customers jostled my nostrils in a hostile takeover. The woman in line in front of me was especially obnoxious. Her perfume was thick and flowery, assailing me like a child throwing a tantrum. “Look at me! Look at me!” it seemed to shriek.
I’ve always taken offense at people wearing heavy perfume. It’s as if they have no respect for boundaries. If I wanted my personal space to reek of lavender and musk, I’d dump a vat of bath salts into the tub and go for a soak. It’s rude to think everyone wants that stuffed up their noses. Whatever happened to subtlety?
I rubbed at my nose with the back of my hand, as if that might clear out some of the stench.
“It is a little much.” The voice came from behind me in line, low and secretive, as if he didn’t want anyone but me to hear him.
I was embarrassed. I had hoped no one else had caught me trying to wipe away the smell. I turned to answer and was caught off guard. In fact, I babbled like an idiot.
“You,” I said, already kicking myself for my lack of suavity. “I saw you on TV the other night.”
He looked puzzled, probably afraid I’d confused him with an actor or talk show host. “You know,” I said, trying to clarify, “on the news. Taking the grocery clerk to the ambulance. Or her body anyway.” Shut up, Zoey. Please shut up. “It was a shock. I’d just been in there talking to her the day before. I bought cheese.” Oh for the love of the one-eyed god of wombats, will you stop now? “I recognized you from earlier the same day when that man was hit by a bus. You do seem to be around when people die. What horrible luck. But then, you’re a paramedic, right? So it probably happens to you a lot.”
I stopped to take a breath and realized he was smiling at me. He nodded toward the counter and I thought I’d lost his attention. Not sure whether to be devastated or relieved about that, I realized he was urging me forward in line.
Excellent. I was an all-around doofus, not just the babbling kind. I turned to face front and closed the gap between myself and the stink bomb. Because I am a total glutton for punishment, I turned around and faced him again. One more try. I took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “Honestly, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m not normally this way.”
And then I tripped backward and bumped into the woman in front of me. Who was holding the coffee the barista had handed her seconds before.
“Dammit,” the woman said. She didn’t yell. It was a fairly low-key attitude for someone with hot coffee dripping from her sleeve.
“I am so sorry,” I said. I grabbed napkins and blotted at her drips. “Please, let me get you another one.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I hate this sweater. Only a little spilled anyway.” She took the napkins from me and mopped up, then tossed the paper in the trash. “All better. No harm.” She smiled and left.
I felt like a total shit for bashing her perfume.
There was no way I could make eye contact with Captain Dreamy behind me. Miserable, I placed my order for a venti cappuccino with a double shot of Irish cream. I needed the double shot. I only wished it were alcohol instead of flavored syrup.
I huddled in the corner waiting for my order to be called, hoping he wouldn’t see me. If he were smart, he’d order a black coffee and clear out before I had to walk past him.
It turned out he wasn’t smart.
He came over and leaned against the wall beside me. I pretended not to notice him, though I’m sure I wasn’t in the least bit convincing. From the corner of my eye I could see he wasn’t in uniform. His jeans were snug, but not ’70s avert-your-eyes-you-can-totally-see-his-package tight. His green t-shirt hugged him affectionately without looking like he’d dressed from the kids department in an effort to look hot. No, hot came naturally. As much as I wanted a good, thorough look at him headlong, I refused to acknowledge his presence. A girl can only
I’ve always taken offense at people wearing heavy perfume. It’s as if they have no respect for boundaries. If I wanted my personal space to reek of lavender and musk, I’d dump a vat of bath salts into the tub and go for a soak. It’s rude to think everyone wants that stuffed up their noses. Whatever happened to subtlety?
I rubbed at my nose with the back of my hand, as if that might clear out some of the stench.
“It is a little much.” The voice came from behind me in line, low and secretive, as if he didn’t want anyone but me to hear him.
I was embarrassed. I had hoped no one else had caught me trying to wipe away the smell. I turned to answer and was caught off guard. In fact, I babbled like an idiot.
“You,” I said, already kicking myself for my lack of suavity. “I saw you on TV the other night.”
He looked puzzled, probably afraid I’d confused him with an actor or talk show host. “You know,” I said, trying to clarify, “on the news. Taking the grocery clerk to the ambulance. Or her body anyway.” Shut up, Zoey. Please shut up. “It was a shock. I’d just been in there talking to her the day before. I bought cheese.” Oh for the love of the one-eyed god of wombats, will you stop now? “I recognized you from earlier the same day when that man was hit by a bus. You do seem to be around when people die. What horrible luck. But then, you’re a paramedic, right? So it probably happens to you a lot.”
I stopped to take a breath and realized he was smiling at me. He nodded toward the counter and I thought I’d lost his attention. Not sure whether to be devastated or relieved about that, I realized he was urging me forward in line.
Excellent. I was an all-around doofus, not just the babbling kind. I turned to face front and closed the gap between myself and the stink bomb. Because I am a total glutton for punishment, I turned around and faced him again. One more try. I took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “Honestly, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m not normally this way.”
And then I tripped backward and bumped into the woman in front of me. Who was holding the coffee the barista had handed her seconds before.
“Dammit,” the woman said. She didn’t yell. It was a fairly low-key attitude for someone with hot coffee dripping from her sleeve.
“I am so sorry,” I said. I grabbed napkins and blotted at her drips. “Please, let me get you another one.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I hate this sweater. Only a little spilled anyway.” She took the napkins from me and mopped up, then tossed the paper in the trash. “All better. No harm.” She smiled and left.
I felt like a total shit for bashing her perfume.
There was no way I could make eye contact with Captain Dreamy behind me. Miserable, I placed my order for a venti cappuccino with a double shot of Irish cream. I needed the double shot. I only wished it were alcohol instead of flavored syrup.
I huddled in the corner waiting for my order to be called, hoping he wouldn’t see me. If he were smart, he’d order a black coffee and clear out before I had to walk past him.
It turned out he wasn’t smart.
He came over and leaned against the wall beside me. I pretended not to notice him, though I’m sure I wasn’t in the least bit convincing. From the corner of my eye I could see he wasn’t in uniform. His jeans were snug, but not ’70s avert-your-eyes-you-can-totally-see-his-package tight. His green t-shirt hugged him affectionately without looking like he’d dressed from the kids department in an effort to look hot. No, hot came naturally. As much as I wanted a good, thorough look at him headlong, I refused to acknowledge his presence. A girl can only
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