Next Aisle: A Romance Short Story

Part 1: A Select Number of Items

It was only after I went into the large hardware store with my sundress and messy hair and little pink lipstick, I realized I felt akin to a martian on the Jersey Shore. I could not understand where I had landed. So many men! And all of them seemed to be on some grave mission that required them to carry something heavy in the opposite direction of where I was going. It was hard to look at them as they passed with their big arms bulging out and their grim faces twisted into grimaces that looked painful and kinda hot. Instead of sawdust, this place was littered with testosterone. I could almost see it there on the floor (under all the sawdust).

And the signage at this place—so small! Nothing seemed to be in the order I expected. The aisles went from paint to lighting to cleaning products to kitchen sinks. Who made these decisions? How did they arrive at them?

I needed a select number of items and I didn't have a second to lose, yet I had to traipse back and forth across the store nearly six times to find one thing. When I got to the correct spot in the aisle, the item was out of stock of course. The rest of the items were a mystery.

There was a backroom covered with planks in various sizes that seemed to be a hub of sorts and I'd determined I was going to go in there and ask someone for assistance. I may even deign to interrupt someone. I started striding towards the opening but got stuck halfway watching a man with glowing skin and dark hair that twisted a little into some curls at the back of his neck. He was sawing a board in half, laughing a little as he did it, like power tools meant nothing to him, like the exertion almost bored him. The muscles in his arms moved as he did, but I got stuck looking at him because of his eyes, sharp, dark things that seemed to catch the light like nothing else in the room. He turned them on me suddenly, the chainsaw still mowing on, yet I was the one to gasp.

I swiveled around and had to duck under the longest plank of wood yet so I didn't get smacked in the head. I looked back but he wasn't there anymore. I went to the aisle that had fans and stood there for a little while in front of one as it blew cool air at me before starting the long walk back towards the cash registers. I would buy a thing of disinfecting wipes so this trip wouldn't feel like a total waste.

I was nearly there too when I heard someone ask, "What are you looking for?"

It was the man from before, Chainsaw Guy, but he wasn't holding a power tool anymore. He wasn't laughing. He was looking at me.

I blinked. "What?"

"You've almost got nailed in the head by five floorboards and have paced the entire store fifty times. What are you looking for?"

"Hey," I said, wanting to protest but there was nothing untrue in what he said. I kicked the floor. "Curtain rods."

"Aisle 28."

"Oh, and I'm in..."

"Aisle 4."

"Fucking hell," I breathed but I think he may have heard it because the corners of his mouth twitched a little. It looked nice on him, the almost smile. It looked good.

"Here," he said and started walking ahead of me.

"Listen, you don't have to," I said, chasing after him. I almost ran directly into another plank.

He put an arm out to stop me. His hand hovered a centimeter from my right hip; only his index finger touched the fabric of my dress.

"Careful," he said.

I didn't move and neither did he. His hand stayed where it was, his finger. It wasn't even my skin. We stayed like that until the long plank passed. I wished it was longer. I willed it to lengthen. He took his hand away.

"What else?" he asked.

We were standing in front of a row of curtain rods in an aisle I knew I'd passed ten times.

"Hm?" I asked.

"Show me the list."

I looked at him. "It isn't quick."

"Let's say I have a vested interest; I want to see you make it out of here alive."

"You and me both."