Dipping my toe in the pool, trying something new...comments welcome.
How It Started....
Rafe was weary. The kind of weary that seeps deep into your bones and makes every part of you empty from the lack of energy. The kind of weary that makes thought difficult, making a man search for words the way a pig snuffles in the dirt for truffles. All work and no play...yadda, yadda, yadda. It was sad, really, he thought. He was 42 years old, successful, and staring at frozen dinners for one in the supermarket.
His reverie was interrupted when she whirled past him like a dervish then stopped so abruptly that he was surprised he didn't hear tires squealing.
"Excuse me!" She said, reaching around him to open the cooler door. "Oh! So sorry!" She added when the door thunked against his nose. She looked at him as she reached blindly into the boxed dinners, grabbing one. "Does it hurt? I swear to God I didn't mean to whack you! I mean, why would I, right? I don't even know you! Do you need anything? Are you OK?"
She looked at the box in her hand and wrinkled her nose in distaste before shoving it back in with the others. As the cooler door swung inward, her bag slid off her shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thud. They both stooped at the same time, and their foreheads knocked together.
"Ouch." She muttered under her breath, rubbing her head with one hand while trying to scoop up items with the other. He bent to help her, and she added, "Thanks."
"It's...." He said as they stood.
"....no worries," she assured him, patting her bag to make sure it was secure on her shoulder again. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."
Their eyes met for a moment, maybe less. Hers were a pale silvery gray, reminding him of moonlight, and they clashed briefly with the melting chocolate of his. She blinked, a slow flutter of long lashes against her cheek, then she was off in full whirl, rushing down the aisle as her heels made a pleasant tap-tap-tap against the tile.
Suddenly she twirled around, making her red skirt float lightly above her knees for a moment before drifting down. Walking backwards, she said, "Have a good one! So sorry again...you're sure you're OK?"
Maybe he nodded; he'd never know for sure, then she twirled the other way and rushed out of sight.
Flummoxed, he decided, was the only word for how he was feeling. His mouth twitched up. It couldn't be called a smile, but it was the closest he'd come to one in what felt like a very long time.
As he pushed the cooler door closed, a flash from the floor caught his eye. The clasp on a small sort of wallet thing, he discovered, pink with delicate butterflies and the word Coach embossed on it. Inside were two credit cards, a driver's license, and a stash of business cards.
He extracted a business card, admiring the weight of good card stock. It was soft white with a deep mauve border, and three lines of dark gray lettering consisting of the words Chloe Breckenridge, a phone number, and an email address. BreckenridgeDesign@gmail.
Several thoughts zinged through his brain in rapid succession. Her name is Chloe. What did she design? Web sites? Clothes? Interiors? Video games?
He slid the card case into his pocket and decided to Door Dash something halfway decent instead. As he left the store, a barely-there frisson of energy shimmied down his spine.
In his car, he tapped Breckenridge Design into the search engine on his phone. Several returns popped up, and he scrolled until he found one in Florida. The site was under construction, but the same deep mauve and dark gray hues were featured, as was the email address and Located in Palm Beach, Florida. His mouth twitched up again. It was her.
As he backed out of the parking space and drove slowly towards the end of the row, Rafe noticed a woman wearing a blood red skirt that swirled around her knees as she rooted through assorted items on top of her car, upon which she had obviously emptied her bag. As he passed her, she hit the car roof with the flat of her hand and haphazardly shoveled everything back into the battered brown bag.
It struck him that he knew that bag, that red skirt, and those knees. He hit the brakes and backed up a few feet. She was muttering something he couldn't make out as she repeatedly pushed the unlock button on the car's remote.
"Excuse me," he said, and she whirled towards him, her chestnut hair falling into one eye. "Can I help?"
She flipped her hair out of her eye and over her forehead in one elegant motion. One errant piece floated down, and she blew it away with a short puff of air. "Oh, thanks; but no. I need a new battery for my fob; I just keep putting off getting one. I think it's dead-dead this time. There's an auto parts store right there," she added, nodding towards a building not far from the supermarket. "I'll just grab one there." She sighed.
"Bad day?"
She smiled, and her heart-shaped face lit from within. "Good day," she assured him. Holding up a pair of crossed fingers, she added, "Hopefully a great day!"
"How so?" He liked watching her mouth move, the way the left corner tilted a smidge higher than the right when she smiled.
Chloe moved a few steps closer. "Are you a serial killer trying to coax me into your car?" she asked.
Her bottom lip was full and pouty. Rafe wanted to know what it would feel like if he caught it between his teeth and tugged gently. He shook his head. "Not so far," he answered solemnly. "But never say never."
She laughed, a spontaneous bubble of sound. "Come to think of it," she said, admiring his black Audi R8, "this doesn't look much like a murder car."
"Which makes it...." He began.
"....the perfect murder car," they finished together. When she laughed this time, it was full, throaty and completely charming. His smile was genuine for the first time in weeks.
A truck honked behind him, making them both startle. "Don't move," he directed. He parked a few spaces down and crossed over to where she was leaning against her car. "Rafe," he told her, extending his hand.
She put hers in it, and he was taken by how soft her palm felt against his. "I'm..."
"....Chloe." They spoke in unison again, only this time her eyes turned dark and suspicious.
She backed away from him as she pushed the button on her car fob again. When it unlocked, she let out a huge breath. She yanked on the door handle and had it halfway open when he spoke.
"We saw each other in the store. You hit me with the cooler door." His voice was calm, and he saw something like recognition flicker in her gaze. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the little pink case. "I found your business card."
"Ohhhhhh," she said almost in a whisper, obviously relieved, and he tried not to notice how sexy it sounded. He failed, but he gave himself points for trying.
Chloe reached out and took the case. "Thank you," she said. "For a second there, I thought you really were a serial killer."
"Yeah. I got that."
