Chapter Thirty Seven

 The next day, Sheryl Harmon was checking her grocery list. Cantaloupe. Asparagus. Green beans. She aimed her cart toward the produce aisle and focused on the task at hand. She had just had lunch and grocery shopping was next on her list of things to do.

Today’s trip to the grocery store was the same as it always was—just like everything else about her life. From the minute she’d said ‘I do’ her life had been a bad spoof of that Groundhog Day movie. It wasn’t that things weren’t good, exactly. Her bills were paid, her husband was faithful, and she had good standing in the community. She was just so…bored. Her life was dull. Repetitive. Confining.

She woke up every morning at six, made breakfast, packed lunches, and took her kids to school. Monday was her housecleaning day after a long weekend. Tuesday was laundry day. Wednesday was grocery day (today was Wednesday). Thursday was laundry day (again). Friday was housecleaning day (again). Saturday and Sunday were spent bringing Harold a steady supply of beers while he watched whatever game was on—which consisted of anything with a ball involved. Then…it started all over again.

He barely spoke to her, unless it was to tell her what to get at the grocery store. Sex was rare and—when they actually had it—perfunctory. Boring, like everything else. So repetitive. First, oral (for him, never for her), followed by less than a minute of actual sex, then a strangely prim kiss like she might expect from an uncle on Thanksgiving. Done.

Oh, and every Saturday morning was taken up with their son’s soccer. There was always soccer before her beer duties began. She shook her head. She was a damn soccer mom. Unbelievable.

She thumped the melon and squeezed the tomato as she coyly side-eyed the handsome man who had been watching her for the last three grocery aisles. She still looked nice enough, but it was gratifying to know that someone else noticed. Harold hadn’t noticed her in years, unless he happened to be running out of chips and beer.

He wasn’t bad looking. Not the kind of GQ magazine looks that screamed player. He was more All-American-nice-guy-next-door, with just enough of a mischievous glint in his eye to make a girl…curious.

Sheryl looked down at her average wedding ring and sighed. Like everything else average in her life, of course she would never act on an impulse. Would never be unpredictable. Surely it was okay to flirt a little though, just to remind herself life wasn’t completely over for her. After all, she was married but she wasn’t dead, right? She smiled sadly at her little joke.

“You know, I never can figure out how to tell when these things are ripe.” He smiled, a disarming expression that made her feel better about her hedgehog day. No, it was Groundhog Day, she thought with a little giggle, feeling like a teenager flirting with a cute boy in the high school gymnasium.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly. “You can tell some by color and others by texture and some by their scent.” A blush started at her chest and rose up her neck to her face, making her feel vulnerable. She decided it wasn’t an entirely bad feeling. “Like this melon. See?” She tapped the melon against the edge of the counter. “If it thumps just right then it’s perfect.” She smiled, somehow summoning the courage to look him in the eye.

“How do I know if it’s just right, though?” he asked with a grin and a little wink.

“Oh. Um, you just have to get a feel for it, I guess.” She swallowed hard and took a shuddering breath. “If you’re not sure by thumping it, you can just, um, squeeze it.”

“And you think this one’s good, huh? Let me see.” He placed his hand on a cantaloupe in the display bin and softly squeezed, pressing his fingertips into the rind hard enough to leave slight impressions behind. “So you’re telling me this is what a man would be looking for.” His voice dropped to a low rumble as his eyes traveled her figure. “Beautiful, round shape. Perfect size, just a little more than a handful. Soft, but firm.”

She gulped. “Uh-huh.”

“But you wouldn’t know for sure until you opened it up and had all that luscious fruit dripping on your tongue.”

“Um, r-right.” Sheryl could barely breathe as she blinked hard against the images his words were creating in her mind and the fireworks that were going off between her legs.

He stepped closer until his arm brushed against hers and she could feel his breath against her cheek as he continued, “I imagine you’d have to do it a few times, though, to be sure. So how did that thumping thing go again?” He covered her hand with his and followed along as she swallowed hard and thumped the melon twice more.

“Yeah, I can hear that now,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. He seemed to be hanging on her every word. He’d become quite adept at reading body language and hers was announcing to all who were paying any attention that she was going to have her first foray with infidelity today.

It was a decision she’d regret for the rest of her short life.

“And this avocado needs to be soft but not too soft or it will be dark on the inside, which is never good. You know, appearance is important when entertaining guests.”

“Thank you…?” He paused and waited.

“Oh. Sheryl. My name’s Sheryl Harmon.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sheryl Harmon. I’ve never had the ins and outs of ripe fruit explained to me so charmingly.” They both continued laughing softly over the life lessons to be had while grocery shopping on the produce aisle.

She blushed prettily as she talked to him. She felt empowered by the interest he took in every word she said. How many years had it been since anyone had listened to her? It felt good to feel attractive and to know someone else thought so, too. She couldn’t remember the last time Harold had looked at her the way the handsome stranger was looking at her. When he wasn’t gazing into her eyes, he was taking in her curves and subtly shifting his weight as if trying to adjust himself without being noticed. But, boy, it was impossible not to notice the bulge that was suddenly pressing against the front of his slacks. She had given him an erection! Just by standing there talking about melons, she had gotten him hard.

Yes, Sheryl was glad she’d taken the extra time to put on makeup today and fix her hair. For the first time in years she was connecting with a man on what felt like a personal, intimate level. And for the first time in her life she was contemplating having a one-night stand—or, in this case, more like a one-hour stand. After all, she had to get dinner going by five.