When your eyes lock from across the crime fiction section, your twin hearts skip a beat. Not only was he cute, but he was clearly well-read, based on the stack of Charles Dickens books in his arms. He looked like Imriel de la Courcel with a hint of Karl Urban.
I have to force myself to look away and focus on finding the book I went in there for. I grab my copy and quickly head toward the cashier. At the end of the aisle, I blindly collide into him, books flying everywhere in the process.
With cat-like reflexes, he bends down to pick up the fallen books.
“I’m so embarrassed! I didn’t see you around the corner,” I say.
He stands up and hands me my copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, smiling to himself.
“I’m glad that I don’t have the emotional range of a teaspoon.” He says. It’s all I can do not to swoon right there in the middle of the Self-Help section.
“So,” he says nervously running his hands through his silky hair, “would you like to grab a cup of coffee sometime?”
*Additions and alterations in Italics.