Lollipop and promises

see hi

reeps in somewhere between scanning a bag of oranges and restocking the shelf of canned soup. E

different. But for the past few weeks, he's been the one thing in my day that's felt... consistent

ou cover reg

t manager, waves at me from across the store, her blo

mers waiting with carts full of weeknight dinners and impulse buys. I settle into the rhy

e is

ot sick of cherry lollipops. Maybe I imagined the way his eyes

I'm just

nto the break room, sinking into the lumpy couch by the vending machine. The hum of the refrigerator fills the

those fleeting moments at checkout. And yet, something about today feels o

busier now, filled with the usual after-work rush. I focus on the task at

hat today is just another ordinar

here

ha

ands tucked into his pockets. His gaze finds mine instantly, and I swear t

ster, bypassing the candy aisle

, his voice lo

s furrow sligh

on in his dark eyes before he

nstead, I do the only thing that makes sense in the moment-I grab a

t slowly. Then, for the f

y there. But I ca

sn't want to talk about it.

riends or have anything going on that would

a cus

t