Page 10 of Apple of My Eye

Chapter Eight

Nick

Mrs. P. ( Oh, sweetheart, please just call me Betsy .

.?. but I suppose Mrs. P. certainly does have a ring to it ) doesn’t send me off to find Mr. Parker this morning when we finish our crossword, instead, she asks if I don’t mind running to Hal’s General Store.

I’ve been here less than one week and she’s already sent me to the hardware store, the butchers, and the bakery.

Wrangling their dusty blue pickup into submission has been the hardest part of my time here so far.

The pedals are sticky, the wheel is practically fixed in place, and every pothole sends me flying towards the ceiling.

‘I don’t think he’s here to run your errands,’ Joe grumbled at dinner last night. Mrs. P just laughed. I was inclined to agree with Joe. Technically, I was not here to run her errands. But I’m a mamma’s boy through and through, so when she asks I can’t help but say yes.

‘Is there a gym in town I can check out on my way?’ I ask her.

I’ve searched for an Equinox, Lifetime, Planet Fitness and came up empty handed—the local high school can’t possibly be the only place to lift weights.

I was hoping I had just missed something obvious, but she stares at me like I have three heads.

I make a mental note to ask the cashier at the grocery store.

Only when I realize how incredibly tiny the local general store is ( not grocery store, Mrs. P had corrected me), do I understand why Betsy thought it was so crazy that I asked about a Planet Fitness.

But there’s a charm to the size. I’m not inundated with choices like I am in the city.

I have a silly smile on my face at how relaxing it is not to have to choose between thirteen kinds of canned tomatoes when I see the same woman I saw a few days ago.

She’s holding so many razors in her hands that I’m wondering how she isn’t dropping them when she turns and sees me, my eyes locking with her electric blue ones.

She has freckles across the bridge of her nose and her blonde hair is pulled away from her face haphazardly, with tendrils snaking out in every direction.

My body is pulling me forward on its own accord, but I can’t take even half a step forward before she bolts, ducking out of the aisle like the place was on fire.

I pick up my basket. Isaac and Julian may have thought they came up with the world’s worst punishment for losing fantasy football but if I end up meeting a girl .

.?. well .?.?. who’s laughing now? It won’t matter that they spent the first quarter of their final year doing capstones at private equity firms and start-up incubators while I ran errands and grimaced through lower back pain if I have a girl by my side while I do it. I shrug my shoulders and straighten up.

I do a perimeter lap of the store trying to spot her, which is incredibly easy seeing as the store seems to be all of twenty square feet. Nothing like the behemoth Whole Foods I usually shop at. I’ve arrived at the produce section when I see a flash of blonde hair in my peripherals.

She’s by the apples—perfect.

I sidle up next to her, but her concentration doesn’t waver. Her forearms are lean and tanned, her hands rough. She’s picking up apples and putting them down like her life depends on finding the perfect sphere, the perfect weight-to-shine ratio.

I clear my throat. She glances at me, her bright blue eyes sparkling from underneath a fan of eyelashes and my breath hitches in my chest. She glances down so quickly that it catches me off guard.

Usually, I have some game when it comes to girls, but for some reason today I flounder, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

‘How do you like them apples?’ I ask, only to immediately redden after the words come out of my mouth, not sure why I thought choosing an insult from Good Will Hunting was a good idea.

She looks up, a wave of an emotion I can’t place crossing her face. ‘What?’ she asks, her eyebrows scrunching together.

I take a step back, fumbling, and I drop the apple I was holding.

I bend to pick it up. ‘Oh, the movie,’ I try to explain, but she’s already picked up her groceries and is making her way as fast as she can to the cash register, where she exchanges a few words with the strawberry blonde working the checkout.

Her posture is relaxed now, they seem familiar with each other, like they’ve known each other forever.

And, given what I know about this town, they probably have.

I follow meekly and I feign interest in the local honey display until she leaves.

I’m still thinking about how impossibly blue her eyes were when I roll into the Parkers’ driveway and realize I completely forgot to ask the checkout lady about a gym.