Solve-it-yourself mystery
gathered my groceries. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked at me like that, I realized, distractedly swiping three packs of pumpkin cookies into my cart. And I couldn’t have acted worse.
On the top shelf of aisle six, I found the sparkling apple cider I needed to complete my shopping list. Stretching myself upward as far as I could manage, my fingers barely touched the base of the bottle.
Suddenly, a familiar voice behind me said, “Let me get that for you.”
My heart raced as I found myself gazing up into the handsome face of the parking spot bandit, standing well over six feet tall and beaming down at me. “So…we meet again,” he quipped. I managed a hello, my heart pounding and a flush burning my cheeks. “I’m really sorry I was such a grouch back there,” I sighed. “I’ve had a not-so-great day.”
He stretched his hand past my head, his fingers accidentally grazing my hair as he reached for the bottle. “I’m sorry your day hasn’t been going well, but mine’s looking up—i’ve seen you twice,” he said.
Aware that I was ogling, I blinked and took the cider he was holding out to me.
“Do you need any more of these?” he asked, pointing to the top shelf.
“A couple more, thanks,” I answered, surprised at the butterflies trilling in my stomach and the sudden longing I had to feel his fingers touch my hair again.
He pointed to the checkout counter. “I have one or two things to pick up, but once we’re finished here, I’d be glad to help you get this heavy stuff to your car.”
He walked a few feet before turning, and said with mock authority and a wink, “I already know where you’re parked.”
A few minutes later, I waited with my cart as he placed his items on the counter. He was good-looking in a rugged sort of way, dressed in jeans and work boots.
“You’ve probably seen the new shopping center going up on Mina Street,” he began, making conversation as we walked into the parking lot. “I’m the architect there. It’s too wet to work today so I’m heading home to fix myself some lunch.” He shrugged, then added, “No one there to fix it for me.”
When we reached my car, he loaded in my heavy groceries, then turned to me with hopeful eyes. “Anyone at home to fix lunch for you?”
I smiled softly. “Only Misty, my cat— and she is a terrible cook.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Maybe I could teach her a thing or two, I’m quite good in the kitchen if I do say so myself.” Suddenly we were both laughing. “Well, if Misty won’t mind, maybe you could join me for pizza tomorrow night? There’s a new Italian bistro I’ve been wanting to check out.” He extended his hand. “I’m Philip Morrow, by the way.”
“Sherry Watts,” I said, feeling his strong calloused hand take mine. “What time should I meet you there?” His grin made my heart skip a beat. “Early, before they get busy.” He paused, then added. “You know…so parking won’t be a problem.”
— Tamara Shaffer