Flawed

Scene 5: Accosted

C h a p t e r   F i v e :

                                                                                     A C C O S T E D

♀

"New hottie, twelve o'clock!" Bailey sings, prancing over to the main register.

I look up from wiping down tables to see a young construction worker strolling across the parking lot and towards the store. I try to get a good look at his face but it's obscured by a pair of reflective aviators.

While his eyes are fully concealed, mine are on full display for Bailey to watch linger. I continue to wipe the tables down but my attention is no longer on the damp rag or the greasy tabletops.

Instead, I'm more interested in the confidence exuding from Aviators' strides. Never have I seen anyone walk the way he is now: pencil straight, shoulders back, a hand ticking back and forth as if he's swinging a set of invisible keys. His feet follow in time to the flicks of his wrist.

I can't help but wonder what it feels like for someone to be so comfortable in their own skin. What it feels like to walk in such a completely unorthodox, yet alluring, fashion. It's like the world has fallen at his feet, the gravel his red carpet. 

He turns his head and casually stares back at me through the large glass windows -- at least, I think he's staring at me.

My hand slips and the salt and pepper shakers clatter to the floor in a short-lived cloud of black and white, sending grains in every direction. I see it all from my peripheral, but it's much worse than anticipated when I actually look down.

Curtis, our manager, would give me hell for this.

I sigh and hurry to the back in search of a broom.

The "back" is just a hallway-esque area with three sinks, a door to the walk-in cooler, the back door, and a door to Curtis' office. Boxes and cleaning supplies take up whatever room is left.

Bailey shouts playfully from the front, accounting for the wall between us. "By all means, Merci... call dibs!" The excitement in her voice lets me know the 'new hottie' is closing in and even more attractive up close and personal.

The bell chimes from the front door and I can already picture Bailey ogling the guy as he makes his way inside.

"How are we doing today?" I can still hear Bailey through the wall, her voice muffled but amped higher than its usual octave.

I shake my head and remind myself why I'm back here, my ears still perked as I dig through the endless pile of ratty cleaning supplies. I just need one broom that doesn't look like it's gone through the garbage disposal.

After tossing aside countless half-empty spray bottles, muddy rags, and smelly mops, I find what I'm looking for and come to the conclusion that the "back" is in desperate need of organization. 

But I'll save that for a later date.

I quickly make my way out, clutching the broom. Spilled salt and pepper are the only things on my mind as I round the corner.

Only, my race to the spill is short-lived as I run straight into God-knows-who, my eyes instinctively slamming shut as I brace myself for impact.

Please don't be Curtis, please don't be Curtis.