Chapter 3
FLIRTING WITH STRANGERS
ROMAN
“You realize she’s my daughter and not yours, right? I think I know her basic needs.”
Roman adjusts the phone on his shoulder as he reaches for the package of diapers on the shelf. The muscles in his arm scream in protest as he extends, his body still not fully recovered from holding Lucy all last night. His mother huffs in his ear, and he can practically hear the eye roll.
“I know, but don’t forget to grab the other stuff. We need—”
“The silver trays, paper plates, and the medicine from the pharmacy,” he says, wincing as he picks up the basket again before exiting the aisle.
Soft music chimes through the speakers as he weaves through the bakery tables filled with pies, sugar cookies, and red, white, and blue cupcakes. He glosses over the beach towels and American flags as he narrowly avoids being run over by two little boys.
“You only said it to me about ten times before I left, Mom.”
“I was going to say the fireworks, but yes, those too.”
As he maneuvers around the store, he wonders how his mom is so meticulous and put together, and he’s not. Of all the traits she could’ve passed to him, she didn’t give him the one he needed the most.
“Okay, I’ll get it. Bye—”
“Ro, wait. Your sister needs tampons.”
Whispers crackle through the phone. “And pads, but not the ones with wings. She said the large ones, but not the thin ones.” More hushed words, barely audible. “She said to make sure they’re without the wings. And not the thin ones.”
Roman rubs his forehead, trying to keep his annoyance in check. “Got it. Tampons. Pads. No wings. Large. Not thin.” He repeats the list like it’s a mantra.
He hears his sister, a muffled voice on the other end of the line. “What did he say?”
“He says that you’re a leech and that you can go get up off your ass and get them yourself from up the road.”
Such a shit stirrer.
There is an audible gasp, and the ruffling of the phone being transferred. “You little shit.”
He stops walking, setting the basket on the floor. “Little? I’m older than you.”
“Whatever. Don’t forget that I watch your drooling monster for you. For free.”
He rolls his eyes, leaning against a shelf that holds a selection of canned goods.
“Danica, she’s lying. I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, okay.” She lowers her voice into a menacing tone, whispering, “Don’t forget that I have something over you, fool. I could tell her right now.”
He straightens his posture, gripping the phone tighter.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, Pookie Bear.”
Roman thinks about how this is the same girl who used to sit next to him at the dining room table on Sunday nights to watch him do homework.
The same girl who cried to him when Angel Rankle turned her down before the Spring Fling Social her sophomore year.
The same girl who begged him to live at home for college.
The same girl who graduated in the top two percent of her class, got accepted to UM for political science on a full ride, and reads international relations documents for fun.
“Taylor called,” he says, changing the subject. “Said he might pass through today.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please. That won’t work on me anymore. I’m a changed woman now. That was a trivial crush from high school. Puppy love,” she says with a sniff.
Roman’s lips twitch. “Really? I didn’t realize you were such an evolved woman. What a shame. He was asking about you.”
A pause. A breath. Some shuffling. “He was?”
Roman sighs, dragging it out, doing his best to sound sympathetic for his friend. “Yeah. Rachel left him last month. Something about them not being compatible.”
An exhale. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”
He tries to muffle his laugh, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Well, he probably wants to be alone, anyway.”
“I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while. He could probably use the company.”
Roman: one, Danica: zero
“Okay, I’ll call hi–”
“Already texted him. Bye, loser.” The dial tone reaches his ear, and he lifts the basket from the ground, smiling.
He makes his way toward the section with feminine products, grabbing what Danica needs before moving back to the groceries. He watches as a dad pushes his babies around, and a mother fights with her toddler, their cart filled to the brim with meats and wine coolers.
As he rounds the corner, he notices a woman struggling to grab a box from the top shelf, and his mouth moves before his cerebral cortex can process his entire view.
“What are you looking for?” he asks, his voice echoing throughout the shelves.
Her head turns toward his voice, and he finds himself thrown by the visceral reaction his body has to her.
An oversized green cardigan sits on her shoulders, covering most of her frame, and he wonders how she isn’t sweating to death in it.
It’s July. In Florida. He lingers for an extended amount of time on her face as he takes in her delicate nose.
Eyes the color of bark. An upper lip that’s slightly thinner than the bottom.
High cheekbones. Masses of braided ebony curls. Warm brown skin.
Devastatingly attractive.
Oh hell.
He licks his lips, his senses going into overdrive, and he wills his voice to sound normal.
“I hate when they put all the good snacks at the top,” he says, moving towards her with a sheepish smile.
He can see that she comes up to his chin, and when she looks up, he notices her eyes are a lighter shade of brown.
“This one?” he asks, extending an arm. Heat seeps through his arm as he tries to maintain his hold on the item for her.
His fingers shake slightly as he waits for her confirmation.
“Uh, yeah,” she says, and he pulls the box down, handing it to her.
He’s almost certain she winces but can’t be sure because she’s leaning forward, and he’s momentarily distracted by the shape of her hands, the amber necklace that rests on her collarbones, the scent of freshly picked apples that seems to dance around her.
“What?” he says, in a daze. “What’s wrong?”
He steps closer as she inspects the package in her hands, her bottom lip protruding. He’s staring, but she doesn’t notice.
“Oh, it’s fine,” she says, waving him off as she gives a forced smile.
“Is that not what you wanted?” he asks, suddenly overcome with the urge to get it right for her.
She moves her head to the side, sending ripples of her perfume in his direction. He inhales, hopefully subtly, and exhales. She scratches her forehead, grimacing, then looks back at the floor.
“It’s fine,” she says slowly, but he’s already taking it from her hand and placing it back. His hand shifts to the left, his fingertips brushing the edge of a different package.
“This one?”
“A little to the right … yeah, that one.”
He tugs the square packaging from the shelf, and his mouth twists into a grimace when he reads the words “plant-based” and “infused with coconut, chocolate, and almond” across the box.
“Huh,” he says, leveling her with a look. “These look disgusting.”
She lets out a soft laugh as he passes them to her, and he feels a sudden surge of energy. Like he’s been asleep for a long time, and he’s just now waking up.
“Thanks.”
He frowns. “This is the part where you defend the honor of your atrocious choice of snack options, ultimately convincing me to buy them.”
Her lips twitch. “But … then I’d be lying.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “So, you admit that they are, in fact, terrible. I hope you’re not in sales—you’re not very good.”
She shrugs, tilting her head to look up at him. “Joke’s on you. I got Employee of the Month last week,” she retorts, her mouth curving up at the corners.
He tsks. “It’s rigged. Gonna have to call corporate.”
She’s full-on grinning now as he slides his hand into his pocket.
They lapse into silence, and it’s deafening between them.
Monumental. Roman is well aware that this is when he bids her goodbye, giving her a cliché ‘happy fourth,’ but he can’t find it in himself to make the first move.
He should think of something to say, but everything that comes to mind sounds and feels certifiably insane.
You’re beautiful.
Thank you for being too short to reach the top shelf.
Wanna get out of here?
He must be staring again because she clears her throat, stepping back.
“Right, well. Thanks again.” Turning away, she walks in the opposite direction.
She’s gone so fast, he wonders for a moment if he imagined the whole thing.
Except, he couldn’t have. There’s a lingering fragrance, and as he turns his smile is still etched in place.
He can’t remember the last time he felt so carefree. Flirting with strangers, if he can even call it that, doesn’t happen for him anymore, and as he walks further down the aisle, it becomes more apparent why.
The pharmacy is located two aisles down, near the back of the store, and as he makes his way over, the rush, the thrill, of the encounter steadily simmers within him.
His jaw sets tight as he comes to a stop at the end of the line.
He takes in the rows of medication that rest on the shelves, organized behind the counter.
A small table rests on the side, displaying signage about the dangers of skin cancer and the benefits of sunscreen.
He grabs an extra bottle before moving to the window.
“Picking up?”
He nods, reaching for his wallet. “Yeah. Lucy Hayes.”
The pharmacist hands him the package, and Roman cranes his neck around the store, looking for signs of a green figure with dark braids.
With a deep exhale, he reads the description on the side, not watching his step, and collides with someone, causing his items and theirs to tumble out of both baskets.
“Shit. Sorry,” he says, crouching to gather their items.
“Snack Guy,” she says with a lilt.
At the sound of her voice, his head raises and he winces.
Snack Guy, he repeats silently to himself, and he struggles against the pull at the corners of his mouth.
He clucks his tongue. “Damn, you found out my name. I told my mom it was too common—she didn’t believe me.”
She slides her eyes back to the ground, shaking her head as she grabs her items, shoving them into her basket. “You following me around the store or something?”