Fifty Shades Of Park Jimin

UNEXPECTEDLY MET

Holy crap. What is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking bootsI think my mouth has popped open, and I can't locate my brain or my voice.

"Mr. Park," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he's enjoying some private joke.

"I was in the area," he says by way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things.

It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Roseanne." His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I'm blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He's not merely good-looking - he's the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he's here. Here in Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Roseanne. Feel free to call me Roseanne," I mutter. "What can I help you with, Mr. Park?"

He smiles, and again it's like he's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I've-worked-in-this-shop-for-years. I can do this.

"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused.

Cable ties?

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I mutter, my voice soft and wavery.

Get a grip, Roseanne. A slight frown mars Park's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Roseanne," he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter.

"Are you here on business?" I ask, and my voice is too high, like I've got my finger trapped in a door or something.

"I was passed by," he says matter-of-factly.

Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties . What is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet.

"These will do," he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape."

Masking tape?

"Are you redecorating?" The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?

"No, not redecorating," he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he's laughing at me.

"This way," I murmur embarrassed. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."

I glance behind me as he follows.

"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, and he's gazing at me, gray eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly.

I feel like I'm fourteen years old - gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Roseanne!

"Four years," I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.