Publix is right up the street, about a five minute drive. It's the only grocery store I can stand to be in. I take a green hand basket from the stack near the doors and venture to the baby aisle. Grabbing a pack of diapers, I decide to shop for tomorrow's dinner ingredients since I'm already at the store.
"Taco seasoning, taco shells, tortilla chips, black beans..." I ramble under my breath, placing each ingredient in the basket as I say the name aloud. I meander through the produce section, grabbing onion, tomato and lettuce. The smell of black currant and pineapple interrupt my thoughts and when I turn around, Christopher Peters is standing right there, waving cilantro in the air like a white flag.
He still dons his suit ensemble that he wore at the office today, only without the blazer. He looks much more tired; his eyes are heavy, and his hair unruly, but the smile on his face says otherwise. His tanned, muscular forearms peek out from beneath his casually rolled sleeves, and I notice several tattoos winding their way up his left arm.
"If you're going to do Taco Tuesday, you can't do it without fresh cilantro," he says, handing me the bundle of herbs. He holds a hand basket as well, and I spot penne noodles, fresh basil, spices and Parmesan.
"So what, you're like stalking me now?" I badger, taking the cilantro from his outstretched hand.
He chuckles in response.
That damn chuckle.
"No, I'm just here for some food for my new apartment," he replies kindly.
I step around him, heading for check out and he follows me.
"Pasta," I conclude, placing my basket on the belt. A playful smile comes across his face.
"My specialty," he simply replies. I can't help but smile back. The cashier announces my total, and I insert my card into the chip reader.
"So why are you in Marietta?" I try to make small talk as we both walk outside and into the chilly October air. I can't imagine why he would willingly live in the outer perimeter when he could easily get a nice loft in the city.
"Believe it or not, I'm not a fan of the hustle and bustle of urban life," he responds, surprising me.
I shake my head and laugh.
"What?" he asks, already grinning.
"I just don't get it. You're Mr. BMW, you wear tailored suits and cuff links, you're the only man I know that can style oxfords right and you don't like living in the city?" I am astonished. "I love the city. I'd move back to Midtown in a heartbeat," I admit.
"So why don't you?" Christopher challenges.
I give him a wary look.
"Ah. The husband," he perceives, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.
"It's not just my husband. I have a daughter too," I retort.
The expression on Christopher's face almost appears to be somber. Why do people always look at me like that when I tell them I have a child? Yes, I am young. And yes, I would like to be able to do more with my life, but the fact is that my life is on the back burner currently. For now it's my family and their needs that come first.
"I wouldn't want to raise my family in the city. It's just not practical. Cost of living is higher, the environment is louder, and not to mention the dangers of city living in general..." I ramble.
Christopher coughs to try to stifle a laugh.
"Fine, laugh at me," I say, rolling my eyes and smiling, just a little.
"I'm sorry it's just that it's all bullshit," he chuckles, glancing sideways at me as we both reach our cars, coincidentally parked next to each other. "You can't be serious to think that there aren't actual people out there who raise their families in the city?"
I place my bags in the trunk of my car and close the lid, crossing my arms while raising an eyebrow at him.
"You're just afraid," he says blatantly.
Heat returns to my face as I scowl at the words he just said. Me? Afraid? I internally scoff at the thought.
Christopher extends his hand out to shake mine. I return the gesture, begrudgingly, but instead of pulling away, he clasps my four fingers into his hand and brings them up to his lips. It is so swift, so subtle that I can't really tell what he's doing at first.
"Have a good night, Harrison," he says as he unlocks his car door and places his one grocery bag in the passenger seat.
"Peters," I exhale quietly.
Christopher waves through his tinted windows as he passes by, leaving me to deal with whatever just happened on my own.
YOU ARE READING
For A Reason
ChickLit"I just thought..." I begin, flustered, not really sure where my words are headed. He shakes his head. "We can't," he states, removing my hand from his. "There are a million reasons why we can't." He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrate...
