Page 17 of Apple of My Eye
I go on autopilot through the store, checking things off my list seamlessly until I get to the toiletry aisle. I stop short in front of the razors, wondering if I should pull out my phone to calculate which value pack is the cheapest or just do it mentally. I’m juggling about three packs in my hand when I see movement in my peripherals.
My hallucination is here. But under the fluorescent grocery store lights he’s terrifyingly real. His hair is perfectly mussed and doesn’t move an inch when he squats down to pick up a can off the bottom shelf. I can’t help but notice the way his butt fills out his jeans, firm and strong. But something about his physique doesn’t match with the rest of him. His hair is so neat, and his face is clean-shaven. His hands are delicate. He doesn’t usually work on a farm, that much is clear.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should introduce myself to the Parkers’ secret weapon when he turns to look at me, catching me staring and making the most intimate eye contact I’ve ever had with anybody, including the time Shari made me play a game where we stared into each other’s eyes for four minutes, just to find out if we were really supposed to be best friends (if the test is reliable, we weren’t, because we burst out laughing after a minute).
But this man’s gaze holds me captive, rooting my feet to the floor. The air is vibrating between us. His eyes are a rich brown, framed by thick lashes. His cheekbones cut his face perfectly, drawing my gaze to his full lips.You could cut the tension in here with a knife, I think, only to realize I’m holding three razors in one hand and have stopped mid-reach for the next option. As fast as I can I drop the razors into my cart and duck out of the aisle, my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel my blush creeping up to my hairline.
I pull out my phone to text Lily but then I think better of it. What would I even say?So actually I wasn’t hallucinating and I’ve FINALLY found someone I think is attractive but he’s helping the Parkers so I’m supposed to hate him??I slide my phone back in my pocket. Better to wait. We haven’t even spoken.
The apples are my last stop. I am so focused on my task at hand (being picky about apples comes with the territory) that I don’t notice he’s approached me until it’s too late.
‘How do you like them apples?’ he asks in a low voice. An invitation of humor edges his question, and I feel for a moment like he’s inviting me to share in a secret, illicit game with him. But then Amie’s voice rings out over the loudspeaker, reminding shoppers that this Friday there’s a canned foods drive, and my mind crashes into reality.
What did he just say to me?I think, panic rising in my chest.Isn’t‘How do you like them apples?’an expression about a woman’s tits? Why do attractive men think they can get away with anything?If he’s introducing himself to me with a line this racy, no wonder he’s been the center of the book club’s imaginary small-town smut fairy tale.
I huff a puff of air towards the apples as I wheel around to face him, preparing to dress him down at the impertinence of hitting on someone who’s clearly in the middle of grocery shopping. But being so close to him takes my breath away completely. He’s devastatingly handsome in the most endearing way I’ve ever seen. His hair is so lush I want to run my hands through it. I haven’t felt this disarmed by anyone since .?.?. ever. He’s smiling at me with an open face, eyes wide, like he’s just asked if I want to go pick flowers.
‘What?’ is all I manage to squeak out, my anger dissolving faster than sugar in sweet tea.
His eyelashes flutter and his eyes get wider. He steps back from me like I’m a hot potato and drops the apple he’s holding. He bends to pick it up and while his attention is elsewhere, I scurry to the cash register. There are so many conflicting thoughts pinging back and forth in my brain that I can’t focus. He calls something after me softly, but I’m already walking towards the checkout and decide it’s better to pretend I don’t hear.
I’m still thinking about his comment when Amie asks me when I got back into town. I glance down at my breasts, they’re perfectly average. Not too big, not too small. I guess I like them just fine. Not thatheever needs to know that.
Chapter Eight
Nick
Mrs. P. (Oh, sweetheart,pleasejust call me Betsy .?.?. but I suppose Mrs. P. certainly does have a ring to it) doesn’t send me off to find Mr. Parker this morning when we finish our crossword, instead, she asks if I don’t mind running to Hal’s General Store. I’ve been here less than one week and she’s already sent me to the hardware store, the butchers, and the bakery. Wrangling their dusty blue pickup into submission has been the hardest part of my time here so far. The pedals are sticky, the wheel is practically fixed in place, and every pothole sends me flying towards the ceiling.
‘I don’t think he’s here to run your errands,’ Joe grumbled at dinner last night. Mrs. P just laughed. I was inclined to agree with Joe. Technically, I wasnothere to run her errands. But I’m a mamma’s boy through and through, so when she asks I can’t help but say yes.
‘Is there a gym in town I can check out on my way?’ I ask her. I’ve searched for an Equinox, Lifetime, Planet Fitness and came up empty handed—the local high school can’t possibly be the only place to lift weights. I was hoping I had just missed something obvious, but she stares at me like I have three heads. I make a mental note to ask the cashier at the grocery store.
Only when I realize how incredibly tiny the local general store is (notgrocery store, Mrs. P had corrected me), do I understand why Betsy thought it was so crazy that I asked about a Planet Fitness. But there’s a charm to the size. I’m not inundated with choices like I am in the city. I have a silly smile on my face at how relaxing it is not to have to choose between thirteen kinds of canned tomatoes when I see the same woman I saw a few days ago. She’s holding so many razors in her hands that I’m wondering how she isn’t dropping them when she turns and sees me, my eyes locking with her electric blue ones. She has freckles across the bridge of her nose and her blonde hair is pulled away from her face haphazardly, with tendrils snaking out in every direction. My body is pulling me forward on its own accord, but I can’t take even half a step forward before she bolts, ducking out of the aisle like the place was on fire. I pick up my basket. Isaac and Julian may have thought they came up with the world’s worst punishment for losing fantasy football but if I end up meeting a girl .?.?. well .?.?. who’s laughing now? It won’t matter that they spent the first quarter of their final year doing capstones at private equity firms and start-up incubators while I ran errands and grimaced through lower back pain if I have a girl by my side while I do it. I shrug my shoulders and straighten up.
I do a perimeter lap of the store trying to spot her, which is incredibly easy seeing as the store seems to be all of twenty square feet. Nothing like the behemoth Whole Foods I usually shop at. I’ve arrived at the produce section when I see a flash of blonde hair in my peripherals.
She’s by the apples—perfect.
I sidle up next to her, but her concentration doesn’t waver. Her forearms are lean and tanned, her hands rough. She’s picking up apples and putting them down like her life depends on finding the perfect sphere, the perfect weight-to-shine ratio.
I clear my throat. She glances at me, her bright blue eyes sparkling from underneath a fan of eyelashes and my breath hitches in my chest. She glances down so quickly that it catches me off guard. Usually, I have some game when it comes to girls, but for some reason today I flounder, saying the first thing that pops into my head.
‘How do you like them apples?’ I ask, only to immediately redden after the words come out of my mouth, not sure why I thought choosing an insult fromGood Will Huntingwas a good idea.
She looks up, a wave of an emotion I can’t place crossing her face. ‘What?’ she asks, her eyebrows scrunching together.
I take a step back, fumbling, and I drop the apple I was holding. I bend to pick it up. ‘Oh, the movie,’ I try to explain, but she’s already picked up her groceries and is making her way as fast as she can to the cash register, where she exchanges a few words with the strawberry blonde working the checkout. Her posture is relaxed now, they seem familiar with each other, like they’ve known each other forever. And, given what I know about this town, they probably have.
I follow meekly and I feign interest in the local honey display until she leaves.
I’m still thinking about how impossibly blue her eyes were when I roll into the Parkers’ driveway and realize I completely forgot to ask the checkout lady about a gym.
Chapter Nine
Eloise
Aprons Mom Wears (ranked best to worst)
