Fire

Going Red

“Not checking out yet, be right back!”

The door banged behind me, the bell jangling wildly, and I took a huge gulp of fresh air once my sneakers hit the sidewalk. It was still pretty early, and the only people awake seemed to be senior citizens and people walking their dogs. I ducked my head as a young guy and his girlfriend walked past with their golden retriever, hoping that they didn’t look too closely at me. I was totally recognizable right now.

It only took a few minutes to get to the same grocery store I’d been to yesterday, and I made my way down the shampoo aisle, mumbling to myself,

“Where is it…where…”

“What you looking for, hun?”

I jumped, turning around to find a short, cheery looking clerk in a green apron. She beamed at me through thick glasses, “can I help you find anything?”

Her eyes were comically magnified through her glasses, and I ducked my head subconsciously, hoping my hair would hide most of my face. Was she looking at me funny? Was she wondering where she recognized me from?

“Um, hair dye.”

“Oh, are you going blonde?”

I looked up sharply, and realized too late that she was teasing. She was staring right at me now, harder, thinly plucked brows creasing slightly. I felt a jolt of panic stab my stomach.

“red,” I blurted, “do you think red would take on my hair?”

Her face relaxed, much to my relief, and she shuffled further down the aisle and plucked a brown and white box from the shelf, “Cherry Bomb Red,” she gushed, “it’s my favorite, I recommend it for all the customers,” she patted her own frizzy curls, “I’m a natural blonde myself, though I thought I would try out the Cheeky Chestnut this week.”

I took the box from her and said thank you, glancing at her hair once before turning away. Someone needed to tell her to stop dyeing her hair every week.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

Her voice froze me in my tracks, and I felt that familiar tingling sensation start in my arms, which scared me even more than the thought of the clerk recognizing me.

Oh crap! Now I’m going to burn down the freakin’ grocery store!

I did my best to keep my voice level, “I get that all the time. One of those faces you know. Thanks for the advice.”

She might have said you’re welcome, but I was already speed walking down the aisle towards the cash register. I paid for the dye – thankfully there was no line up – and then practically burst through the doors on my way out. I looked up and caught a glimpse of long blonde hair before colliding with someone. I fell backwards with a shriek, the box dye clattering onto the pavement at my feet. Someone grabbed my arms firmly, and a deep voice said,

“Woah, you alright?”

I reached down to grab the dye, feeling almost panicked, like my disguise was suddenly gone. When it was safely back in my hands I finally straightened up, only to look up into the face of the boy I’d seen here at the store just yesterday. My heart skipped a beat. He was still holding my arms, and after a second he let go, but when he did he dragged his hand down my sleeve, brushing my hand with his thumb before pulling completely away. The light brush over the top of my hand sent tingles up my arm, similar to the feeling I got before the fire came, but at the same time…different. More subtle.

He gave me a wide, white grin, “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? I wasn’t thinking. I’m an idiot, walking in the “out” door.”

“I’m…I’m okay, thanks,” I managed to get out, “you just startled me, that’s all.”

“Going red?”

I gaped at him, thinking he meant my fire, or code red or something. Something about the police searching for me. To my surprise he laughed, gesturing down at the box in my hands, “I mean…your hair.”

“I…yes. I’m…going red.”

Boy, do I feel dumb. This guy is really dreamy, and now he thinks I’m a total moron.

Dreamy or not, I had no time for flirting. I had to go dye my hair to make sure I didn’t get caught by the police. Glancing down at the box I suddenly remembered what else I’d meant to do. Sunglasses.

Crap!

“You suddenly look as though Christmas was canceled,” he said, “you okay?”

“I just…remembered something,” my eyes went wide when I looked up at him again. He had a pair of green-framed sunglasses hooked over the collar of his shirt, “say, what’s your name?”

He grinned again, “I’m Trent. And you?”

I was about to just blurt out my real name, then stopped, realizing how dumb I was, “I’m…Angela.” I stuck out my hand, feeling awkward, “I’m about to ask you a really weird question, Trent.”

His smile got even wider, “Well, aren’t you intriguing. Shoot. The weirder the better.”

“Can I buy your sunglasses from you?”

Trent tipped back his head and laughed, and in spite of myself I couldn’t hold back a smile. His laugh was carefree and contagious.

“Angela,” he said, “you’re right. That is a very weird question.”

Trent plucked the sunglasses from his shirt collar and held them out to me, “take them. They’re yours, just because you’re so interesting. Well…and because I feel bad for running you down like that.”

I hesitated, “but, I can pay you…”

He laughed again, “these are ten dollar sunglasses, at best. And they’ve been well loved. Take them, I insist.”

“Thanks,” I took them, tucking them into my collar the way he had.

“What? Not going to put them on?”

“Would you like me to?”  I knew this was stupid, I knew I only had two hours and I was wasting time, but something about Trent was magnetic.

That easy smile again, “I would love to see you in them.”

The way he said it made it sound like he was talking about underwear instead of sunglasses. I blushed, and shoved the glasses on, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my cheeks were glowing, “well?”

“They suit you,” Trent grinned, “you look cute in them.”

“Thank you,” I couldn’t keep from grinning back, “listen, I have to go, but…do you work here or something?”

“No, but I live just down the street. I just come get stuff for dinner every night,” he shrugged and shuffled his feet, “comes from being a bachelor. I cook a mean macaroni and cheese.”

I had to resist the urge to tell him I’d cook him supper any time he wanted. Instead I said, “well thanks, I plan to stick around, so I guess I’ll know where to find you.”

He hesitated, “do you have a phone number?”

Again I couldn’t keep from blushing, “I…actually don’t have a phone. Look…” I paused, wondering briefly if I was making a mistake, “I’ll try to meet you here…tomorrow, if you want.”

He studied me for a moment, and I was caught between fearing he would recognize my face from the news, and hoping he thought I was attractive. After a second he nodded, grinning again,

“Alright, Angela. I’ll meet you here tomorrow just before supper. Maybe we can make supper together.”

The idea was incredibly appealing, “okay sounds good.” I glanced through the glass door at the clock on the wall. It was already nine forty-five, “I gotta go! See you tomorrow night.”

He was saying something else, but I couldn’t stick around and listen, I had to run. I booked it down the sidewalk as fast as I could go without sprinting and made it to the hotel room at ten o’clock sharp.