“Cream cheese, cherries, sugar, cocoa…” For a brief moment I felt like Santa, making my list and checking it twice. But the throng of people and the squeak of shopping cart wheels quickly brought me back to reality. Thanksgiving was here.
At the first break in traffic I merged my cart back into the flow. Just a few more items and my cooking marathon could begin. I was stuck in a gaper’s block at the “Buy Two, Get One Free” stuffing when I noticed him.
I’m not sure which drew my attention - the hot pink shopping list or the look of intense concentration on his face. Before I could stop myself, I was dodging across the aisle. Shocked by my impulsiveness, I picked up a can and pretended to study the label.
“This is harder than it looks, isn’t it?” His deep voice rumbled in my ear then shook my soul. I glanced down at the can in my hands - "Whole White Potatoes."
I laughed. “Not really, just lost in thought. Big day tomorrow.”
He gave a crooked smile. “Tell me about it. You’d think the Queen was going to be personally sampling our turkey and fixings. If I don’t come back with the right stuff, life as we know it might cease to exist.”
I returned his smile. “We can’t let that happen. Is there anything I can do to help?”
He pointed to an item on his list and I checked out his hands. Strong, clean - and ringless. I tried to suppress a surge of hope.
“Here it is. Canned sweet potatoes.” He gestured to the shelf. “If there’s a can of sweet potatoes anywhere in this store, I’ll eat this list. But I don’t dare go home without them.” He gave an exaggerated sigh of despair. “Looks like I’ll be spending Thanksgiving in the produce aisle.”
“We can’t let that happen. Your wife wants them canned, not fresh?” I asked.
“Wife?”
I looked pointedly at his list. “Pink just doesn’t seem your color.”
He chuckled, a warm, rich sound, and his eyes blue eyes sparkled. “Sorry, no wife.”
I mimicked his sigh of despair. “Boyfriend?”
“Worse. Sister. Older sister with a passion for colors that I can’t name.”
“Fuchsia.”
“Bless you - or gesundheit, as grandpa used to say.”
“The color is fuchsia - or pink, as my grandpa used to say.”
He laughed. Not one of those shallow, ha-ha funny laughs, but a real laugh, the contagious kind that comes from your soul. Shoppers around us smiled as I joined in.
“OK, back to your potato problem.” I reached for his list and our fingers brushed. I froze as electricity tingled through my body.
“Trust me, I’ve never had any problems with my...potato.” Our eyes locked and suddenly I was falling into a whirlpool of deep blue.
“Excuse me.” The moment was broken as a harried mother reached around us and grabbed a can of yams with one hand and a darting child with the other.
“Your sister left out a little detail - canned sweet potatoes are commonly sold in the United States as - drum roll, please...” I dramatically pulled a can off the shelf. “Yams. But don’t take my word for it.” I turned it around and pointed to the ingredients list. “Contains: Sweet Potatoes.”
He wrapped his fingers around the yams - and my hand. “Now you know I’m single; a married man would have known that.”
“You definitely passed the test.” My voice was breathy, as if I’d run a marathon. He didn’t make any effort to remove his hand; instead, his thumb started to slowly caress the inside of my wrist, sending fire through my veins. I stifled a soft groan.
“Excuse me.” An older woman reached between us to get her yams. “Newlyweds,” she muttered.
I blushed, embarrassed at her implication. He laughed and took the yams from me.
“So, is she crotchety or psychic?” he asked. His smile was casual but heat still burned in his eyes.
“Well, most newlyweds at least know each other’s names, so I’m voting for crotchety,” I teased.
“Jake,” he said.
“Lisa,” I responded.
We watched as the elderly woman slowly hobbled down the aisle. A small child cut her off and I waited for a sharp response. Instead, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. Laughter filled the store and brought smiles to the other shoppers’ faces.
“I’m voting for psychic,” he said.
“Wouldn’t want to tempt fate,” I replied.
“No, wouldn’t want to do that. Bad karma. Are you free Friday night?”
The desire in his eyes was echoed in mine.
This was going to be a Thanksgiving to remember.