lolled against my chest, soaking my uniform vest instantly.

"Khris!" I shouted. "Stop filming and grab water! And a chair!"

"On it, boss!"

I dragged her over to the employee break corner and propped her up on a stack of crates. She was out cold.

I looked at the crumpled paper still on the counter. My LinkedIn profile. Under 'Hobbies', I had written ‘Helping others achieve their dreams.’

I groaned. "Man I need to update that."

I looked at Naoko slumped against the soda crates. A runaway Japanese noblewoman in a wet kimono, passed out in a convenience store in downtown Seattle.

W. h. a. t.

"Fine..” I muttered to the empty store. "Fine.. one night. Just until she wakes up."

I took off my vest and draped it over her shivering shoulders.

I once believed the worst part of the night shift at 7-Eleven was the insane drunkards.. and then I believed it was the broken slushie machine that screams like a dying banshee every twenty minutes...

...but the worst part was actually the silence...

..and let’s just say.. my life has suddenly got really lively.

"Welcome to America, Princess."