He frowns. “This is the part where you defend the honor of youratrociouschoice 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, thethrill, 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?”
CHAPTER 4
A ONE PERCENT CHANCE
ROMAN
“Yes, actually,” Roman says, his face serious, but thinking of how serendipitous it is that she would be the one he crashes into.
Her hand wraps around the bag containing the medicine, and she holds it out to him.
“Thanks,” he says, reaching for it. He tries, he really tries, to avoid making contact with her skin, with her fingers. But fate has other plans. So, as the package slips from her, his forefinger lightly grazes hers. His body is apparently determined to hold on to the sensation, knowing full well it will amount to nothing. This is nothing. Their gazes lock, and she sucks in a sharp breath before standing back to her full height.
Get a grip.
