Taming The Lockwood

Ten

225g self raising flour
225g caster sugar
225g unsalted butter
Dr Oetker Madagascan vanilla extract...

I run my eyes over the ingredients list one last time and tick them off my list.

Perfect.

Tucking the pencil in my hair, and notebook in my dungaree pocket, I push the trolley to the nearest counter and begin unloading it onto the conveyor belt.

Flour, butter, sugar, emergency cake, milk, eggs, bread, and of course, my glorious snacks.
My mouth salivates at the thought of being burrowed in a blanket, surrounded with a pile of my precious goods.

Yes, I was going to bake a cake. Yes, I may end up setting my kitchen on fire, but it was George's birthday today and I wanted to make some effort for his sake. Especially after the trouble I'd landed him in with Gabriel.

Not only that, but we had managed to finish our game when the lion had a meeting and much to my disappointment, George had won. Though he hadn't yet stated his award.

I still think he cheated.

Just as I reach out to grab a bag, the man in front of me decides to follow suit and our hands awkwardly clash. A familiar set of tingles course through my skin and I snatch my hand back out of shock.

"Ah sorry." I blurt out, but stop myself, startled, as I look up at who it is. "Gabriel?" His name falls out of my mouth before I can realise. "I mean, Mr Lockwood?"

Saying I was shocked would be a total understatement. Never in my entire working career would I ever be able to conjure up the sight I currently beheld. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled over his brown mop. Light stubble peppered the expanse of his chin, and a pair of grey sweatpants are hanging on his hips.

His eyes are trained on my lips and I'm worried there's leftover chocolate smears caking them. My tongue darts out and licks them, and I tuck some stray tendrils behind my ear in a failed attempt to look like I hadn't just rolled out of bed.

"Gabriel is fine. Seeing as though I'm stuck being your 'office buddy." He taunts.

"Right. Yes... Gabriel." I hesitantly reach out for the bag, inwardly cursing myself for my mistake.

"Didn't think you were the party type." He states a hint of mirth teases his words, and I'm almost too shocked to bother responding.

Mr Lockwood in a supermarket striking a conversation with me. Jesting.

Someone must have slipped some milk in his coffee for once.

I cross my arms over my chest and his gaze follows my actions. A sudden rush of warmth consumes my face as it dawns on me that his words were relating to my food. A carton of eggs and pack of bread sits ready on the conveyor belt before me, whereas my goods seemed to take up the whole length of the counter.

"Oh? I didn't take you as the bread and eggs type," I retort, internally cringing as I realise what I had just said.

Seriously Nora? You couldn't think of anything better?

For a split second, an amused smirk nearly takes over his face and I'm questioning whether I'm seeing things.

Maybe I got out of the wrong side of bed today.