Comic Convention

Grocery Store

Clara passes by him in the aisle and smiles politely as she hurries out of his way, barely sparing him a glance. She stops next to him, needing to grab a jar of tomato sauce from the shelf he's standing in front of. It a few seconds before the image of a tall, muscular man sparks her attention. Discreetly, she pretends to be interested in the choices as she turns to get a better look at him. He has paused to study the jars, letting her get a good look at him or as good of a look as she can with his sunglasses and hat.

There's something familiar about him. He almost looks like... but that would be crazy.

She watches as he takes a jar from the shelf and reads the label. She's still watching a few moments later as he slides the jar back into place and turns toward her, catching her. Blushing, she realizes how long she had been staring and hurries to grab the jar of spaghetti sauce she needed. His lips curl up in amusement.

"Hello," he says. He has an accent just like...

"Hi. I'm sorry for staring. You just look like someone. You must get that a lot."

"No, not really. Who do I look like?"

"Marshall," she says as he takes off his sunglasses. "Fox," she chokes out.

It is him.

This is the time to say something else, to actually speak to the gorgeous specimen she's only seen a screen. At the eye contact, words no longer form or make sense.

"Are you all right?" he asks, moving even closer. A hand crosses the small boundary between them, touching her elbow. She jumps at the contact. His fingers leaving burning imprints on her skin. He pulls his hand back quickly like her skin had burned him.

"I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll let you get back to your shopping."

It's a miracle the words leave her mouth and she's grateful they came out clearly and loud enough for him to hear. The words are true. She never wanted to disturb him. She had never seen a celebrity in person before and, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have even tried to approach him.

"Would you like a photo or autograph?" he asks kindly.

"Oh, no, thanks. You seem to be trying to be incognito," I say, gesturing to the hat. "I don't want to blow your cover."

"I really don't mind. It would be the least I could do for not blowing my cover."

"It's okay. Have a good day."

She grabs the handle of the cart and moves toward the end of the aisle.

Marshall watches the beautiful woman round the corner before putting his sunglasses back on. He glances around quickly, checking to see that no one else noticed his presence. He checks his list again and only has a couple more things left to get, shaking out his hand in the hopes of losing the feeling of how soft her skin had been.

As he gets the last thing he needs, he spots her getting in the checkout line. He hurries after her. Without meaning to, he passes the empty lanes to get in line behind her. She's putting the last of her items on the belt when she notices him, giving him a shy smile. Once again, he's struck with gratitude awe for the lack of attention she brings to him.

Patiently, he waits behind her as she moves the bags to her cart and then pays. She gifts him one last smile as she takes her receipt and pushes her cart to the exit. The moment the door slide shut behind her, he regrets not getting her name.

Each moment that passes causes him to grow antsier. Each moment that passes is another step she takes away from him and closer to the possibility of never seeing her again.

He barely hears the cashier tell him his total. Blindly, he throws several large bills on the counter, grabs his bags, and runs to the door. The doors crawl open and he has to slide between them to get out quicker. He crashes into the bell ringer outside the door in his hurry. One of the handles on a bag rips, spilling half the contents on the ground.

Apologizing profusely to the elderly man, Marshall bends to gather up the fallen groceries. The elderly man hands the last of the items back. Thanking the man, he drops everything back in the bag.

He pauses before stepping off the curb to search for her. A flash of blonde hair to his right pulls his attention to her. She's putting her cart away across the parking lot.

"Hey, wait!" he calls but the elderly man starts ringing his bell again, drowning out the words. She can't hear him.

He rushes toward her, the plastic shopping bags slapping against his thighs. She's already back at her car, climbing in the driver's seat. Even with a burst of speed, he can't catch her in time.