Have I made any tense errors?

Colleen Bergin sat behind the counter of the supermarket's only functional cash register. She watched the hands of the giant wall clock crawl ever so slowly. The round black framed time piece with a mundane white dial hung plastered on the interior pillar opposite her. Today, at this time, the store would have been chock-full had it not been for the debut of the local country-style band, Seconds to Spare. It did not bother her that she was missing their new wild tunes but she felt restless when she was forced to sit idle. The hairs on her body rose when a box filled with assorted candy clumsily fell with a thud in the aisle by the entrance.

Colleen watched as a young man, who sported dull clothes in the shades of coal and ash, frantically pick up the mess. He then laid the box back in its shelf while hastily looking around to spot an unwanted audience. Satisfied that his commotion hadn’t caught anyone’s attention he shuffled towards the centre of the store; his face showing obvious unease. He glanced around scrutinizing the items catalogue that hung above each store aisle.

“A shoplifter”, the part-timer informed herself. Her eyes followed the juvenile as he made his way to the ‘Liquor and Cigars’ section on his right. His hand reached out for a pack of Marlboro but stopped midway; he looked around once again and after rashly deciding that there were no onlookers proceeded to grab the pack. Colleen’s emerald cat-like orbs did not stray from the delinquent. Her intuition had not failed her. She watched the cancer box get wrapped around his piano fingers and then swiftly swallowed into his oversized jacket. The male’s gaze covertly darted around. His lips curved from a solemn frown to a devious smirk. He won, or at least he thought he did. Elated, his hands fidgeted with the lighters stacked on the shelf below.

“Time to end your victory parade.” The girl crept behind the defaulter and lightly tapped his leathery shoulder. The man, startled, dropped the lighter and instantaneously turned to face a grim Colleen.

“May I help you?”, she offered in a flat, expressionless tone eyeing the man from bottom to top. He sported a worn out pair of vans, black jeans ripped at his knees, a black leather jacket a size too big, and hidden under his overcoat was an arsenic tee with a white silhouette of Albert Einstein. He had an olive complexion complimented by a well defined jawline and a short stubble. The hoodie he had pulled over cast a shadow over his eyes, making it hard to catch subtle movements, albeit his gestures mirrored his thoughts.

“Uh..”, he sheepishly turned his head away, staring at the beige tiled floor, “I’m good. Just waiting for a friend.” He lifted the heel of his right foot and began tapping the ceramic.

“Alright. Shoot me if you need anything.”, Colleen cocked her head slightly, beaming. “Also..”, her hand dived under his leather jacket, proceeding to pull out the stolen pack. Instinctively the man grabbed her prying hand and pulled it away before she could do so. “What do you think you’re doing”, his voice boomed demandingly; his cold grip on her wrist tightening. She could hear his teeth grit in utter repulsion. He felt like a different person. He was no longer the fretful, apprehensive shoplifter that walked into the store. His hoodie slid off during the episode. She was too frightened to take notice of his alluring eyes that shone under the bright store lighting. She was caught up with the sickening memories that flooded her mind. Memories of a man just as intimidating and domineering.

“Colleen”, a distinct voice beckoned her. The girl, too perturbed to notice, remained unresponsive. She did not feel the hold on her loosen. Nor did she hear the man crash against a display before dashing out the store. Her eyes remained transfixed on the ground. Her head remained a whirling hurricane of nostalgia.