Page 10 of A Little Christmas! Johnny
The holiday season has barely started, yet I still had to circle the parking lot three times before I could find a single spot. I even watched people park in the grocery store’s parking lot and then race across the highway to go to the stores in the strip mall. Normally, I would just go to Walmart or Costco for groceries, but I refuse to drive almost an hour and brave those crowds just for some milk.
Locking my truck after snagging a spot on the side of the building, I pull the collar of my coat up around my ears. I forgot to grab my hat and scarf on the way out of the shop, but it’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. The squeal of a fan belt has me turning automatically in that direction. While not uncommon to hear in the cold weather, I tend to try and help people head offissues with their cars if I can. Is it financially beneficial? Not usually. If I can do a five minute fix in a parking lot, I will. Sometimes, a simple good deed can be a make it or break it moment for another person. I want to put more good out in the world.
Fifteen minutes and a car full of grateful smiles later, I am jogging up to the side of the store. The guy loading up the cars with rock salt is bundled up for the cold, but it doesn’t stop me from looking at the way his leg muscles flex every time he hoists up a bag. When he leans into the trunk of a Buick that is practically skimming the pavement at this point, I get a glimpse of his lower back and those muscles. Shaking my head to clear out the dirty – yet oh so delicious – thoughts about how much I want to bite that ass, I head into the store and the chaos I’m sure I will find inside.
In no universe should it take almost forty minutes to get milk, a box of hot chocolate, and a hundred pack of candy canes. The dairy section was damn near cleared out, and I refuse to spend almost ten dollars for a brand name. Luckily, someone put a carton of the lactose free whole milk in the center bin with the orange juice that was on sale. I can only hope that it didn’t get too warm before whoever it was placed it in there, but I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. The cocoa and candy canes were easier. Those were on displays at the end of the aisles, so I didn’t have to hunt them down.
What takes so long is the fact that the only express lanes open are the self-checkouts. Despite the fact that the damn things have existed in this store for over a decade, it’s like no one has ever used them before. Between the constant dings requesting assistance and the grumbling from people in line complaining that they aren’t getting paid to ring up their own stuff, I’m ready to explode. The lady who is behind me is one such constantcomplainer. After ten straight minutes of her bitching, I stop holding my own tongue.
“Maybe if you learned to count, you’d realize that you should be in the regular lane anyways. Sesame Street is a great reference if you need a recommendation.”
I hear the gasps from around us and have to admit I’m really thankful I’m not wearing the shop jacket or hat right now. A supervisor in that all important red vest rushes over and directs me up to the customer service desk. I think I’m about to get in trouble. Instead, he promptly scans my items to get me away from the Karen who is now having a meltdown over being directed to the regular lanes when she reached the front of the self-checkout line. For once, karma works the way it is supposed to.
On the way out of the store, I throw my change into the donation box for the children's charity in front of the building instead of the red bucket next to Santa. I get that they do great things for a lot in the community, but some people higher up in the organization are not the greatest to people like me. The kids deserve my charity more than some millionaire’s tax write-offs. Not that I think my seventy-two cents is going to make a huge difference, but every little bit adds up.
Glancing up at the still overcrowded parking lot, I notice another sedan damn near scraping the pavement pull away from the guy loading up the rock salt, and I don’t even bother holding my tongue. The brain to mouth filter that usually exists? That fucker is gone. That bitch inside wore down the last bit of self-control I might have had left after the day I’ve had. The worker turns to me with a chuckle and I freeze.
Can I catch a fucking break?!
I’m so flustered at seeing him that my mouth just keeps going and going. I pop myself on the mouth the same way my mother did when I would ramble as a kid. It’s the one thing I know for afact will stop me. I know I’m already red, but I am damn near on fire when he smacks my hand. My little friend in my pants wakes up at that and a warm, fuzzy feeling settles in my chest.
Dexter. His name is Dexter...
I’m lost in my head to the point that I miss whatever happens for the next few minutes, but the next thing I know, the gate in front of the pallets of salt clangs shut.
“I don’t like coffee,” I say reflexively when Dexter asks me to join him for a cup. What the fuck is wrong with me? The man of my dreams is asking me out and my first response is to reject what he’s offering. My hand comes up to pop my mouth again, but Dexter catches my wrist.
“No hurting yourself, remember?”
His gentle smile reaches his eyes, and I nod slowly. Even though it doesn’t hurt to smack my mouth like that, I understand that at one point in time, it did hurt me – or at least it did when my mother did it to me.
Using his grip on my wrist, he leads me to the coffee shop next to the grocery store. They aren’t too busy considering it’s almost eight o'clock on a Monday night, so he has no trouble finding a table for us. After making sure I’m settled, he goes to the counter to order and talk to the baristas. I’m sure he knows them pretty well with working next door and all. That doesn’t stop the sting in my chest when I notice the girl making the drinks starts flirting with him.
I’m on step twelve of a thirty two point plan to ruin her chances with him when he sits across from me, placing a mug in front of each of us.
“The cocoa here is pretty decent as well. I figured you could try it since you don’t like coffee,” he says after thanking the barista for his sandwich they just dropped off. “I just got the plain cocoa for you, but they also have chipotle, salted caramel, and peppermint versions.”
I perk up at the mention of peppermint cocoa. Today has just been so emotionally draining that I can’t seem to hide my reactions to anything anymore, especially in Dexter’s presence. I guess I shouldn’t worry about being too much because he just chuckles again, swapping our mugs.
“I like the peppermint, too. I normally get a peppermint mocha, but they’re out of decaf espresso and I don’t want to be up half the night.”
Even though I know it’s only fifteen minutes, it feels like an eternity and a few blinks at the same time. Dexter makes me feel so comfortable. Even when I slip up and tell him about how the purple Wiggle is a verifiable thirst trap, he just laughs and agrees with me. His partner is so lucky to have someone like him. Never in my life has anyone shown me so much positive attention and not jumped straight to trying to get into my pants. He even walks me to my truck, making sure I get it open and started up.
“Now, Johnny, I want you to do something for me,” he says while attempting to tuck my wayward hair behind my ears. “When Russ and I come to get the stuff out of his car tomorrow, I want you to have three things about yourself that you’re proud of to tell me.”
I can feel my brows sinking in confusion. Why would he care about something like that? I don’t think I’m capable of being a part of a throuple. My family would never accept that for me, for one. Even with ignoring their opinions, I don’t like feeling excluded and knowing there would be times they would be together without me would eat at me.
Climbing into the cab of my truck takes more effort than it should while I try to make sense of what the hell Dexter wants from me. The knock on the window makes me jump, and I crank the window down, preparing myself for the rejection I’m going to have to put out there when he brings it up.
“By the way, Russel is truly just my neighbor. He’s in the other half of the duplex I’ve been renting for the last five years. I’m single and hoping Santa is nice and you are as well.”
Dexter drops that bomb on me and jogs back to the store, waving at the guy who replaced him loading up the rock salt. I crank the window back up in a daze and make my way out of the parking lot to head back to the shop. His wish for Santa echoes in my mind, and I can’t help but think about what I would wish for. I haven’t believed in Santa since my parents decided that six years old was old enough to learn the truth.
Back at the shop, my mind is still going in circles. Thankfully, Jackson is out on a call, so I’m able to get my cereal and disappear into my office. The notepad on my desk is calling to me. For the first time in twenty years, I sit down to write out my Christmas wish.
Dear Santa...
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