"I don't think of it as luck or chance, Miss (l/n). The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'The...
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Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Billy and John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Billy asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I'm engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up... and find myself locked in the bold brown gaze of Aaron Hotchner who's standing at the counter, staring at me intently.
Heart failure.
"Miss (l/n). What a pleasant surprise." His gaze is unwavering and intense.
Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his gray chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can't locate my brain or my voice.
"Mr. Hotchner," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he's enjoying some private joke.
"Was in the area," he says by way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss (l/n)." His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.
I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I'm blushing furiously under his steady gaze. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He's not merely good-looking – he's the definition of male beauty, breathtaking, and he's here. Here in Billy's Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.
"(y/n). My name's (y/n)," I mutter. "What can I help you with, Mr. Hotchner?"
He smiles, and again it's like he's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I've-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this.
"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," he murmurs, his brown eyes cool but amused.
Cable ties?
"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I mutter, my voice soft and waverly. Get a grip, (y/n). A slight frown mars Hotchner's rather lovely brow.
"Please. Lead the way, Miss (l/n)," he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I'm concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I'm so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.
