Scent (Scomiche)

Planning the Pastry Party

Fun fact: In my original planning for this story I was going to kill Lindsey along with Christian. I actually began writing this story with that intent, but when my friend Sophie started proofreading it, she wouldn't let me :)

I’m thinking of Thanksgiving for days afterward. The smell of tart vodka cranberry fills my nose whenever I think of Scott, even while training for my new job. My mind can’t get off how awkward our goodbye had been after pie. To try and compensate, I think, Scott has been snapchatting me more often. I forget I haven’t told him about my job at Target, even though it’s only part-time (and could be easily hidden, but I don’t necessarily enjoy hiding things from Scott) so I can get into the swing of things. I know eventually I’ll have to bump it up to full-time in order to keep my stupid little apartment.

I take a later break than I usually would because the truck had come in. They needed some help unloading, so I did that and now am taking a snack break. I arrive in the break room with an orange and slide into my seat, placing some napkins in front of me. Before I can start to peel it, my phone vibrates, so I pull that out of my pocket and check it. There are multiple notifications but Scott’s are the only ones I pay attention to.

Dead with a skull emoji and yet another empty restaurant. But, it’s three, so who really has a sudden craving for a donut at three? He also liked my Facebook post about how creepy birds’ eyes are. Which was two days ago. Is he stalking? We’ve actually only been friends on Facebook for two weeks now, but I’ve been stalking his page for the past year, too afraid to add him. Past me would be freaking out.

I send back a selfie with saying sad :(, which may seem innocent. Nope. I forget I’m wearing my Target t-shirt and nametag.

Why are you wearing that?

Wearing what I counter with my thumb over the lens. I know darn well what he’s referring to, I just need to buy time.

A Target shirt and nametag

I set down my phone and debate how to respond, but soon enough I get another message. Mitch… Do you work at Target?

No...

Mitch. His face is stern in the photo. Demanding. Hot.

Okay, gotta go, see you later :)

I shove my phone in my pocket and put away my orange. I’ll eat later. I go back to work, and in these ten minutes since, my phone has buzzed four times. What is Scott needing to say so desperately?

I go behind a rack of camping gear and pull out my phone. Scott (4)

1. Wait no His expression tells me he’s confused.
2. Wait yes Now with wide eyes. A realization of some sort.
3. I WILL see you later With a mischievous smile.
4. ;) A picture of him in his car.

Oh God, no. He’s not gonna… He’s teasing. My inner voice asks me If he’s teasing, why is your heart beating so fast? Shut up.

I put my phone away and go to grab a clipboard. I should at least look like I’m being productive. I’ll go count the notebooks for “inventory”, which isn’t part of my job description, but then they’ll just redirect me because I’m the newest employee.

I’m checking how many purple, college-ruled notebooks we have left in stock when I see a blur of blond and tall. He didn’t. He did not seriously come here. I freeze. What do I do? Just keep counting. That’s what I’ve decided to do, and it might not even be him. One, two, three, four--

“Mitch?”

Five, six, seven, eight, nine…

“Mitch, it’s Scott.”