The Lunchtime Special

Chapter 2 - Breathless

"It sounds amazing. I'll take a medium please and a mango smoothie." What really sounds amazing is her voice as she describes the salad; smooth and soft as silk with a slightly breathless quality that causes a clenching reaction in my gut.

I watch her as she transfers the food to a takeaway container, appreciating her graceful movements. Having never gone for stick-thin model types who live on celery sticks and care more for their looks than anything else, her curvaceous figure and full breasts appeal instantly to my inner caveman. An image of them in my hands, in my mouth, flashes through my head and I quickly look away, willing my body not to respond and embarrass me. I can't keep my eyes off her for long though, noticing wispy tendrils of hair the colour of milk chocolate that have escaped the pile high on her head to kiss her cheeks and chin as she works; lashes longer than I've ever seen fluttering down to hide smoky grey eyes I'd caught only a brief glimpse of as she had served a German couple. When she looks up I give her a small smile, hoping she'll smile back, registering a slight jolt in my chest when she doesn't.

Not usually at a loss for words, I rack my brain trying to think of some way of engaging her in conversation. 'What time do you get off work?' is definitely the question at the forefront of my mind but it seems far too cliché and cheesy. Finally I manage, "Have you ever been to the Middle East?" Her monosyllabic answer is disappointing but a faint blush colours her cheeks and gives me hope that she isn't completely immune to me. I shake my head when she asks if I want a carry bag for my food, then reaching to take the container from her I feel a warm tingling all along my arm as our fingers brush. God, she does something to me, this woman, and we've barely exchanged more than a dozen impersonal words. Handing over cash to pay for my purchases, the breath stills in my throat when she brushes a loose strand of hair off her face with the back of her hand; my own hand twitches, wanting to be the limb performing that task, longing to caress cheeks that appear as soft as ripe peaches, to tuck her hair behind her shell-like ear.

I hadn't intended to call in to the salad bar; on my way back to my rental car after a short perusal of the small mountains town, I had caught a glimpse of her through the window and entered the shop without conscious thought, just wanting – no, needing – to see her closer up. Now as I open my mouth to invite her to join me for coffee, a drink, a walk – anything – a couple with two young boys enter the shop; she's greeting them as if she knows them well and my moment is lost. Undaunted, I make a note of the opening hours displayed in the window-front and determine to return at two o'clock, hoping her shift won't finish before that.

I decide to leave the car, walking to where I'd seen a small green park and sit drinking my smoothie and picking at the salad. It's delicious, but with my thoughts still consumed by the gorgeous brunette, I have little appetite. Needing distraction, I pull out my phone and make some business calls then ring my mother to tell her I'll be gone longer than I had originally planned.

"How late will you be, Jacob? We're having dinner with Laila and Will again – a restaurant in Springwood, of all places, though God knows what that will turn out to be like. The best friend is coming along too, apparently – let's hope she's not as ghastly as the sister."

As much as I love my mother, I'd be the first to admit she's somewhat of a snob, so I ignore her subtle put-down of the small mountains community and Will's younger sister – who I'd found to be rather an interesting character – and tell her I'll be there by five thirty, which will give me plenty of time to shower and change before coming back for dinner at seven. Although meeting my sister's fiancé is the main purpose for my visit here, I feel resentful that I'm not free for the evening to do what I really want to, which is get to know the woman who is occupying almost my every thought.

At quarter to two I peer in the salad bar window to check she's still there and am rewarded with the sight of her laughing at something a customer has said. My gut clenches again and I realise I want to make her laugh like that; her whole face lights up and I can even hear the sweet peel of her chuckle from outside. She really is mesmerising.