Four

December 23rd

Glancing around the living room, I was confused for a moment where I was. Then it sank in. Home.

My neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch, so I rolled it to work out the kinks. The sun had decided to peek through the clouds today. Blindingly bright and merciless, threatening to melt away all that was left of the Christmas snow, it lit up the kitchen with a warm glow as I stumbled to the cabinet for coffee. Then I remembered I’d used the last of it the day before, and I moaned.

I looked at the clock. Trader Joe’s would be opening in fifteen minutes, so the likelihood of it not being packed this early was good. Which meant I didn’t have to worry about running into anyone.

With that in mind, I grabbed my father’s ratty old sweater to cover my fading sweats, threw my hair into a ponytail and covered it with a stocking cap, and then shielded my face with huge-ass sunglasses. I surveyed my appearance before stepping through the door. I looked hideous and unrecognizable.

The homeless look will have to do.

God had a sense of humor, I decided, even during the busiest time of year for him. How did I know? Well, I’d made it all the way to Trader Joe’s without anyone looking in my direction. Then I’d crept stealthily to the coffee aisle, ducking my head like an actress leaving the airport for added ‘incognito.’ It wasn’t that I was that well known, but I’d grown up in this part of Tulsa. The likelihood of bumping into one of my neighbors was high, and I hadn’t had enough caffeine—or any for that matter—to converse, nor did I want anyone seeing me looking like a bag lady.

But that didn’t stop fate.

Just as I rounded a corner with my treasured coffee in hand, I spied my mystery man in all his manly glory. He had a basket in his hand, and was pulling a loaf of bread off the shelf.

Don’t ask me why, because I’m sure it would take a trained professional to explain it, but I ducked like a criminal avoiding the police and plastered myself to an endcap so I could watch him.

His hair was a tad on the longer side, and it was mussed up, like he’d run his finger through it when he rose, but nothing else. And the dark shadow on his jaw looked to be a few days old. Then I realized he was wearing the same shirt as the day before.

Did he fall asleep on the couch like I did?

At one point he must have felt my eyes on him, because he looked up and scanned the aisle. I knew he couldn’t see me; I was peeking through a pyramid of canned pumpkin, but I jumped anyway, knocking at least ten cans to the floor.

Dropping to my knees to pick them up, I prayed he wouldn’t come to investigate the crazy lady scrambling around on the floor. But fate was a fickle bitch. I’d managed to grab a handful of cans when a large masculine hand reached down beside me and grabbed one.

I mumbled, “Thanks, I’m a bit of a klutz,” as I kept my head pointed away from him.

“Not a problem,” he mumbled low as he picked up a second can.

He was so close I could have touched him. But I settled for breathing in his unique scent of the fresh outdoors, mingled with something musky. When I inhaled deeply, like I’d die if I didn’t fill my lungs with his manly scent, I felt rather than saw him look down at me oddly. To cover up my indiscretion, I crawled swiftly around the corner of the aisle, mumbling, “One got away from me,” as I went. He said nothing more as he placed the last can on the endcap and walked away.

I felt like I should say something, so I called out, “Thank you. Merry Christmas,” but he didn’t acknowledge my salutation; he just kept right on walking.

I’d like to say I left the store immediately, but I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed a shopping cart like I needed more food, and followed him at a discrete distance around the store. Any item he looked at, I stopped to investigate. I wasn’t sure if his taste in food would give me any clues to the man, but at least it didn’t make me look like I was a stalker—even though I was. I occasionally dropped one of his selections into my cart, intrigued by his food choices. They told me two things about the man: his tastes in food ran from sushi to gummy bears, and if he was involved with someone, he would have grabbed more food. Everything he put in his basket was a single serving.

A buzz of energy, like a double espresso with extra heavy cream, hit my system when I realized he was single.

Maybe I should bump into him and start a conversation?

Then I caught my reflection in the window and stopped.

Why hadn’t I bothered to change?

I watched as he checked out, but didn’t approach. There was a time and a place for everything, and definitely a better outfit to leave a lasting impression. I’d just have to wait. He lived in this area, shopped at my store, and my brother owed him for the damage to his truck. I knew my chances were good that I would see him again, so with that thought in mind, I ducked my head to avoid detection and headed for the back of the checkout line.