I box them up.
He pays with a large bill and says, “Keep the change.”
I say, “Thank you, have a good day.”
He dips his chin. “You, too.”
He walks out of the door taking a piece of my heart and hormones with him.
That’s it. It’s so veryunromantic.
There might be a few variations in my greeting or goodbye, but that was the gist. And every time he comes in, is just like the first time. Our eyes meet, bye-bye air, time comes to a screeching stop, the world stands still. He leaves. And then I exhale.
Rinse and repeat.
I knew that I was doing the same thing with him that I’d done with every other man in my past. Against every cell in my body trying to resist, I was building him, and our morning rendezvous, into some sort of epic love story.
The truth was, I had no clue what he thought of our interactions, or if he thought of them at all. He gave nothing away. He never smiled, he never scowled, he smoldered. Thus, garnering him the nicknameMr. Smolder.
“There you are!” I yelled when I found my shoes beneath the afghan that was draped over my secondhand couch.
Success! As I stepped into my black Birkenstock clogs, I did my best to shake off all thoughts of Mr. Smolder and his air of mystery and enticement.
Before I headed out the door I leaned down and kissed my three-legged kitty on her head, giving her a good scratch behind the ears. “Be a good girl, Achoo.” She snuggled against my hand as I instructed her in vain, “Do not bug your brother today.”
The orange tabby purred in agreement as she looked up at me with the face of an angel. I wasn’t fooled by her ethereal portrayal. Her feline halo was held up with horns. I knew that the second she heard the click of the door locking behind me she’d be terrorizing my poor bulldog who had the temperament and soul of a senior dog despite being only three years young.
“Bye, Eeyore.” I bent down and gave my scrunchie-faced puppy a big smooch on the top of his head. His nub of a tail wagged as his butt wiggled. “You can go in my room if she gets to be too much.”
He panted up at me and I knew that he understood my instructions.
With my goodbyes said, I hurried down the steps from my apartment which was located above my bakery. On the way down I checked my watch and saw that I was running my usual ten minutes behind schedule. It didn’t seem to matter what time I woke up, or how organized my morning was, I was perpetually ten minutes late.
A chill ran through me as I made it to the bottom of the steps.
“I should have grabbed a coat,” I mumbled to myself even though I would only be outside in the elements for sixty seconds tops.
The streets were quiet except for the beeping and crashing of the garbage truck lifting a dumpster in the air and emptying its contents. My teeth were chattering as I dashed around the corner to the front of the building.
When I saw the logo etched in the glass window, a rush of oxytocin flooded my system. It still gave me a thrill even after six months.
I wondered if I’d ever get immune to it. I hoped not.
As I tried to open the door, my chills got the best of me, and I dropped my keys.
“Shit,” I muttered beneath my breath as I scooped them up and hurried inside.
“Hey Yana!” I called out when I stepped inside my own personal slice of heaven on earth.
“You’re late!” she responded briskly.
I would be terrified of her if the roles were reversed, and she was the one signing my checks. To be honest, I was a little terrified of her now and I was her employer.
“I lost my keys.”
“Of course, you did,” she commented as she rolled out the dough for her famous pirozhki. People came from miles around to get it and we always sold out.
As I opened up the fridge to grab the ingredients for my Sadie’s Special cupcakes, the lights flickered overhead.
