Tender Is the Fruit

YN wasn't looking for love. She was looking for kale. Maybe some overpriced blueberries. Definitely not a man with veiny forearms, soft muscles, and a smirk that said, "I know exactly what you're thinking."

A chance encounter at aisle five spirals into something neither of them expected: fingers brushing near the eggplants, conversations that feel like foreplay, and an attraction that feels way too serious for a Woolworths run.

He's tall. He's thoughtful. He lifts heavy. And he wears glasses that make him look like trouble disguised as tenderness.
She's overthinking everything. Including the way he asked if she needed help carrying her basket.

What starts as innocent flirting turns into weekly grocery runs filled with soft touches, inside jokes, and... aisle escapades that blur the line between sweet and sinful.

Because sometimes love doesn't show up in poetry.
Sometimes, love looks like him handing you a ripe avocado and asking, "Dinner at mine?"