The second—to—last week of summer vacation
Molly Dekker needed a lot of things—five minutes of peace, a strong massage, and a Caribbean breeze sprang immediately to mind—but right now her most urgent need was tampons.
She'd spent the whole morning greeting nervous, soon—to—be kindergartners and their even—more—nervous parents. She'd shown them around their classroom, sung songs about bus wheels and itsy—bitsy spiders, and reassured parents that their babies would be just fine on their first official school day two weeks from now.
But, after she'd waved a cheery goodbye to her last kindergartner, she'd experienced an irritating twitch in her lower belly that signaled the start of God's monthly revenge on her distant ancestor for eating that cursed apple. Rummaging through the emergency stash of hygiene items in her desk only reminded her that she'd forgotten to restock at the end of the last school year.
"Dang it," she muttered. She had a billion things to do, but getting to the Get 'n Go shot up to the top of her priority list. So she strolled out of Park Elementary, across the street and through the gas station parking lot to the convenience store.
When she walked through the door, she bypassed the baskets since the Get stocked only one of the items on her list of needs—though they did have a fan providing an oscillating Montana breeze, and the music was turned down low so it could be considered peaceful. She might think about recommending they offer chair massages, too, since they could probably rake in money from exhausted teachers and parents.
But as she walked down an aisle, she remembered she was out of Josh's favorite cereal. And she didn't have enough milk and sugar for her coffee in the morning, which meant she was liable to kill someone by lunchtime. Oh, and eggs—she'd fried the last one this morning, so she needed those, too.
Finally, she nabbed the box of tampons that had been her original purpose for coming in here and rushed to the checkout as quickly as she could without dropping all the items she awkwardly hugged against her chest.
Three people stood between her and the checkout. They'd all lined up alongside the counter to make room for customers walking down the aisles, and they all seemed to be taking their precious time paying for their items.
The corner of the cereal box dug into her belly. She shifted her grip, pressing her chin against the top of the pile to help balance everything. The position left her hunched over and limited her range of vision, but she sure as heck couldn't complain about the view. With her head tilted down, all she could see was the backside of the man in front of her. And oh—my—giddy—aunt, what a backside it was. His white T—shirt hugged his muscled back before disappearing into dark—green utility pants that outlined what surely had to rank as the world's most perfect man butt. Even though the pants were by no means tight, she could tell the muscles underneath it were.
Normally, she would do the polite thing and avoid staring at a man's panty—melting body in public, but moving her gaze right now would require moving her entire head, upper body, and everything growing slippery in her hands, so she gave herself a pass. But the longer she looked, the more familiar the body in front of her grew until, with a shock of realization, she recognized the fine man butt in front of her.
Gabriel Morales, her older brother's best friend and her own childhood crush, but now all grown up and standing close enough to light her pheromones on fire.
She'd worshiped Gabriel throughout her childhood, but he'd barely noticed her. He and her brother Scott were five years older than her, so she hadn't overlapped with them in school, but he had grown up on her street and probably spent more time at her house than his own. And who could blame him? His family could've had their own reality TV show, while hers had been as boring as the Cleavers.
He and Scott had spent almost every second together. They'd graduated together, enlisted in the Air Force together, and joined the elite force of combat search—and—rescue specialists together. They'd even been together when Scott died in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. The only time they hadn't been together was at Scott's funeral, since Gabriel had also been wounded, had lost one of his legs from below the knee, and was being treated in Germany.
She'd written him a letter and sent it to the hospital. She'd agonized over every word, trying to find ones that would comfort him. Several weeks later, she'd received his reply: Thank you, Molly. You're very kind.
She had no idea when he'd come back home. He hadn't visited her or made his presence known.
And now she stood behind him, wondering if she should clear her throat or something, because the longer she stood behind him the more awkward her silence would seem if he turned around and saw her.
He hadn't noticed her yet, a blessing for which she was grateful since she was wearing a T—shirt decorated with her former students' handprints, and the tampon box was balanced precariously in her overloaded arms. He just stood there, looking fit, tall, and beautiful. But then the woman in front of him frantically searched through her purse to find her wallet and pulled it out with such triumph that Gabriel was forced to take a hasty step back. Molly was so captivated by the sight of him that she couldn't move in time. Gabriel bumped right into her, sending her groceries tumbling before she even realized he'd moved.
The eggs plunged onto her shoes. The milk carton exploded at her feet, soaking into the hem of her long skirt and creeping upwards. The sugar bag hit the corner of a candy display rack and tore wide open, dumping granules into the milk and eggs. And the tampons fell right onto his boot. The only thing she managed to keep a grip on was, unfortunately, not her dignity but the cereal.
