“You used to call me on my cell phone~” you sing-song, whipping your car through the gate. The road is sparse with a few cars. It’s midnight and you’re on a monthly run to Walmart, intent on grabbing a few things to occupy your Saturday night.

You pull into the empty parking lot. Pass a beggar on the crosswalk, worrying you for a couple dollars. You drop a few crumpled bills into his palms, smiling as sweetly as the moment will allow. He’ll more-than-likely use it for booze, but your conscience is clear with your good deed of the day.

The air of the sliding doors whips through your jacket. You glance down at your attire, chuckling softly. Clad in fuzzy, Batman pajama pants, Converse, tank top, hoodie, and head scarf, you are the epitome of single. Of course, you aren’t here to impress anyone.

Skipping a cart, you disappear into the frozen goods isle, tucking a tub of chocolate ice cream under your arm. Next is a bottle of Moscato, followed by nine rolls of Charmin. You stop before a smorgasbord of candies, debating on whether to grab Twizzlers or not. You find the only open register and place your items on the counter behind an older woman and her granddaughter.

Occupied with picking at your nails, you don’t notice the figure moving behind you. Not until, in your peripheral, you see his things sliding forward behind yours. Two bottles of Advil, a gallon of water, and a Hershey’s bar; you thought your shopping choice was a bit random, but this guy…

You spare a quick, though inconspicuous, glance at the gentleman. He’s cute; pinned in a ruffled dress shirt, loose tie, and black slacks. There are cinnamon ringlets of hair pouring from a messy bun atop his head. His eyes are the color of sandalwood, crinkled at the corners, and in your brief gaze, you could swear that he is studying you intently. Your neck inflames with heat.

“$17.49,” croaks the cashier, dislodging you from your reverie. You blink quickly, digging through your wristlet for change. Suddenly, a long, cotton-drenched arm skirts through your vision. You follow said appendage to its owner. It’s the handsome gentleman with interesting eyes behind you, smiling warmly, handing his black Visa to the cashier.

“I-I’m flattered?” you force out, fighting the butterflies which stir in your stomach. You’re entranced by the tiny craters that form in his cheeks, the gentle glint of his irises. You laugh softly, not sure if it’s at the ridiculousness of the moment or your short lapse in steel will. “However, I got this.” You toss a twenty onto the counter, gathering your purchases. You can tell by the small whimper leaving his throat that he’s wounded. But, better his pride than yours.

Without looking back, you exit the supermarket, fiddling with your keys. Adrenaline is making you shaky. Excitement is making you smile like a fool. His attractive features and generous act are eternally etched into your mind. You spend the whole ride back onto post with Drake in your ears, a -eating grin tearing your face in twain, and your mind on cloud nine.